HP fic: Cupid's Choice: Snake Bite & Black (Part 1/2)
Yes, you read that correctly - an HP fic. And, if that shocks you, check out the word count! It's a big 'un. I don't know how many folks were paying attention when I was angsting about writing a fest fic - well, this is the one. My first (and LAST) fest fic. Far, far too much stress caused by these deadline thingies...and try not to pay attention to the fact that two thirds of it were churned out in one VERY intensive night of writing. My betas are angels, that's all I'm saying.
Was written by me for chibitoaster as part of hd_holidays and the original anonymous version was posted here.
Author: rospberry
Recipient: chibitoaster
Title: Cupid’s Choice: Snake Bite & Black
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, Ginny/Neville
Summary: Draco is introduced to Harry’s love of fruit flavoured Muggle concoctions in a tale that Mills & Boon would be reluctant to tell. A little bit of humour, a little bit of flangst, and far too much snarky Draco.
Rating: hard R
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): Frottage and hand jobs and lots of boy kissing in later sections.
Epilogue compliant? Aside from Harry and Draco’s choice of partners, mostly yes.
Word Count: 12,358
Author's Notes: chibitoaster I so hope this has something you like. It’s not exactly what you asked for, but there’re next gen kids (which I’ve never written before) and awkward first times and romance Harry/ Draco style. Happy holidays!
Thanks so much to my amazing betas , bewarethesmirk and amightypenguin - and the mods, who were incredibly patient with me. Far, far more patient than I deserved!
*
"Stupefyingly dull speech, Potter. You excelled yourself."
Head dipped, presiding at an empty table festooned with the gaudy remnants of a Weasley family celebration, Harry stared harder into his pint glass and wished for the power of invisibility.
"Go ‘way, Malfoy."
"What sort of friend would I be if I left you sitting here on your own, depressed, and clearly on the verge of suicide?"
Ron and Hermione were too far away, and too busy waltzing around the crowded dance floor, to hear a cry for help. "You are not my friend, and I was sitting here quite happily thankyouverymuch until you interrupted me."
"Nonsense, Potter. You're pining. It's understandable: the love of your life has married another and you are inconsolable." The chair beside Harry's scraped noisily on the floor as Draco drew it out. "Anyone sitting here?"
"Yes," Harry said irritably, finally lifting his head to glare at the other man.
Draco seemed oblivious to Harry’s hostility as he slid his lean frame onto the chair. A small shrug barely caused a ripple in the elegant cut of his grey suit. "No matter, I'll move when they return."
Aside from physically pushing Draco off the seat - a childish temptation only tempered by the thought of Molly Weasley’s reaction if he started a fight at the reception - Harry had little choice than accept Draco's presence. And given how the large ballroom was ever so slightly tipping from side to side, standing and leaving with any dignity was not an option either.
He was trapped.
Draco was carefully hanging his suit jacket on the back of the chair, revealing a beautifully embroidered silver waistcoat.
As usual, Draco made Harry feel scruffy. Maybe if he was wearing his cravat rather than it poking out from the top pocket of the jacket slung carelessly over the back of his own chair. Or if his shirt wasn't untucked. He should have know better than to race around the tables carrying little Teddy Lupin on his shoulders; victory against George and his niece, Victoire, had come at a cost of dishevellement and a severely bruised kneecap.
Since it was becoming clear that Draco had no intention of leaving, he only had one recourse.
Harry lifted his glass and tipped his head back, noisily gulping down several mouthfuls. A trickle of the reddish liquid slid down the side of his chin and he wiped it of with the back of his hand as he set the glass down.
"What in Merlin’s name are you drinking?" Draco's grey eyes were staring at the garish contents of the glass in fascinated horror.
"It’s called a Snake Bite somethingorother. Yeah, a Snake Bite and Black," Harry remembered triumphantly. "Charlie told me about them."
"Charlie Weasley?"
"Yeah. Tastes nice."
"But what on earth is in it?"
A new voice startled them both. "Cider, lager and some blackcurrant cordial, sir. Would you care for one?" The source of the question was a smartly dressed waiter who’d appeared beside their table, tray in hand and clearly waiting for a reply.
"He keeps doing that," Harry observed, then pointed a wavering finger at the man, raised his voice. "You keep doing that. It’s annoying."
"Many apologies, sir. I am but here to serve."
Draco held up a neatly manicured hand. "Give me a moment." He reached out and drew Harry’s glass from the cradle of his hands, leaning forwards to sniff the contents, his nose wrinkling in disgust. "Potter, if you insist on ingesting Muggle alcohol, there are many far more palatable than this." Ignoring Harry’s splutter of indignation, he turned to the waiter. "Champagne, if you please. Dom Perignon, if you have it."
"Certainly, sir." The waiter clicked his fingers and a flute of golden liquid appeared on his tray. He placed the glass in front of Draco with a flourish. "Enjoy," he said, and was gone.
"That’s a girl’s drink."
"Says the man who is drinking something the colour of lipstick," Draco countered. "And at least mine doesn’t stain your clothes."
