Butterbeer might not be the most alcoholic beverage but once mixed with stronger drinks, it still could cause damages. Unfortunately for Harry, he made the poor decision to drink butterbeer after butterbeer, with whiskey in between.
He sat down in his bed, the blanket around his waist. He leant to his left to take his glasses on the nightstand. As he moved, he got dizzy. It was the first time he had drunk that much. His head was aching and his vision was blurry. Flashes of the night before came back to his mind as he looked around the room.
He talked with Draco till late. They kept on drinking. He got back into his room. He was not alone. He remembered being kissed. Fingers on his torso, unbuttoning his shirt. A sudden rush of guilt made him feel sick. He had cheated on Ginny. How could he have done that? And who was that girl? He had no memory of meeting another person. With his heart beating like a drum in his chest, he turned around to the other side of the bed.
Still sleeping was lying Draco Malfoy, shirtless (and probably naked but Harry did not want to check) and with messy hair. Harry's jaw fell from the shock. He spent the night with Malfoy? It were his hands he felt touching his body? He could not even dare to think of what happened after that. For some reason, his brain decided to forget it and he was thankful for that.
Shameful and nauseous, he quietly put on his clothes then tiptoed to the exit. When he closed the door, Draco was still peacefully asleep, with a light smile on his lips. He left the inn as fast as he could and headed to Grimmauld Place, checking behind his back every few steps. But who was he afraid of? Of Draco? Or of a witness? He could not tell. He only wanted to forget that story, to pretend to none of these ever happened.
He opened the door of his late godfather's house and fell on the closest chair. He wanted to sleep, to rest but when he closed his eyes, he saw Malfoy. He repressed a nausea as he tried to remember the previous night's events. How could he have slept with him? After all that happened between them. He was from a family of Death Eaters. He was a Death Eater! Yet he did not fight during the Battle of Hogwarts. "He's just a coward" said the little voice in his head. Maybe but he was brave when, at his Manor, he claimed that the prisoner was not Harry though he had recognized. Besides, it was not fair to judge him through his family: he was not his father, as Harry was not James.
He could not help to feel sorry for Malfoy. All he ever wanted was being loved. Harry was like him, when he was a child and did not know that he was a wizard. He understood him. Maybe that night was a mistake but he did not want to leave him alone. All the mistakes he made was because of love, and its lacks of. He wanted to help him, to hold out his hand, to remind him that he was there for him. After all, it seemed that he enjoyed himself the previous night, even before they got into his room.
He needed to talk to him. He had made mistakes but he could rectify it. He jumped out of his seat, run to the door and tried to find a muggle cab. No one to be seen. "You're a 18 years old wizard, you can Apparate!" reminded vividly the little voice. He looked around him, looking for possible witnesses. It was an early afternoon, on a weekday, on a deserted place, so he Apparated to a little dark street near the Leaky Cauldron.
He rushed into the inn, climbed the stairs and took the key of the room – hopefully he did not check out in the morning. He opened the door to an empty room. He called out. Maybe Draco was the kind to sleep in and maybe he was in the bathroom. Harry placed his ears against the door but he heard nothing. The room was silent.
For a few seconds, he was tempted to think that all those events were just the result of his imagination and alcohol and loneliness. He sat down on the bed, his head in his hands. He should be relieved. He should have been happy. So why was he crying? Why did he feel so empty?