Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine. The title of this story is based on Shiina Ringo's song, Okonomi de, not Shakespeare's play.

A/N: A light-hearted, sappy piece for once, since my writing has been too depressing lately.

As You Like It

Track 1: Soiree

The party was winding down to a slow crawl. Most of the guests had already departed; the remaining few were dispersed around the hall, a veil of weariness hanging over them like smoke. A handful of people were dancing lethargically on the slightly tarnished dance floor, to the sweet voice of the songstress performing on the raised platform, with the subtle accompaniment of piano, string bass, and percussion.

Scattered on the floor were colourful confetti of every shade under the sun; floating to the ceiling were balloons about to make their grand and ultimately futile escape. Even the magnificent chandelier was beginning to lose its brilliance, as though it too was laden with fatigue. Forsaken on the long table to the side were leftover delicacies and half-empty wine glasses; the pristine white table cloth of before was now marred by stain. Vibrant and lively had been the banquet hall, now it resembled no more than a sad refuge, like a tired woman whose make-up was smudged and whose hair was falling out of the elegantly twisted knot after a long night.

A set of crystalline glass doors opened to the patio, where one could see the sickle moon taking a leisurely stroll across the velvet sky. A lone figure was standing before the delicately carved marble railings, his elbows rested upon the slab of white stone. A faint autumnal breeze whispered endearment into his ear, while flirting mischievously with the hem of his dinner jacket and the loosened black tie around his unbuttoned collar. Hazy green eyes behind a pair of black-framed glasses squinted at the starlit sky in search of the Orion's Belt; nonetheless, from the look of dismay upon the boyish face, one could discern that he was unable to locate the triplet of stars.

And that was how Draco Malfoy found Harry Potter lingering on the patio, staring at the sky as though it held some unfathomable mystery he did not have the privilege to glimpse upon.

Halted several steps away from Harry, Draco remarked, his tone inquisitive though not overly so, "You are still here."

Harry gave a start at the voice, for he had not expected to encounter anyone out here in the cold. Whirling around to regard the intruder, he stumbled slightly, but his quick reflex saved him from further embarrassment. Once he had recovered from his mishap, he was surprised to find himself beholding the meticulously dressed figure of his former rival. "Oh, it's you."

A pale eyebrow arched in bemusement at Harry's flushed cheeks and unfocused eyes. "Are you drunk? How much did you drink?"

"I lost count," Harry confessed, his mind too groggy to come up with any sarcastic comments or even a pretence at hostility -- not that there was any point to do so without an audience. "I wanted to clear my head a bit before I go home. Don't want to accidentally splinch myself."

"So you decide to freeze yourself to death instead," Draco replied scathingly. "How very typical of you to possess so little common sense."

Narrowing his eyes in annoyance, Harry retorted, "The same goes for you too, since you are out here as well." A particularly cool breeze tousled his untamed dark hair and stealthily crept beneath his collar like an indecent intruder, causing Harry to shiver.

There was a hint of an upward curl lingering about the corner of Draco's lips, not entirely a smirk, not entirely a smile. "Unlike you, I know my limit."

"Hmph." In response Harry made a vague sound while pushing his hair away from his eyes. He had quite forgotten that Draco was well known for being very irritatingly sensible, which had the unfortunate effect of making Harry feel rather foolish.

Fumbling for something else to say, Harry was distracted by the gentle calling of the songbird drifting out from within the gilded cage that was the banquet hall. It was a song he knew well; the nostalgic tune brought a smile to his youthful face. Acting purely on impulse, he swayed slightly to the rhythm as though wanting to dance, and hummed along to the melody, his languid eyes glittering with simple pleasure. Only when the song ended with a piano arpeggio did Harry at last notice Draco was staring at him with eyes of the most profound of grey. Maybe it was the wine in his system, for Harry felt his pulse racing to an allegro.

"Come on, I'll take you home," was all Draco would say while averting his eyes, as though he was caught prying on something he should not have.

"I'm fine now. I can take care of myself," Harry insisted, claiming the exact opposite of how he truly felt. As he pushed himself away from the railings, the ground beneath his feet swayed like raging ocean waves amidst a late summer storm, and him along with it.

"You are fooling no one but yourself," Draco uttered sardonically and held out a hand to Harry in a gesture of mocking courtesy. "Look, we can argue about this all night. But I don't feel like being late for work in the morning."

Cloudy green eyes narrowed as they contemplated Draco's near flawless visage. How surreal it was that this former rival of his was acting chivalrous for once; Harry wondered if the entire scenario might not have been a morbid hallucination on his part. "I'm not some damsel in distress," Harry stated plainly.

"And I'm not a knight in shining armour either, so we are even," Draco replied dryly, blond strands fluttering as though an invisible hand was twirling them with playful fingers.

"And why exactly would you feel an urge to help a former school rival you don't even like instead of having the say drunken rival embarrass himself like a complete idiot, unless you have some ulterior motive in mind which I'm sure is not for my benefit?" Harry countered in one long breath.

Taken aback by Harry's long-winded declaration, Draco raised a pale eyebrow in amusement. "Congratulations, you've managed to ramble on without taking a single breath in between."

"I'm drunk, remember?" Harry said in a self-depreciating voice while running a hand over his dark hair, messing it up further. "And you didn't answer my question."

"Oh? I didn't sense a question in there. I thought you were just talking to yourself." If there was such a thing as a measure for insolence, Draco would most definitely pass the test with flying colours.