Harry frowned, following Draco’s gaze to the pink smear on his cuff. "Bloody hell," he muttered, grabbing a napkin from the table and dipping it in a glass of water, dabbing at the stain. "This was hired. Ginny’s going to kill me."
Soft laughter made him look up. "What?"
"You never cease to amuse me, Potter. Always thinking like a Muggle." His glee was irritating. "They’ll charm it clean in the shop."
The napkin fluttered to the floor at Harry’s feet. "You’re not funny."
Draco retrieved the napkin, pausing to look up at Harry, hair flicking into his eyes. He brushed the errant strands back. "I am absolutely hilarious. You just lack the wit to appreciate my sense of humour."
"You’re so right," Harry agreed. "I’m sure there are loads of people way better than me to annoy."
"But none quite so adorable."
If looks could kill then Draco would have been rotting alongside Voldemort at that moment; to make matters worse, he looked amused by Harry’s outrage.
Sighing, Harry gave up. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?"
"You looked so lonely, Potter, I couldn’t…"
"No, no." Harry shook his head. "Not here here. Here." He twirled a finger around the room. "Ginny and Neville’s wedding."
"Clearly, I was invited."
"Yeah, right."
"I would hardly gatecrash a Weasley wedding. I do have some standards, you know."
"Who would invite you?"
Draco clapped a hand to his chest. "That hurts, Potter. Truly." When Harry’s expression remained sceptical, he continued. "I came with Astoria. She plays on the Weaslette’s team and for some reason desired to attend this function. Who am I to deny a woman’s foibles?"
"Ah-hah! I knew you weren’t invited."
Draco took a sip of champagne and cast his eye disparagingly around the room, settling his gaze on Molly Weasley sitting by the door, as far away from the band as she could manage, rocking a flame-haired baby in her arms. "A guest, Potter, a guest. I am Astoria’s ‘plus one’ and she assures me the Weaslette agreed. I can only assume she was correct since I have not been chased from the building by fork-toting Weasleys."
Draco’s partner finally registered with Harry. "You’re here with Astoria? But I thought…"
Draco looked back at Harry, vaguely amused. "My sexual proclivities do not bar me from social events."
Embarrassed, Harry stuttered, "No, no, I didn’t mean…I was just…"
"Relax, Potter. I know what you meant. Astoria required an escort for the evening, and I was available. Keeps my mother happy," he added mildly, eyes sliding away.
For once, Harry showed a modicum of tact and changed the subject. "Um, yeah…so Astoria’s a Chaser, isn’t she? Ron thinks she’s not bad."
"Not bad? She’s world class. Almost as good as me, but then again, I have taught her everything she knows."
Harry snorted. "Yeah, someone told me you were playing Quidditch for a living." He pretended to think "You’re a Chaser as well, aren’t you? What happened to being a Seeker? Not good enough?"
It was a cruel jibe and Harry knew it. Draco was one of Quidditch’s rising stars, tipped for the national team in the next World Cup and continually plastered throughout the pages of Quidditch Weekly. The poster boy for a legion of wizards and witches alike, but, as the press frequently reported and Draco had just confirmed, only wizards had any chance.
Draco smiled lazily and slid a finger down the side of his glass, collecting moisture on his fingertip. "Unlike you, I was fortunate enough to gain some muscle and height," he said, licking the moisture away. Harry tried not to stare. "And discovered that other positions are infinitely more pleasing. I’d recommend it but I don’t think you have the experience."
"I’m experienced," Harry protested - a little too loudly judging from the stare he got from a passing reveller.
"I’m sure you are, Potter." The patronising tone indicated otherwise.
"I am. I change positions in Weasley games all the time."
"What you and Charlie get up to is no concern of mine."
Harry’s cheeks reddened and he stuttered, "That…That’s not what I meant and you know it."
"Do I?" A crocodile couldn’t have smiled any wider. "Perhaps I have been misinformed. You just can’t believe anything in print these days, can you?"
"Not all of it, no," Harry said.
Draco was clearly amused by Harry’s discomfort and he said nothing for a few minutes, the smile never leaving his lips.
Harry looked away, watching a swarm of red-headed children race around the outskirts of the dance floor. Arthur Weasley, red-faced and puffing, was running after them, and Harry wasn’t sure if he was playing or trying to catch the little terrors.
Adults were thumping back and forth the in a grotesque parody of Scottish dancing. Arms flailing and feet bouncing as if on hot coals, seemed to be the general theme, and Harry saw Hermione dragging Ron alongside her, his staggering steps testament to how many whiskies he’d had during the meal.
There was no sign of the happy couple, though, and Harry envied them. They’d managed to sneak off with no one noticing. Lucky sods.
He took another mouthful of his drink.
"Since we are on the topic of illustrious careers, Potter," Draco said, snapping Harry back to the conversation. "What is it you do again? Auror? Work for the Ministry? Ah, no, I remember now - you work in a joke shop."
