Accusation

"You wanna know what I think?" slurred a high class poncey git voice from Harry's elbow.

Harry sighed into his drink and slowly set it down, staring straight ahead before giving into temptation and turning to look at the man lounging carelessly on the bar stool next to him. He had no earthly idea how anyone – much less a too-thin, completely sloshed prick like Draco Malfoy – made a barstool look like a throne, but there Malfoy was, lounging away. It made Harry want to shove him to the ground, but instead he merely lifted his eyebrows in a questioning manner before saying in a purposely bored voice, "Not particularly."

"Well," said Malfoy, and he'd obviously not expected this but he sprawled against the counter anyway, getting comfortable and leaning in too close to Harry. "Well – lis'sen, okay?"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Are you – listening?"

"Yes."

"Good," and now Malfoy seemed to gather himself up for something, somehow managing to pull himself upright and remain leaning against the counter all at the same time, his hand holding up his face and pushing back some of his hair. "I," he announced, "am so utterly fucking drunk. You hear that, Potter?" He started to laugh. "Room's spinning!"

"Malfoy," sighed Harry wearily. "Yes, I can see that. Maybe it's time you go home – I'll be there later. I suppose." He turned back to his drink, staring down into its amber depths and wondering if it was possible to drown himself in such a small amount of liquid. He would have to order more – but that was okay, he was Harry Potter. What was the point of being head of his department if he couldn't even fucking drown himself in firewhiskey? It was the little things in life, after all.

He turned slightly when he realized there had been nothing from Malfoy for more than thirty seconds and found himself face-to-face with wide gray eyes and a pouting mouth. Malfoy squinted and then gasped. "You're mad at me!" he accused.

"What – no," protested Harry.

"You are! Fucking hell, I can't believe this!" said Malfoy and he laughed and if Harry didn't know he was drunk, he really would have pushed him off his stool as that infuriating peal of laughter rang out. As it was, accidentally bashing in his roommate's head did not sound too appetizing. Neither did the paperwork. "I thought – I mean, really, but what – why?"

"I'm not mad," Harry mumbled, because wasn't there a rule about always protesting more than one time or some shit? He sighed as Malfoy just stared at him. "You were supposed to be here forty-five minutes ago," he finally said. "You're late. And you're sodding drunk. What, I ask, is the point of showing up late drunk to have drinks with someone?"

"Well now," Malfoy said. "You're drinking too, aren't you?"

"Because I waited thirty minutes for you!" said Harry in disbelief and, shaking his head, he got up and threw some money on the counter, turning to go.

Malfoy stumbled after him. "Wait – we can drink now! Potter!"

Harry paused a few feet away to turn and give him another flat look. "You're off your nut if you think I'm drinking with you like this, Malfoy."

"But – well, can you at least Apparate me home?" asked Malfoy, and he stared at Harry with the sort of pathetic drunk stare he always equipped himself with whenever drinks were had, and really, what was Harry supposed to do with that face staring at him?

"If you puke on me," he said in a warning voice.

"Uh," said Malfoy, wobbling dangerously.

Harry glared. "I'm not cleaning it up. I'm not leading you to the toilet either."

"You won't have to," said Malfoy, but he didn't look too sure of himself. He stumbled forward, reaching pleading hands out to grapple at Harry's arm. "Please, Potter? Please – hic! How - how else 'm I s'pose to get home?"

"Maybe Hermione can take you home," said Harry in a dangerous voice.

"Wha's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what," said Harry, and then without warning, he grabbed Draco's arm and jerked him close, Apparating them both directly into the bathroom at their flat in downtown London. There was a moment where Malfoy seemed to whirl around and then he collapsed to his knees in front of the toilet and vomited noisily, hands clutching the porcelain.

"You're pathetic," said Harry, but he sighed and didn't leave the room, instead sitting down on the edge of the bathtub and making a face as Draco rested the side of his face on the toilet seat. "Oh – oh, come on, Malfoy, have some decency." He conjured a handerkerchief and held it out to the blond man, waiting for him to take it before summoning a cup from the kitchen and filling it with water. He held that to Malfoy too, who once again accepted it before slumping against the sink, his back against the cabinet. "It's what you deserve," said Harry after a moment.

