Hey guys! I KNOW I just updated, but Drunk Harry was just too good to pass up. Please PLEASE leave a review. :)
"You're my best friend."
"No, I really am not."
Harry poured another shot from the mostly-empty bottle. "You could be."
"No, Potter. I don't want to be your best friend."
The day had turned into night with several hours of drinking and joking. Rosmerta had started a lively game of darts, which turned into a non-verbal duel for supremacy.
And Harry? He was smashed.
"My best friends are dating. They're far away. I'm here now. With you." He reached for Draco's beet red face. "You're my friend now."
"I would call us colleagues. Maybe."
The worst part was that they had had pretty much the same number of drinks. Harry was just unaccustomed to it. The Dursleys didn't encourage much deviant behavior, and his focus on trying not to die took up the rest of his time. The thought struck him now that his party phase was going to hit him while he was supposed to be caring for children.
Warm air from all the mingling bodies caught up with Harry as he unconsciously nestled closer to Draco. The stress of the job mixed with several too many drinks clouded his already poor judgement. Draco looked good. His white hair was tuffed out in the front and shorter on the sides, emphasizing his manly jaw and attractively placed features. His clothes, a black button up, dark wash jeans and black pea-coat, only served to remind Harry that all he had ever seen of Draco in the past was robes. The change was different in a nice way.
A sexy way.
"You're doing it again. Looking at me like I'm the cure for cancer."
"I'm DRUNK." Harry shouted loudly as an explanation. "And your hair is so WHITE."
Draco snorted. "Is that right?"
"Can I touch it?"
"No."
"But…" Harry tried, trying to force fake tears. "...It's beautiful."
To Harry's genuine surprise, Draco blushed. It was a real blush too, the sort that made his skin blotch into white and red patches. It was the cutest thing drunk Harry had ever seen. He reached for the bottle again, figuring it would give him something better to do than compliment his ex-enemy all night, but Draco slid the bottle easily out of Harry's fumbling fingers. "You're done."
"C'mon."
"I'm serious. You're cut off. I doubt you know what you're talking about."
"I do know."
"Then that's even worse."
Pish posh. Harry reached for the bottle again. "You don't get it."
"Don't get what?" The blond whispered, suddenly a little huskier than he was before. "Don't get that you're drunker than I've ever desired to see you?"
"I'm sure there's a spell for hangovers."
"That's not the point. You're getting… slutty."
Harry grinned. "You think I'm cute, don't you?"
What could Draco say? He shook his head in wonderment. "It's amazing no one has killed you yet."
They each took a drink from the bottle, smiling a little more widely than usual. Harry didn't want the feeling to end. "I get nightmares too." he confessed in a tiny voice.
Draco obviously didn't know where it came from or what to say. He gave Harry a quizzical scoff. "Oh?"
"You get nightmares. We both get them. I just thought.. You know, that you'd like to know."
The blond shook his head vigorously, as if he were disgusted. "I don't get nightmares."
Harry's eyes fell downcast as he realized that it was possible Draco would never admit to it, and he might lose the beginnings of pleasant company if he pressed any harder. Draco was that sort, the kind that would never admit to his faults if he could. It was both annoying and oddly pleasant. Mysterious. Evil.
On a whole, Harry tried to forgive Draco's involvement in the war and -especially- Dumbledore's death. He didn't want the memories, which ate at his heart like ash. The sad, soft look in his headmaster's eyes as, even moments before death, the very same headmaster tried to spread love to Draco's frightened sixth year self. It brought Harry some comfort that the plan was orchestrated and that Draco refused to fire the killing curse, but not enough to trust him. Be near him, yes. Sleep within hexing distance, yes. But trust, actual trust between minds? Damn hard to come by. Really, the only person he ever achieved complete trust in was Ron, because Ron never fucked up. He made poor decisions, but they were always rectified easily.
"Potter... are you okay? You look sick."
Harry was indeed about to be sick, as demonstrated by the sudden hurl-face that spread across his features. He threw the bottle over to Draco and immediately retched all over the floor like a gyser.
"Oh God, Potter!" Malfoy cried, laughing with disbelief. "What the damn hell? You're a lightweight!"