Business partner in the highly successful chain of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes was hardly ‘working in a joke shop’ but Harry knew he deserved the quip. George, had he not disappeared with Angelina to their hotel room upstairs, would, however, have flattened Draco. Harry felt obliged to retort.
"And you sit your arse on a broom."
"Touché." Draco raised his glass, still smiling. "To us, the undisputed layabouts of the wizarding world."
Harry couldn’t help but smile back. "To us," he agreed and swallowed the remnants of his drink. "I need another one of these."
*
Draco watched as Harry worked his way through several pints of his vivid concoction, progressing from tipsy to drunk in less than an hour. And with each pint Harry edged his seat closer to Draco’s so that by the third he might as well have been sitting on Draco’s lap.
"You know," Harry said loudly, poking a finger into Draco’s chest. "I hated you at school."
"The feeling was mutual."
"Was it?"
Harry’s hand had dropped on to Draco’s thigh and squeezed. "Potter," Draco stared at his hand, "what do you think you are doing?"
"Nothing."
"Well, I’d be grateful if you did nothing with your hand elsewhere."
Harry ignored him, leaning closer and flicking buttons the buttons of Draco’s waistcoat open, one by one. "But now I’m thinking you’re not so bad. Not bad at all."
Draco shifted uncomfortably in his chair, the warmth radiating from Harry’s body caressing his skin. "I’m flattered, Potter, but I suspect that in this state you’d even say that to Filch."
"Nah." Harry attempted to shake his head but clearly thought better of it and only managed a half-wiggle. "You’re much better than Filch. You," the finger stabbed again and harder, "Draco Weasley, are very hot."
Malfoy froze. "Malfoy, Potter, it’s Draco Malfoy."
"Tha’s what I said."
"No. It wasn’t." Draco managed to draw his chair back sharply, leaving Harry clutching at the air and on the verge of toppling to the floor.
Righting himself, Harry blinked owlishly. "Wha’ did I do?"
Draco just shook his head in annoyance, trying not to react when Harry tugged the cravat from his jacket pocket and waved it in the air.
"Truce."
"Truce flags are generally white, Potter."
"Pffft. This is a special flag." The ‘special’ flag was waved more viciously, and Draco wondered just how much it would take for Harry to fall off the chair. Amusing as the thought was, he snatched Harry’s cravat from his fingers and shoved it in his own coat pocket.
"You should think about sobering up, Potter, or going home, before you do yourself an injury."
"Can’t go home, Ginny said not to. She thought we’d all get too drunk to Appa…Appa…to swish home, so she booked us all rooms in the hotel. Upstairs. But not you though, ‘cause you," with Draco out of reach, the pointing finger stabbed the air, "weren’t best man like me."
"I did tragically miss out on that honour, yes."
"You’re being sarcastical." Harry’s bottom lip jutted out as he considered what he’d just said. Draco found, to his horror, that he thought the expression was rather adorable.
"Sarcastic," he corrected quickly. "And I’m never that, Potter."
"Hermione! Ron! You’re back!" Harry bellowed, startling Draco, who turned to look at the approaching couple. They looked like they’d just stumbled back from the battlefield at Hogwarts; Ron was clinging to Hermione for support, wide eyes trying to focus on Draco.
"You’re Draco Miffloy," he slurred. "Tha’s my seat you’re shittin’ in."
Harry giggled and Hermione smacked the side of Ron’s head with her free hand. "Ron!"
"Wha’ did I say?" He winked at Harry in pantomime of subtlety and looked enormously pleased with himself.
"You promised your mum you would be nice."
"I am…" he belched and Hermione leaned back, tutting, "I am always, always, always…what am I always?"
"Nice," Harry finished.
"And I thought Harry on his own was bad enough," Draco said, feeling a surprising moment of affinity with Hermione Weasley.
"You have no idea," she agreed, guiding Ron to another chair and depositing him none-too-gently in it.
As she took a seat beside Draco, the waiter popped into existence, and before Hermione could stop him, Ron had ordered them all whiskies. Doubles.
"Ron," she scolded, watching him down his in one swallow.
"Is jus’ one drink, ‘Mione."
"Sometimes I don’t know why I married you, Ron Weasley. I feel like I’ve two children and not just one."
"Come ‘ere." Ron reached out to try and pull Hermione in for a kiss, and she swivelled away from him, leaving him flailing.
"Draco," she said brightly, tucking some loose curls behind her ear. Draco had to admit that unlike her slovenly husband, she looked rather attractive that evening, and her attempts at civility were refreshing. "Are you having a nice time?"
"It’s most definitely been entertaining," he replied. "Potter, here, has been enlightening me about his love life."
"Really?" Hermione said, surprised.
"He was admitting his undying love for me, isn’t that right, Potter?" Draco said, expecting a flurry of slurring denials, but instead saw that Harry had fallen asleep, his head lolling against his chest.
"Harry’s drunk," Ron declared. "Can’t hold ‘is whisky."
"Merlin’s beard," Draco looked at the unconscious man, shaking his head. "He’s going to regret that tomorrow. Whisky on top of the swill he’s been drinking."
