"Bloody hell, Malfoy, how much do you weigh?" mutters a raven-haired boy as he trudges through the hallway, slowed by a boy hanging on his shoulder. The dark haired teen moves slowly, tugging the arm of the blond securely over his shoulder as the two of them try to make their way down the empty hallway.

"Mm, I don't know, Harry," says the blond with slurred speech. He giggles as the other boy drags him down the corridor. "Maybe you should work out more—and m'stop dragging me—you're gonna ruin m'trainers."

Harry grunts, trying to get a better grip around the boy's body, which poses as a challenge, as he is much shorter. "Maybe you should try not getting drunk next time," he says with venom. He sees, with a sigh of relief, the entrance to the Slytherin common room approaching.

"I am not drunk," argues Malfoy, though his words are weighed down with Fire Whiskey. He frees himself of Harry's grasp and attempts to make a few steps forward. He trips over his own feet, and Harry grabs for him again, muttering under his breath. "And by the way Potter," continues Malfoy in drunk fashion, "if anyone asks, I was drunk in a very dignified Malfoy-ish way."

"Of course," says Harry, pushing entrance into the Slytherin common room, and disposing of Malfoy on a couch. The blond slides off of the emerald green arm chair and onto the ground. He rolls over on his back and looks at Harry.

"You should really be in Slytherin, Harry," he says, looking up at him. "Your eyes are Slytherin colour."

Harry doesn't answer, but conjures a glass of water for Malfoy, who continues. "And my eyes are gray aren't they? Isn't that weird? Our eyes are so…Slytherin-y."

"Malfoy, are you going to be okay? I'm going to leave now."

"No, don't leave!" says the drunk boy, sloshing water down his front. "You're so bloody insensitive, Harry. Can't you see m'drunk?"

"I thought you said you weren't drunk?"

Malfoy rolls his eyes. "You are so deaf Harry. I said I was drunk, but in a very dignified way—now don't leave. I think I kind of want to kiss you."

"What? Malfoy, I'm leaving now."

"You're no fun at all, Harry," whines Malfoy. "Maybe you should be the one should be drunk. Here—go get drunk and come back."

"Malfoy. Goodnight, I'm leaving."

"You are no fun. Come on, just a little kiss. I'm drunk, pity me!"

"Goodnight, Malfoy."

"You show all the sensitivity of a blunt, axe, Harry. I'm just asking for one kiss."

"Go to bed, Malfoy."

Malfoy rolls over and gets up, supporting himself on the couch. "I'm not going to stop bothering you until you do," he informs him.

"I'm leaving."

"Mm, you've been saying that," says Malfoy. "But you still haven't left. That must mean that you want to kiss me. C'mon Harry, do it."

"I think this is peer pressure, I really do," sighs Harry. He takes a few steps forward and meets Malfoy. "But only because you're drunk," he adds, and then kisses him.

"Told you you wanted to."

"Malfoy—"

"You liked it, I can tell!"

"You're drunk, you're seeing things."

"You totally liked it—"

"Malfoy. Goodnight, I'm leaving now."