Issues - 10
Title: Issues 10
Author/Artist: digthewriter
Word Count: 430
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: you can catch up here
Harry blinked a few times before he really registered what was happening. Malfoy was in front of him and offering him coffee.
"Hi." Harry still didn't believe this was real. Maybe it was a dream. Was he still drunk?
Malfoy chuckled slightly. "You're cute when you're confused," he said.
Harry scowled now. There was no way a Malfoy would say that to him.
"Fuck off," Harry said and slammed the door as he went into his house. Fuck the fantasy. Fuck the dream. Fuck everything.
There was a crack and then Malfoy was in front of him, looking cross. "What is your bloody problem, Potter?" he spat. His eyes dark with hate, or anger, or maybe lust -- Harry could hope. Maybe Malfoy liked being challenged and this was like foreplay or something.
"Not a dream then?" Harry asked, shrugging. He figured that would be his only redeeming feature. His confused flustered self. Malfoy seemed to like that about him (as a friend, at least).
"You're lucky I like you, Potter. I wouldn't put up with that kind of shite from anyone. Slamming the door on my face, who do you think you are?"
Harry stood there, confused, and a bit taken back. Malfoy liked him? Liked him? This was news. Of course, when he'd asked to take him home on several occasions that was a different story--he'd been drunk. This was sober Malfoy. Holding two cups of coffee, Malfoy. Looking like fucking I don't require sleep to just be this amazing, Malfoy. Really, how can someone look this good after an entire night of Firewhisky, and then some?
"Sobering up potions," Malfoy said, dryly.
"Was I talking out loud?" Harry asked, really fucking freaked out and paranoid. What the actual hell, Harry?
Malfoy gave him a scrutinising look. "You could use a sobering up potion, if you're still drunk. Or a hangover potion, perhaps."
Harry shrugged. "I was just going to make breakfast," he said. "I don't like potions. I'd rather just eat and feel bad about myself." He'd said it as a joke but it was all too real. He liked the feeling of -- whatever it was. He hated potions that took away his misery. After everything that'd happened to him when he was a kid, he liked knowing that now what he felt was all too real. His decisions -- as dumb as they were -- were his own and he'd have to live with them.
Even if they included drunkenly confessing to Malfoy that he loved him.
"I didn't know you cook," Malfoy said.
"Well, you never asked." PART 11
Author/Artist: digthewriter
Word Count: 430
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: you can catch up here
Harry blinked a few times before he really registered what was happening. Malfoy was in front of him and offering him coffee.
"Hi." Harry still didn't believe this was real. Maybe it was a dream. Was he still drunk?
Malfoy chuckled slightly. "You're cute when you're confused," he said.
Harry scowled now. There was no way a Malfoy would say that to him.
"Fuck off," Harry said and slammed the door as he went into his house. Fuck the fantasy. Fuck the dream. Fuck everything.
There was a crack and then Malfoy was in front of him, looking cross. "What is your bloody problem, Potter?" he spat. His eyes dark with hate, or anger, or maybe lust -- Harry could hope. Maybe Malfoy liked being challenged and this was like foreplay or something.
"Not a dream then?" Harry asked, shrugging. He figured that would be his only redeeming feature. His confused flustered self. Malfoy seemed to like that about him (as a friend, at least).
"You're lucky I like you, Potter. I wouldn't put up with that kind of shite from anyone. Slamming the door on my face, who do you think you are?"
Harry stood there, confused, and a bit taken back. Malfoy liked him? Liked him? This was news. Of course, when he'd asked to take him home on several occasions that was a different story--he'd been drunk. This was sober Malfoy. Holding two cups of coffee, Malfoy. Looking like fucking I don't require sleep to just be this amazing, Malfoy. Really, how can someone look this good after an entire night of Firewhisky, and then some?
"Sobering up potions," Malfoy said, dryly.
"Was I talking out loud?" Harry asked, really fucking freaked out and paranoid. What the actual hell, Harry?
Malfoy gave him a scrutinising look. "You could use a sobering up potion, if you're still drunk. Or a hangover potion, perhaps."
Harry shrugged. "I was just going to make breakfast," he said. "I don't like potions. I'd rather just eat and feel bad about myself." He'd said it as a joke but it was all too real. He liked the feeling of -- whatever it was. He hated potions that took away his misery. After everything that'd happened to him when he was a kid, he liked knowing that now what he felt was all too real. His decisions -- as dumb as they were -- were his own and he'd have to live with them.
Even if they included drunkenly confessing to Malfoy that he loved him.
"I didn't know you cook," Malfoy said.
"Well, you never asked." PART 11