Hermione sighed heavily. "And now I’ve got to get him upstairs to bed. And him," she bobbed her head at Ron, "and retrieve Rose from Molly. She’ll be needing a feed soon."
Draco heard the words come out of his mouth before he could stop them. "I’ll make sure Potter gets to his room safely."
Hermione looked relieved. "Could you, Draco? That would be extremely helpful."
"I seem to have no other obligations this evening; my date appears to have absconded with Oliver Wood."
"Just make sure you get him there in one piece," she said and looked despairingly at her own inebriated husband. "Try to resist the temptation to strangle him."
Ron was peering into his empty glass and sensed her looking. "I think I’m jus’ going to have another for the road, love." He focused on the full glass in front of Draco. "Miffloy, you wanting tha’?"
Draco slid the glass to Ron’s open hand. "Knock yourself out, Weasley."
"Thank you so much, Draco. And there was me thinking I’d misjudged you."
Draco took the key to Harry’s room that Hermione was holding out to him. "I can’t have you actually liking me, Granger," he said. "It would upset the balance of the Universe."
"It’s Weasley now. Or you even try out ‘Hermione’ if you liked."
"You’ll always be Granger to me."
*
Negotiating the corridors was tricky, the stairs even more so, and Draco cursed the hotel’s malfunctioning lift. On several occasions he nearly resorted to magic, but the penalties for unauthorised use of the Obliviation charm were high and he couldn’t take the risk of a Muggle seeing him. Not for the first time did he curse the new Muggle-protection laws.
So he had to half-carry an increasingly tactile Harry Potter up five flights of stairs, and by the time he reached the room, he was sure no part of him had remained unfondled. At any other time he would have been flattered, but Harry was slurring out an assortment of names and not one of them was Draco Malfoy. It was guaranteed to kill any twinges he might have been feeling.
"Watch it, Charlie," Harry gasped as Draco propped him against the wall to unlock the door.
"It’s Draco." The key slid into the lock but Harry’s fingers wrapped clumsily around his and stopped him from turning the key.
Harry’s other hand pawed at the front of his shirt. "Are you comin’ in for a night cap?" Harry giggled and his hand slid lower to the front of Draco’s trousers only to be stopped by tight grip.
"No, Potter, you’re going to bed."
"Yeah, with you."
"No." Draco finally managed to get the key turned and pushed the door inwards, taking advantage of Harry’s lack of co-ordination to bundle him into the room.
Harry stumbled into the small hallway, his stunned expression brightening when Draco held out a hand. He reached out and Draco pressed the room key into his damp palm.
"Drink lots of water and go to bed, Potter," he said, and to Harry’s obvious surprise, he pulled the door closed.
Draco’s heart was thudding in his chest and he rested a palm against the closed door to centre himself. Inside the room he could hear the receding sound of staggered footsteps and a door closing.
It was a relief, now that Harry was inside he could stop pretending and admit just how hard pushing him away had been. Being called ‘Charlie’ dampened the fire, but didn’t quench it. It was too well entrenched.
He let out a breath and pushed away from the door, straightening his tie and smoothing his suit jacket. A bulge in the inner pocket made him frown, and he pulled out Harry’s cravat.
His lips quirked. "Well, well, well, Potter, looks like you haven’t got rid of me that easily."
*
When Draco strolled into Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes to return Harry’s crinkled cravat a couple of days later, Harry was surprised and embarrassed.
But Draco didn’t mention the events of the wedding, and Harry, relieved, played along. Feeling defensive and proud, he gave Draco a tour, thankful that George was over at the old Zonko’s shop doing a stock take.
Draco made a good pretence of being interested, even when Harry began to babble, and insisted on buying some Skiving Snackboxes and, with a smirk, an edible Dark Mark.
They went for a drink - giving George much fuel for a week’s worth of ridicule. And arranged to meet the following Sunday for lunch.
Draco, Harry quickly realised - although still an arrogantly pompous prat - was actually fun to be with. Whether Draco thought the same of Harry, Harry couldn’t be sure, but what was a couple of lunches soon became a regular Sunday engagement much to Ron’s horror.
"You’re mates with that prick?"
"Yeah, sort of."
"But it’s Malfoy!"
"Ron, leave him alone and finish your dinner." Hermione effectively silenced Ron’s arguments.
So, every Sunday Harry and Draco would meet in Hogsmeade, and Harry, only slightly tipsy because he had to work the next day, would Apparate back to Grimmauld Place and spend the rest of his evening with Kreacher. As far as Harry could tell, Draco went back to Malfoy Manor.
Occasionally, Harry considered inviting Draco back to his home, but he didn’t. It might have given Draco the wrong impression. Not that Harry necessarily minded Draco having the wrong impression, but it didn’t seem to be reciprocated. Draco had made it perfectly clear they were friends and that suited Harry fine. Absolutely fine, he assured himself.
When Harry had to attend a christening, interrupting their weekly lunch, Harry was disturbed by how disappointed he was. Draco, however, when Harry told him he’d have to cancel, didn’t seem too bothered.
If Harry were to be completely honest, it stung.
