Summary: In the third year of the war, Draco is discovered as a spy for the Order of the Phoenix. Snape brings him to Grimmauld Place for safety. But months of being locked in a house with Potter take their toll, and soon both boys are in over their heads.
Pairing: Harry/Draco. If you don't like it, don't read it.
Warnings: Sexual content. Language.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and everything affiliated with his world belong to J.K. Rowling.
Betaed by YaoiFanGirl101
He didn't remember it until the next afternoon when Weasley and Granger stumbled into the kitchen. They were followed shortly by half of the Order. Everyone was talking all at once, and they looked even more beat up than last time this had happened.
Moody moved to the front of the room, and started speaking. Draco looked around, unconsciously looking for Potter. He didn't even realize what he was doing until he didn't find the familiar black head.
He slipped out of the meeting and walked upstairs. Potter had spent the past day pacing on the top floor, where presumably his bedroom was. Draco wasn't exactly sure where his three housemates slept.
Grimmauld Place was ancient, and sounds traveled well. Every creak of the floorboards could be heard throughout the entire house, except the bedrooms and library, which were soundproofed. Draco had spent the day sitting in the kitchen with a book, and listening to the music of Potter's pacing.
"Potter," Draco calls, even though there was really no need. Draco had made plenty of noise on his way, so as to alert Potter to his presence.
"Your friends are back, along with half the Order. They started the meeting and I figured you should be there."
Potter was half in shadow, looking at Draco but not really seeing him.
"I'm sure they won't notice I'm gone. They've fought this entire war without me," Potter's voice was bitter, and would have sounded better on a Slytherin.
"I'm nothing more than a child to them. A child incapable of taking care of himself. I have to be locked up for my own protection. You know how many Death Eaters I've fought since leaving Hogwarts? None. I've been shut up in this house, doing nothing! I'VE FOUGHT VOLDEMORT. I DID STUFF AS A KID MOST PEOPLE ONLY HAVE NIGHTMARES ABOUT. AND MY FUCKING REWARD IS TO BE STUCK IN THE HOUSE MY GODFATHER HATED, TWIDDLING MY THUMBS!"
"Potter, are you really that self-centered? This isn't about what you want! This is about ending a war, and stopping the Dark Lord! What would happen if you had fought in this last battle, and gotten killed? No one else can defeat the Dark Lord. You owe it to wizards everywhere to go out and kill that fucker."
Snape had told Draco about the prophecy, and how Potter had to kill the Dark Lord with powers the Dark Lord didn't know about, or something.
"What if I don't want to? I never asked for this! I wanted to be normal, a normal kid. Instead I've spent my childhood fighting Voldemort. I don't want any of this!"
"You can't always have what you want, Potter. I never wanted for my father to shove me to the Dark Lord, to get this fucking Mark. But you got what you got, and you are going to go on and kill the Dark Lord. Because you are Harry Potter and that is what you do. No one else has the right combination of power, idiocy, love, and sheer Gryffindor bravery to do it. And so help Merlin you, you will do it, when the time comes, because if you don't I will make your nightmares of the Dark Lord look like a field of flowers!"
Potter stared at him for a few seconds, before chuckling. "Wow, Malfoy. I think there was a compliment in there somewhere."
Draco just turned around and walked back to the meeting. He barely kept from smiling when he heard the sounds of Potter following. Potter was that easy to play.
Draco ignored the little voice telling him it wasn't really playing someone if he was being sincere, and since when did he care if Potter missed the Order meeting?
Draco couldn't concentrate during the meeting. His last conversation with Potter had finally knocked loose a thought that had been bothering him for a while now. He wasn't sure when his relationship with the Gryffindors changed, but it undoubtedly had. He no longer felt the urge to hex Weasley on sight. He got along with Granger even better now then before; their research was proof of that. And then there was Potter. Potter had always been different, and this was no exception.
His attention was pulled back to the meeting by the mention of Snape.
"That miserable bastard got what he deserved. He saw him go down, it was the Killing Curse."
"Yeah, I saw him as they Death Eaters disapperated, he's definitely dead."
The Weasley twins hooted. Granger's eyes widened as she looked over at Draco.
But Draco didn't notice; he felt like he'd been punched. Snape was dead. The last person who actually cared what happened to him was dead. His mother was dead; his father didn't give a damn about him anymore. The Gryffindors tolerated him, at best. Snape was the last one who truly cared. Draco just might crack.
When the meeting was over, he ignored Granger once again and went upstairs to be alone.
The next night, after the most reluctant of Order members had finally left, Draco went down to the kitchen on a mission.
He had noticed something out of the corner of his eye, before Potter had fucked him blind in the pantry. His hunch proved correct, and he pulled out several bottles of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey.
His father had raised him from the bottle on the finest wines produced by magical vineyards. He was something of a wine connoisseur by this point of his life. But there were some times only Ogden's could cut it.
He plopped the bottles down on the kitchen table and prepared to get completely drunk. He had spent the day avoiding Granger, who kept asking him to share his feelings and offering comfort. He was well on his way, and there were two empty bottles surrounding him when he realized he had company.
It was Potter, unsurprisingly. Draco groaned, and knocked back half of the third bottle in one go. He was not ready to deal with Potter right now, especially not drunk.
"What do you want, Potter?"
"I think you've had enough to drink." He made a grab for the bottle, except Draco had been anticipating the move. What he hadn't been anticipating was his drunken reflexes, and instead of securing the bottle, he managed to knock it off the table. It fell to the ground and spilt, spreading a dark stain across the floor.
"Nice, Malfoy," said Potter. Draco sneered at him.
"It's your fault, anyways." Instead of making Potter angry or defensive, as Draco expected, it took the wind right out of his sails.
"I know." Potter dropped into the seat next Draco. Draco gazed at him contemplatively for a few minutes. Then he attempted to summon another bottle of Firewhiskey. It didn't work.
"Potter, if you're just gonna sit there, make yourself useful and get more Firewhiskey."
Potter didn't raise his head from his arms, but a few seconds later two more bottles came flying out of the pantry. He grabbed one and tossed the other to Draco.
Draco's seeker reflexes kicked in, or as much as they could when he was this drunk. He caught the bottle after only a few fumbles.
Potter was making quick work of the bottle, something Draco never expected to see.
"So, the Golden Boy is no stranger to Firewhiskey? I never woulda guessed."
"Don't call me that, Malfoy."
"Would you prefer scar head?"
"Yes," Potter said shortly. "Shouldn't you be slurring your words at this point?"
"For your information, Potter, losing control of your verbal capacities, capitates," Draco paused for a second, "slurring your words, is very plebeian, Malfoy's would never drop that low."
Potter was laughing, but Draco couldn't figure out why. "I'll keep that in mind."
"So, I know why I feel the need to drown myself in alcohol, but why do you, scar head?"
Potter stopped laughing, and went back to looking depressed. "Do you know how many people died in this battle? It's all my fault."
"Potter, I know you have a high opinion of yourself, but-"
"If I had killed Voldemort already, none of them would be dead. If I could actually do something useful, they'd still be alive. If I had done my job, they wouldn't have to go out and risk their lives."
"Potter, it's not your fault. No one asked those people to get involved in the war; they made the decision to fight themselves. You've taken on a responsibility greater than anyone else, and you're gonna win this war for us."
"Who are you and what have you done with Malfoy?"
"I dunno."
That was the last thing Draco remembered from last night when we woke up. But his arse was sore, and he had a nice red bruise on his neck, and he woke up in his own bed. Some things are better not dwelt on.