"Please don't," said Malfoy in a hoarse voice, lifting bleary eyes to stare at Harry.

"If you don't drink that, you're going to have a raging headache tomorrow," said Harry after another moment. His shoulders slumped slightly, his hands dangling between his knees, and Merlin he wished he was as drunk as Malfoy.

"Hangover potion," said Malfoy.

"We ran out two days ago."

"Bugger," he said, and took a drink.

"I don't –" said Harry at the same time that Malfoy said, "Why did –"

They both stopped.

"You go first," said Harry, looking away.

Malfoy took another sip. "Why did you say Hermione could take me home? What did that mean?"

Dammit. He'd been hoping Malfoy had been too drunk to hear that. "I just… She would have gladly helped you. That's all."

"But –"

"I'm not jealous, if that's what you're thinking," said Harry loudly, too loudly – too quickly, and he flushed dully and looked away again, hating Malfoy with his rumpled hair and his lateness and how he'd crumpled to the ground so easily, like he was fragile. He'd never thought Malfoy was fragile when they were at school together – sneaky, yes, cunning – wicked and evil and manipulative, but fucking fragile? Never. Not that's all he saw when he looked at Malfoy – the pointy chin and the bony elbows and the ribs sticking out and the eyes that flared up when he grew defensive and all Malfoy had been trying to do all these fucking years was protect himself – and when had that become so damn easy to see?

"She's just my friend, Potter," said Malfoy, looking confused and still very, very drunk. "I don't know – we're just friends."

"But you were drinking with her," said Harry flatly, green eyes narrowed as he examined Malfoy thoroughly. It wasn't a question – it was an accusation.

And it was obviously true, by the way Malfoy scrunched up his nose and tried to think up a lie. "I just," he said and then frowned. "I just went to her house for some advice. And I asked for a drink to calm my nerves –"

"When you were coming for a drink with me?" asked Harry through gritted teeth.

"I was nervous!" shouted Malfoy all of a sudden and they both sat there in their small bathroom, both of them caught offguard by this outburst. "I know we fucking get drinks all the time, Potter, but Merlin, it never seems to mean anything to you, and maybe I wanted to ask Granger what I should do about that because she's sodding good at that thing and maybe I just drank a little too much. Merlin, Potter, you just can never stop fucking pushing, can you?" He turned, getting onto his hands and knees, and crawled a foot or two before grabbing the door handle and wobbling a bit as he hauled himself up. "Good fucking night," he said bitterly and then hobbled out of the room, this exit completely ruin by the giant hiccup leaving him just at that moment.

Harry stared blankly after him for a moment. And then jerked to his feet, running out of the bathroom and just barely catching Malfoy as he turned into his bedroom – "Wait – wait! Malfoy – want… a cup of tea?" he asked.

Malfoy stared at him. "I'm tired," he finally said.

"Tomorrow's Saturday. We don't have to work."

"You're going to make me clean up the dishes afterward."

"I won't. I'll do them."

"Or you could just let us get a house elf."

"Hermione would hate that."

"God damn Hermione," Malfoy said, but he didn't sound too mad any more. "You make shit tea," he said after a moment.

"I'll make mint tea," said Harry earnestly. "You love mint tea."

"You know what tea I like?" demanded Malfoy. "Stalker."

"Malfoy, we live together."

"I don't know why."

"Probably has something to do with the time you came up to me in Auror training and demanded we live together because we both needed a roommate and you refused to live with Seamus because you declared him sketchy."

"He is sketchy."

"So," said Harry simply. "Tea?"

Malfoy stared at him for a long moment before shrugging. "Yeah, all right." He started to follow Harry before pausing. "And those little biscuits?"

Harry smiled. "Yeah, all right. And then maybe we can go get real drinks tomorrow, when you're not already piss drunk."

"Good idea. Maybe Hermione can come."

"Maybe Hermione can come the next time," suggested Harry. "My best friend usually doesn't accompany me on dates."

Malfoy paused and then broke out into a wide smile. "Please go make us some tea, Potter. I feel like I'm about to faint."

"Please don't throw up again."

"No promises."

a/n: what cutie pies. reviews are finding out you got into the college you wanted! huzzah!