*
"What’s he doing here?" Harry heard Ron not-so-subtly hiss at Hermione, a few pairs of eyes glaring at him as the Minister droned on at the front of the church.
Harry turned and was surprised to see Draco Malfoy sitting in the back row of the church, looking ridiculously out of place amongst the ragtaggle assortment of Weasleys and their extended family.
As surprised and interested in her response as Ron, Harry leaned as close as he could without suffocating his newly christened goddaughter, Rose. She was nestled in the cradle of his arms and sucking at the sleeve of his jacket.
"I invited him," Hermione hissed back.
"What the bloody hell for?" Ron said, earning a disapproving ‘shush’ from a woman in the row behind.
"I thought he’d be good company for Harry."
What? Harry thought. Me?
"Harry?" Ron said, eyes shooting to Harry for an explanation.
Harry shrugged. "Don’t look at me," he said. "I didn’t know he was coming."
"’Mione?"
"Just leave it, Ron. Pay attention to the service."
Ron settled into a grumpy silence, flicking his eyes back to Draco Malfoy occasionally as though expecting the other to attack at any moment.
Harry caught Draco looking at him and waved Rose’s hand up and down. Draco smiled when Rose took the opportunity to vomit milk down the front of Harry’s suit and her ornately frilled, and centuries old, christening gown.
*
It wasn’t until they were settled in an upstairs room of the pub along the road, doors enchanted against Muggles, plates filled with sandwiches and tea cups filled to the brim, that Harry had a chance to speak to Draco.
"You never said you were coming," he challenged, taking a seat at the table Draco had found in the corner.
Draco pointed a finger across the crowded room at Hermione, who had been accosted by both sets of grandparents, both intent on doting on Rose. "She swore me to secrecy. Said it would be a nice surprise. Merlin knows why."
"She’s a woman," Harry said sagely, as though that was all the explanation required.
Draco nodded.
"Do we have to sit at a table with him," Ron’s voice boomed out. He had stopped at the empty chair beside Harry and was scowling.
"Ron, leave off would you, and sit down."
"Yes, Weasley, please take a seat beside us. I do so love your intellectual conversation. We can discuss bottoms and farting."
Harry groaned. "Draco, pack it in."
"But why? It’s fun. And it’s such a novelty to see him sober. Look at his forehead; I swear that blood vessel is going to rupture any second. You might want to cover your tea cup."
"What do you do, Malfoy, read a dictionary when you go to bed?"
"Yes, but you wouldn’t like it, Weasley: no pictures."
"You’re not that clever."
"But I am and you know it." Draco cocked his head to the side. "Are you just going to hover at our table all day or sit down? Or here’s an insane thought: you could go sit with your wife and daughter."
Ron looked genuinely puzzled, glancing over at Hermione. "What for? She’s managing fine on her own and she knows where I am." His heaped plate landed heavily on the table and Ron seated himself, stuffing a sandwich in his mouth as he said, "She’s loving it, really."
Harry looked over at Hermione and thought she looked far from ‘loving it’; she looked harassed and tired, surrounded now by a mass of cuckolding Weasleys; even her own parents had been pushed to the side.
"She looks thrilled," Draco said dryly, sharing a look with Harry.
"Uncle Harry! Uncle Ron!" two excited voices screamed. Teddy Lupin and Victoire Weasley barrelled in their direction from the midst of the throng. "Auntie Hermione said you’d keep us entertained."
"Oh, she did, did she?" Harry grinned, and scooped Teddy up off the ground, tipping him upside down as the boy squealed in delight. "What do you think, Vicky, should I drop him?"
Victoire, a year younger than Teddy but infinitely more sensible, nodded briskly, her red pigtails bouncing. "Drop him," she agreed.
"Nooooo!" Teddy yelled as Harry loosened his grip and let the little boy plunge a few inches. The giggling reached crescendo pitch and by the time Harry set Teddy on his feet again both he and Victoire were breathless and wheezing.
"More! More!"
"No, way. I’m old and knackered," Harry said. "Draco, you’re not doing anything, why don’t you give him a swing?"
The look of horror on Draco’s face was priceless. "I do not swing children, Potter."
"Aw, come on, Malfoy, you’d love it." Ron spoke around a mouthful of crisps, spitting some onto the table.
"No, no and no. Have I made myself clear enough?"
Victoire was tugging hard at Harry’s sleeve and he looked down. "What is it?"
Her bright blue eyes were staring at Draco. "Who is he, Uncle Harry?"
"That’s your Uncle Draco."
"I am not her Uncle Draco," Draco said loudly. "We are barely related. I am no more family to her than I am to this uncouth cretin, here."
Ron scowled. "I don’ want to be related to you either, Malfoy. You’re a prat."
"Uncle Ron said a swear," Teddy exclaimed. "He’s gonna get in so much trouble."
"Aw, shite, I’ll get an earful from Hermione now."
"You did another." Teddy poked Ron’s shoulder. "Gran says your hair will fall out if you use swears."
"Would be a good look for you, Weasley."
