By all rights, this chapter was never supposed to happen. This story was SUPPOSED to be a series of moral and philosophical discussions between Harry and Draco. Now suddenly it goes and gets a plot.
This chapter is not for kids. It's not too bad, but it's really not like the rest of the story at all. Damn thing just jumped up and declared that it was in control.
"You want one?" Harry asked Draco, gesticulating with the cigarette in his hand.
"You smoke, Potter?" Draco asked in disbelief, throwing his bag onto the ground. "Never would have thought it of you."
Harry just shrugged. "You pick up all sorts of habits you never meant to. So do you want one or not?"
Draco shook his head. "Thanks, but no." Harry shrugged again, and took a long drag. Draco plopped down in a couch opposite him, reveling in the feel of the soft leather. "Can't believe you've got the nerve to come back here," he commented lightly, seeing as Harry wasn't about to strike up the conversation.
"Why? It's a room, and it serves its purpose. I suggested the Room of Requirement because it suits our needs. Besides, who's going to look for us here? It's like the Astronomy Tower- once everyone knew about all the students snogging up there, no one bothers to go anymore."
"What do you know about snogging anyway, Potter?"
Harry turned away, cigarette smoke trailing behind him. "You want something to drink? I can get anything you want."
"Butterbeer's fine."
Harry nodded and reached into a small bar Draco hadn't noticed before. He pulled out a dark brown glass bottle of butterbeer, which he tossed to Draco. For himself he pulled out a small bottle of clear liquor.
"Shots, Potter?" Draco questioned. "What, are you trying to kill yourself? Smoking and alcohol too?"
"Voldemort's the one who is going to kill me, Malfoy. Not a pack of cigarettes or too much liquor."
"You've got one dismal attitude."
Harry didn't say anything for a moment. He stared into his small black shot glass, swirling the liquid around inside. After a moment he tossed the drink back with a gulp, shuddering slightly as the alcohol burned down his throat.
"I'm realistic," Harry corrected after pouring himself another shot. He tipped that one back immediately, barely even waiting until he had swallowed before reaching for another bottle.
"I'm a dead man," Harry continued between gulps, pausing every once in a while to take a long drag on his cigarette. "And I don't see any reason to pretend otherwise."
"What do Granger and Weasley think of that?" In spite of himself, Draco was curious. Harry was revealing himself to be a much more complex and dark individual than he'd ever thought.
"Dunno. Never bothered to ask them. Hermione'd probably tell me I was being stupid, and start pitying me more than usual. As for Ron, he'd be shocked, stutter for a bit, pat me on the back awkwardly, and leave it at that. Not the best of friends."
Draco finished off his butterbeer and set the bottle down, contemplating what Harry had just told him. "What other secrets are you hiding, Potter?" he queried, mostly to himself.
"Why should I trust you?" Harry responded immediately, turning his large emerald eyes to bear directly on Draco's silver ones. "How do I know that you're not just trying to befriend me in order to betray me?"
"I think you've had too much to drink," Draco answered slowly, "as it's pretty obvious you're paranoid."
"Paranoid?" Harry demanded, flabbergasted. "It's a well known fact that your father is a Death Eater. I've got Voldemort out like a bloodhound for my blood. And I just reread 1984. I may be paranoid, but it's understandable."
"What does 1984 have to do with this?"
"Nothing. Everything." Harry paused, sighing and moving over to one of the couches. He flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette, rubbing his forehead with one hand and took a soothing drag before continuing.
"I really don't know what to think anymore," he admitted, talking so quietly Draco had to strain to hear it. "My professors have turned out to be Death Eaters in the past, so I can't trust them. Ron and Hermione, well, they're alright, but they don't understand. They think just because they've done a little that they're ready for everything. They don't have the visions or the nightmares. They're so damn innocent. And even Dumbledore… he just reminds me too much of that old man in the antique shop. He could betray me at any moment, if he thought it would help him."
"What are you saying?" Draco asked when Harry didn't seem to want to say anything more. "That you're constantly on the lookout for the Thought Police? Dumbledore's not going to do anything to you- he needs you too badly."
"What would Dumbledore say if he knew I smoked? Or that I get totally pissed every other day? What would he do if he knew I was spending time with you, or contemplating whether or not I should defect over to Voldemort or… shit."
"I did not just hear that."
"What, shit?"
"No. You've thought about joining Voldemort?"