A sliver of agitation seeped into Harry's mind at Draco's steadfast refusal to cooperate; nonetheless, Harry knew he could get nothing more from Draco. Heaving an exasperated sigh, Harry resigned himself to the inevitable, and held onto Draco's outstretched hand. After Harry told Draco his address, the pair of young men vanished into the moonlit night.

Apparating while intoxicated was not a fun experience; by the time they reached the small, forlorn square tucked away in the corner of the urban landscape, Harry felt his stomach beginning to protest against the abuse. Stumbling on the spot, he was saved from the disgrace of landing on his face by a pair of helpful arms.

"I told you," Draco said in a scornful tone and threw Harry's arm over his shoulder. "You'd better not get sick on my clothes, or I'll hex you."

"Right," Harry mumbled indignantly, which was all that he could manage, for his mind was as muddled as a cat who had indulged in a little too much catnip.

Discretely Harry cast a sidelong glance at Draco, whose profile was illuminated by the old-fashioned gaslight lined the street. Grey pupil appeared to glow as though within its depth was captured the imitating firelight; Harry had a sudden urge to see Draco's face more clearly. And yet, seeing as he was never a favourite of Lady Luck's, his wish was sorely ignored.

Slowly they made their way across the square and towards a row of shabby looking houses that had clearly seen better days. When Draco looked pointedly at Harry, it took several seconds for Harry to realise Draco probably could not see the house magically sandwiched between number eleven and number thirteen.

"Over here." Harry guided Draco towards the front steps of number twelve, where the lamp by the porch lit up to welcome back the master of the house.

Once they crossed the invisible barrier that was protecting the house, Draco finally saw the house that was in somewhat less depressing state than its neighbours. An unearthly aura unique to buildings constructed with magic surrounded the house like a thick blanket. While Draco appraised the house with mild interest, Harry pulled out his wand and tapped on the newly painted door that was gleaming a glossy black. The locks, immediately awoken from their slumber, snapped into fluid motion to admit the master and his guest into the house.

The gas lamps in the narrow corridor flickered merrily to the unsolicited visit of the cool, midnight air; and wildly the flame swayed when the front door was closed. Kreacher the house-elf immediately glided into view like the stalking father of a girl who was escorted home by an unknown young man. All Harry could manage was a "I'm home, Kreacher" before he had to cover his mouth lest he fell sick all over the hardwood floor.

"Your master is drunk. Go and make the bed. And fetch a hot towel while you are at it." Draco fired off a brisk command, to which Kreacher complied with a respectful bow, "Right away, sir," and hurried away as swiftly as he came.

The trip up the winding staircase that was polished to perfection was a laborious and fortunately uneventful one. By the time Harry and Draco arrived at Harry's bedroom, the bed was made and the lamp was lit, though Kreacher was nowhere in sight; Harry wondered where he went. After being unceremoniously disposed onto the bed, Harry forced himself to sit up and took off his shoes; otherwise, Kreacher would reprimand him later for wearing his shoes to bed.

Stealing a look at Draco, who was surveying his room curiously, Harry mused if it was the first time Draco had been inside the Black family home. "Thanks for the help," Harry said awkwardly while sinking into the inviting bed and fluffy pillows once more. "And why exactly did you help me out again?"

Tilting his head to regard Harry, Draco spoke in a neutral air, "Think of it as a moment of insanity on my part."

"Very funny." Harry let out a dry chuckle, then stretched lazily on the bed like a cat who was about to curl up for a nap beneath the afternoon sun. "You don't mean you are drunk as well, do you?"

"Maybe," Draco replied nonchalantly, sidestepping Harry's line of query as he was wont to do.

Foggy green eyes squinted at Draco, whose easy composure conveyed not even the slightest hint of intoxication, despite it being probable that Draco had had a few glasses as well. Driven by irritation over Draco's damnably collected demeanour and vague response, Harry grabbed onto Draco's arm and pulled himself up, hoping to find out if he could smell alcohol in Draco's breath.

Grey pupils tinted with a dash of violet widened at the sudden close proximity. Still oblivious to the precarious situation he had unwittingly thrust himself into, Harry inhaled deeply, and was rewarded with a whiff of liquor, though he could not tell whether it was from Draco or from himself. Only when Harry noticed the sudden clarity of Draco's eyes did he finally realise how close their faces were to each other, like a prelude to something he was not sure what of. The wheels and cogs in Harry's head had slowed to a ritardando; the only thought that went through his mind was that he could see his own reflection in Draco's mirror-like eyes, eyes of an unexpectedly mellow blend of purple and grey.

Warm, silky breath fluttered onto Harry's cheek like the beating of butterfly wings. Remotely Harry could hear a smooth baritone voice whispering something to him, but he could not make out the words no matter how hard he willed his intoxicated mind to stay focus. And Draco, heaving a sigh for some reason, reached out and took away Harry's glasses. Blinking uncomprehendingly at the face that was glowing softly amidst the blurry background, Harry had completely forgotten to demand his glasses back from the stealthy thief, a certain infuriating someone who was smiling that wry smile of his.

"This is too sly, even for you."

To be continued...?

A/N: I bet I'll get loads of complaints over the tease at the end. I wrote this one on a whim; needless to say, it's an amusing deviation from my usual angst-ridden, bittersweet fare. Anyway, this fic will be relatively short, maybe 3-4 chapters long, so I doubt you'll have to wait an entire year to read the end of it. And lastly, thank you for reading, and a further thank you to those who've reviewed my fics.