"Push off, Malfoy." Ron pushed his chair away from the table. "I need a drink. You want anything, Harry?"
"Could you get me a Snake Bite and Black?"
"A what?"
"It’s a Muggle drink, Weasley, don’t you know anything?"
Ron ignored him. "Come and ask for it yourself. It sounds like a girl’s drink."
Harry looked apologetically at Draco as he got to his feet. "We’ll be back in a minute. Do you want anything?"
"No, thank you, Potter. I think I’ll just stick with tea."
"Keep an eye on the kids, would you?"
"You’d better just be a minute."
Ron snorted. "Not scared of a couple of kids, are you?"
Harry pushed Ron in the direction of the bar before Draco lynched him. As he looked back at the table and saw the discomfort on Draco’s face, he thought maybe the answer to Ron’s question was ‘yes’.
*
Draco was finding the little monsters amusing. Swinging them around had been less unpleasant than he’d thought, and the discovery that they believed everything they were told was far too much of a temptation to resist.
"What do we call you?"
"You can call me Your Highness. And if you want to bow or curtsey then that is acceptable."
Victoire and Teddy stared at him, their eyes as huge as saucers. Exchanging glances, and in a flurry of limbs, they both bowed, then curtsied, then giggled.
"Adequate for a first attempt," Draco said seriously. "Although it is preferable for ladies to curtsey and gentlemen to bow."
"Why?" Teddy demanded. Draco frowned and he hastily added, "Your Highness."
"Decorum."
Victoire slowly repeated the word. "Dec-cor-im."
"Decorum," Draco corrected. "A word not often heard amongst the Weasleys."
"Draco," Hermione chastised, overhearing his last remark. She's managed to escape the clutches of the Weasley hordes and had Rose balanced in one arm, the other holding a bag filled with gaily wrapped gifts.
That reminded Draco he hadn’t passed along his present and he pulled it from the inside of his jacket: a small box neatly wrapped in tissue paper. "For Rose," he said, showing the box to Hermione and slipping it into the bag with the others.
"Thank you," she said. "But that doesn’t get you off the hook. You were terrorising the kids."
"If I am reluctantly abandoned with the offspring of your family, then I think I am allowed the pleasure of taunting them, don't you?"
"Abandoned?" she said, her face tightening. "Where're Ron and Harry?"
"I believe Harry is introducing your husband to a Muggle concoction called a Snake Bite and Black."
"They're at the bar?"
"That was where they were headed," Draco agreed, "with the promise to return swiftly and relieve me of babysitting duties. That was half an hour ago."
Hermione looked thunderous. "I’ve just about had it with those two," she muttered and with an abrupt, "Here, take Rose for a minute," Draco suddenly found his arms full of squirming child.
"I don't want..."
His protestations fell on deaf ears; Hermione was already marching off across the room in search of her errant husband.
Rose was happily gurgling to herself, fascinated with the buttons on Draco's shirt. A slither of mucous was leaking from one nostril and Draco eyed it, and Rose, with disfavour. "One mark on my shirt and your mother will be changing nappies on an orang-utan," he threatened. Rose's fat little fingers tugged at one of the buttons and she burped in response.
"Your Highness?" Teddy said, forcing Draco's attention away from Rose.
"Yes?"
"Me and Vicky want to go to the buffet."
"And?"
"We aren't allowed without an adult. Auntie Hermione said." Victoire nudged him and he bowed.
She rolled her eyes and said, "No, you idiot, you need to say Your Highness at the end."
"Oh, yeah, right. Forgot. Your Highness," Teddy finished and bowed again just to make sure.
Rising carefully from the chair, awkwardly positioning Rose so her grubby fingers were removed from his shirt, Draco nodded. "Right then, minions, to the buffet. And only fill your plates with as much as you can eat."
Teddy and Victoire yelped in delight and raced off in the direction of the food.
"Your Uncle Harry is going to owe me for this," he informed Rose, who was staring at the long strands of his hair brushing the top of his jacket with devious intent, and followed after them.
*
"You a'right?" Harry asked for the third time, his alcohol-laden breath huffing in Draco's face.
"Yes, Potter, I'm exceptional. I would be even more exceptional if you refrained from leaning on me."
"I’m not leanin’, I’m just tired is all."
"If tired is another way of saying drunk, then yes, you are. Very drunk. Is this becoming a habit for you these days?"
"Nah, only when I can get Muggle drinks."
"I still don’t see what the attraction is. The stuff smells like fruit juice."
"Ribena," Harry corrected. "The blackcurrant stuff that’s in it. Makes it sweet. You should try it, you’d like it."
"Maybe another time."
"Muggles say that it gets you drunk fast." Harry’s hand rested on Draco’s arm. "But I don’t think so."
"Absolutely not. You are as sober as a judge."
Nimble fingers trailed down Draco’s sleeve and stroked against the back of his wrist. Draco cleared his throat and pulled his hand away, reaching out for the half-full wine glass that a few hours before had replaced the tea. It was a mistake; Harry’s hand dropped directly onto Draco’s thigh and continued caressing.