Harry winced, but nodded anyway. "What else am I supposed to do? If I fight I'll lose. If I run he'll find me." Harry wrenched his head up and away, looking at anything but Draco. "And what the hell am I doing talking to you about this?"
"Give me that cigarette." Harry handed it over without complaint. Draco took a deep breath, hacking as the smoke entered his lungs. "Christ, Potter, how do you stand this thing?" he coughed, his lungs burning.
"You get used to it after a while. I used to think it was terrible when my cousin started. But he's always been a little bitch, and he always gets his way. Didn't want Uncle Vernon to find out he'd been smoking fags, so he stashed 'em in my room."
"So, what, you smoked them in order to get your cousin out of trouble?"
"Something like that." Harry shivered, remembering the lovely conversation with Dudley that had made him start smoking.
"Why, if you hate the bugger so much? Why not just tell him to go and off himself?"
"Dudley can be very… persuasive. And once I got started, it wasn't so bad. He'd give me cigarettes because I didn't have the money to buy them. And I'd do stuff for him."
"Stuff like what?"
"Just favors and stuff. Taking the fall for him, cleaning his room, not telling my uncle and aunt about the shit he pulled." Harry snorted. "Not that they would have cared if they'd known." By this time he'd abandoned the shot glass and was drinking straight out of the bottle. "Probably would have told me that Dudley's deviance was all my doing."
"Are you sure you're alright, Potter?"
"Fuck no."
"Look, Potter, why don't you just get back to your dorm room. I may be a bastard, but I don't enjoy taking advantage of drunken souses."
"Why not?" Harry leaned right up into Draco's face, pushing the other boy's legs apart and rubbing against his crotch. "You know, when I first met you, I thought that you were like my cousin with a wand." He paused, grinning dazedly. "Well, my cousin wouldn't care if he took advantage of me. He'd do it all the time. You scared?"
Draco was just staring at Harry with a look of utter revulsion. "You're drunk."
"Makes it more fun, doesn't it?" Harry asked impishly, pushing up Draco's shirt with clumsy hands.
"Do you even know what you're doing?"
"Are you trying to tell me you don't want me?" Harry pouted, pulling back. He removed his own shirt with drunken slowness, hooking his thumbs in the low waistband of his pants.
Draco couldn't help but stare at Harry's thin, scarred chest, his eyes roaming lower and lower. Harry was attractive, and there was no point in even trying to deny it. He watched with horrified fascination as Harry took an incredibly long swig out of the bottle, gasping for breath when he was done. He stuck the cigarette in one corner of his mouth, moving it back and forth as he stretched languidly. He winked, noticing Draco's gawking, and began to run his hands back and forth against Draco's smooth chest.
"Do you know what the fuck you're doing?" Draco asked in a high voice, trying to ignore the goose bumps that prickled over his skin as Harry's light fingers ghosted over his flesh.
"Course I do," Harry asserted, insulted. He plucked the cigarette out of his mouth and twiddled it between his fingers. "Told you, I do this all the time for Dudley."
"You do what?"
"What's so wrong with that? No one worth their own piss would do anything for Dudders, so I do it. And he gives me my cigs."
"You said you did favors for your cousin!"
"Jealous, Draco?" Harry wanted to know, kissing Draco's navel. "Don't worry, I'll do the same for you." Draco moaned, half with longing and half out of shock. Harry grinned, encouraged.
"Don't worry, little Dragon," he crooned, rising to his knees in order to face Draco on a more equal level, "I like you much better." Harry winked and pressed his own lips to Draco's in a rough kiss. His hands continued to skate over Draco's skin, and Draco unconsciously arched into the touch.
With a remarkable display of self control, Draco pushed Harry off, sending the inebriated boy sprawling across the floor. "Look," he managed, breathless from the ferocity of the kiss, "I'm going to take you straight to Dumbledore. I may not like the man, but there's something seriously fucked up with you Potter."
"He won't do anything."
"What do you mean he won't do anything? You're being fucking raped by your fucking cousin."
"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."
"Who the hell told you that, Potter?"
"Dumbledore," Harry admitted, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling, captivated by hallucinations only he could see. "Dumbledore doesn't care for anything, really, so long as he wins. He told me it should only make me want to work harder to defeat Voldemort. After all, the sooner he's dead, the sooner I can move out from the Dursley's house."
"What am I supposed to do with you then?" Draco demanded, frustrated. "I can't leave you, and I can't dump you off on anyone, and if I stay you're going to… to… I don't even know what you're going to do next!"
Harry's only answer was a loud snore.