That made sick, thoroughly exhausted Harry laugh harder than he could ever remember laughing. "Because I've had so many opportunities to drink!"
Together they wiped the sick off the floor with slow, steady flicks of the wand. Both were tipsy, Harry significantly more so. Harry rinsed his mouth with a cup of water Rosmerta sent over, embarrassed beyond belief.
"I expected so, having so many adult acquaintances. Are you telling me you never drank with Sirius Black?! He was a Black!"
"A Black, yes, but the sort that tried to be parent-like."
"I must say, Potter… you're different than I always imagined. Mature, even."
Harry's eyes slipped towards Draco's, something brewing within their depth. Something sensitive and sexual. Something incredible.
Or maybe it was just the firelight.
"Damn, Draco, was that a compliment?"
Malfoy made a face. "Did you just call me Draco?"
"Maybe."
"Well then, Professor, it kind of was. After all, my only friends in school were Crabbe and fucking Goyle. Godfuckingdamn Goyle, literally the most idiotic piece of lollygagging shit I had ever met. So compared to him and the other one, you're...god, you're intimidatingly intelligent.
Harry hadn't thought Draco was even buzzed until he started complimenting him. The drinks had taken Harry a second to feel, and Draco several hours. Or maybe his guard had just been up until then. In any case, the contented look on Draco's face as he took another drag from the bottle reminded Harry of Felix Felicis, and the feeling associated. The feeling of being in control.
He needed control.
He stood up, shoving the oak table away with a little strain. On the stand he realized that, while way drunker than he initially thought, the best thing for the night would be more alcohol. WAY more.
At the counter, Rosmerta stood whistling and wiping glasses. Through the doorway one could see a pile of dirty dishes and an invisible being wiping them clean. For a moment Harry didn't understand how such a thing was possible- until he remembered that he was, of course, a wizard. Rosmerta gave him a stink eye. "How have you not fucked him, yet?"
"Excuse me?" Harry squeaked with alarm.
The old lady sighed. "Listen to me, young Potter. I can see auras. It's a talent my Grandmother, a seer of the highest caliber, gave me freely. She expected something to become of it, but I prefer business. I use it now to understand my customer base. And you… you are something else."
Harry didn't know what to say, what to do, or when to do it. He just stood there, trying not to think dirty thoughts about Draco Malfoy. "What?"
"You're…" She snorted exasperatedly. "You're the sort that can love anyone. The sort that doesn't care whether or not they're girls or boys, Wizard or not, human-like or something extraordinary. You could fall in love with a giant if they had a beautiful personality. It's a very rare gift."
"Alright."
"And, while you may think this is a drunken dream, you're wrong."
"Brilliant."
"And I know… I know you like him."
She motioned Malfoy, who had begun swaying to the brassy sounds of the Bar Band. Just the sight of him, hair so bright it could blind someone, smiling slightly...it was enough to make Harry's heart beat just a little faster.
"How about him? What does his aura look like?"
She smiled knowingly. "Receptive."
That was enough.
Harry came back around with another bottle, this time of wine, and a couple crystal chalices. "Hope you're ready for this."
Malfoy's eyes bugged out at the sight. "Oh, I will vomit for sure."
"So who is the lightweight now?"
"Still you. You've already vomited."
Damn. Harry poured the wine, shoving the chalice into Draco's permanently curled hand. The pale fingers wiggled in thanks. Harry snorted. "You're drunk."
"I'm fine."
"Recite the alphabet backwards."
"Z,Y,X...W...V...U...letters…"
"See?"
"I highly doubt I could do such a thing sober, Potter."
The bar was suddenly less crowded, a little quieter. The gaggles of gentlemen making noise were gone, and left were Harry and Draco and a few bar flies who just focused on the drink.
Harry didn't know what he wanted in that moment. If he made the flutterings in his heart apparent, there would be hell to pay. If he didn't, he was weak. What to do? What to do?
"I'm tired, Draco. Can we go home?" He asked suddenly with puppy-dog eyes.
Draco sighed, draining the rest of his glass. "Did you pay for the wine in advance? Can we take it home?"
Harry nodded. "I think so. Take it anyways."
Side by side they launched themselves back out into the cold, Rosmerta chuckling from far behind. She knew it would be the sort of night worth chuckling over.
And it was.