"Potter, stop that. There are children present."
"They aren’t watching. Nobody’s watching. We’re all by ourselves." Each stroke shot straight to Draco’s groin.
What Harry said was true. Once Hermione had found her errant husband and Harry, she’d relieved Draco of his growing entourage of adoring children in exchange for the latter. There was a flurry of curtseys and bows as Draco led Harry back to their corner table; he remembered to wave regally, entertained by the surrounding adults’ confusion as they collected their offspring.
Most of the children had long gone, only adults remained, and some couples with sleeping tots in baskets at their sides.
Hermione was chattering to Ginny Weasley, rocking Rose gently in her arms, while they both ignored Ron’s snores. He was stretched out along the bench seat opposite them, several empty pint glasses on the table with the dregs of reddish liquid in them.
It had been a long day, but a pleasant one, and Draco was too tired to summon the energy to fend off Harry’s not unwanted advances. He was not, however, accustomed to being groped so blatantly in public.
Harry’s hand cupped against the bulge in his trousers and he let out a groan. "Potter, please. Not here."
"Why not?" Harry whispered against his neck, fondling Draco’s balls through the fabric.
"Because…" It sounded too much like a squeak and Draco tried again. "Because I’m asking you to …sweet Merlin…stop it, Potter." Sweat was beading on his forehead, and he was pressing into Harry’s hand. His voice was saying no, but his body was screaming ‘yes, right now, right here’.
They were at a Weasley christening. It wasn’t right. "No," he managed with a little more conviction. "No, Potter, no."
Something in his tone must have got through to Harry because the hand lifted. He almost asked for Harry to put it back, but he saw people were beginning to move. The bar staff were sliding down the shutters and encouraging the guests to vacate the room.
"Everybody’s leaving," he said, hearing the strain in his voice. He was still achingly hard and it was taking all of his will power not to reach down and finish what Harry started. Filch, he thought, Ron Weasley. Charlie Weasley. He let out a breath of relief as the tension abruptly lessened.
"Let them." Harry sounded sleepy and his head was growing heavier on Draco’s shoulder.
Draco shrugged it off, forcing Harry to sit upright, and for a moment Draco thought Harry was going to vomit. His face bleached of colour and he dropped his head.
"I’m going to be sick."
"No wonder," Draco said unsympathetically, watching normal colour return to Harry’s cheeks. A waitress was heading in their direction and he nodded his understanding at her. "We’re just going."
She smiled and turned to another cluster of bleary-eyed guests.
"Get up, Potter."
"Do I have to?"
"Unfortunately for me, yes you do. Come on, up you get."
With Draco’s help, Harry staggered to his feet. "Don’t let me drink like this again."
"As if anything I said would have stopped you."
"’Course it would. I trust you."
Draco paused in their weaving path, shocked by what Harry had just said. He opened his mouth to question the statement when Hermione’s voice interrupted him.
"I’m feeling a sense of déjà vu," Hermione said, smiling at him and bobbing her head at Harry, and then in Ron’s recumbent direction.
"A most unpleasant one. I don’t suppose there are convenient hotel rooms booked this time?"
"No, I didn’t expect the two of them to drink so much."
"Aren’t you the optimist?"
"I used to be," Hermione said. "Look, Draco, I know it’s a lot to ask but is there any chance you could…?"
"I’ll get Potter home."
She smiled her thanks. "That takes a load of my mind."
"Do you have a Portkey or is there a Floo nearby?"
"Harry’s house isn’t connected to the network - the Ministry thought it was too dangerous after…you know… It’s bad enough the Fidelius charm was broken."
Draco didn’t want to be drawn into a discussion of the past. "I could Apparate us somewhere nearby if you gave me his address."
She looked appalled at the notion. "But you’ve been drinking."
"Not that much."
"You’d still be over the limit to Apparate you both. Take a taxi."
"A taxi? I am not getting in a taxi."
"You don’t have to. Just pop Harry in one and then you can break the law if you like without risking Harry’s life."
Draco glared at her. "These new laws are a damned nuisance. Forcing us to resort to Muggle transport rather than Apparate home."
"The Anti-drink Apparition laws are there for our protection, Draco," Hermione said starchly. "As well you know. Can you imagine what state these two would arrive home in if they Apparated?"
"In several liquefied pieces," Draco agreed.
Hermione’s expression was calculating. "You could always get the Knight Bus."
"Take this," Draco jerked a thumb towards Harry, "on that lurching monstrosity? I don’t see how he’s going to stand without regurgitating his meal, never mind travel. The house-elves are good with laundry but they can’t perform miracles, and this suit cost me more than your yearly salary."
"Are you just going to spend all night arguing with me, Draco, or are you going to admit I’m right?"
"I would never deign to admit you were correct, Granger, but I concede that a taxi might be the most convenient solution."
"I’m right."
"Smugness is not an attractive character trait." Draco nudged Harry towards the door.
"I’m still right."
*
onto part two
Was written by me for chibitoaster as part of hd_holidays and the original anonymous version was posted here.
Author: rospberry
Recipient: chibitoaster
Title: Cupid’s Choice: Snake Bite & Black
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, Ginny/Neville
Summary: Draco is introduced to Harry’s love of fruit flavoured Muggle concoctions in a tale that Mills & Boon would be reluctant to tell. A little bit of humour, a little bit of flangst, and far too much snarky Draco.
Rating: hard R
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): Frottage and hand jobs and lots of boy kissing in later sections.
Epilogue compliant? Aside from Harry and Draco’s choice of partners, mostly yes.
Word Count: 12,358
Author's Notes: chibitoaster I so hope this has something you like. It’s not exactly what you asked for, but there’re next gen kids (which I’ve never written before) and awkward first times and romance Harry/ Draco style. Happy holidays!
Thanks so much to my amazing betas , bewarethesmirk and amightypenguin - and the mods, who were incredibly patient with me. Far, far more patient than I deserved!
*
"Stupefyingly dull speech, Potter. You excelled yourself."
Head dipped, presiding at an empty table festooned with the gaudy remnants of a Weasley family celebration, Harry stared harder into his pint glass and wished for the power of invisibility.
"Go ‘way, Malfoy."
"What sort of friend would I be if I left you sitting here on your own, depressed, and clearly on the verge of suicide?"
Ron and Hermione were too far away, and too busy waltzing around the crowded dance floor, to hear a cry for help. "You are not my friend, and I was sitting here quite happily thankyouverymuch until you interrupted me."
"Nonsense, Potter. You're pining. It's understandable: the love of your life has married another and you are inconsolable." The chair beside Harry's scraped noisily on the floor as Draco drew it out. "Anyone sitting here?"
"Yes," Harry said irritably, finally lifting his head to glare at the other man.
Draco seemed oblivious to Harry’s hostility as he slid his lean frame onto the chair. A small shrug barely caused a ripple in the elegant cut of his grey suit. "No matter, I'll move when they return."
Aside from physically pushing Draco off the seat - a childish temptation only tempered by the thought of Molly Weasley’s reaction if he started a fight at the reception - Harry had little choice than accept Draco's presence. And given how the large ballroom was ever so slightly tipping from side to side, standing and leaving with any dignity was not an option either.
He was trapped.
Draco was carefully hanging his suit jacket on the back of the chair, revealing a beautifully embroidered silver waistcoat.
As usual, Draco made Harry feel scruffy. Maybe if he was wearing his cravat rather than it poking out from the top pocket of the jacket slung carelessly over the back of his own chair. Or if his shirt wasn't untucked. He should have know better than to race around the tables carrying little Teddy Lupin on his shoulders; victory against George and his niece, Victoire, had come at a cost of dishevellement and a severely bruised kneecap.
Since it was becoming clear that Draco had no intention of leaving, he only had one recourse.
Harry lifted his glass and tipped his head back, noisily gulping down several mouthfuls. A trickle of the reddish liquid slid down the side of his chin and he wiped it of with the back of his hand as he set the glass down.
"What in Merlin’s name are you drinking?" Draco's grey eyes were staring at the garish contents of the glass in fascinated horror.
"It’s called a Snake Bite somethingorother. Yeah, a Snake Bite and Black," Harry remembered triumphantly. "Charlie told me about them."
"Charlie Weasley?"
"Yeah. Tastes nice."
"But what on earth is in it?"
A new voice startled them both. "Cider, lager and some blackcurrant cordial, sir. Would you care for one?" The source of the question was a smartly dressed waiter who’d appeared beside their table, tray in hand and clearly waiting for a reply.
"He keeps doing that," Harry observed, then pointed a wavering finger at the man, raised his voice. "You keep doing that. It’s annoying."
"Many apologies, sir. I am but here to serve."
Draco held up a neatly manicured hand. "Give me a moment." He reached out and drew Harry’s glass from the cradle of his hands, leaning forwards to sniff the contents, his nose wrinkling in disgust. "Potter, if you insist on ingesting Muggle alcohol, there are many far more palatable than this." Ignoring Harry’s splutter of indignation, he turned to the waiter. "Champagne, if you please. Dom Perignon, if you have it."
"Certainly, sir." The waiter clicked his fingers and a flute of golden liquid appeared on his tray. He placed the glass in front of Draco with a flourish. "Enjoy," he said, and was gone.
"That’s a girl’s drink."
"Says the man who is drinking something the colour of lipstick," Draco countered. "And at least mine doesn’t stain your clothes."
Harry frowned, following Draco’s gaze to the pink smear on his cuff. "Bloody hell," he muttered, grabbing a napkin from the table and dipping it in a glass of water, dabbing at the stain. "This was hired. Ginny’s going to kill me."
Soft laughter made him look up. "What?"
"You never cease to amuse me, Potter. Always thinking like a Muggle." His glee was irritating. "They’ll charm it clean in the shop."
The napkin fluttered to the floor at Harry’s feet. "You’re not funny."
Draco retrieved the napkin, pausing to look up at Harry, hair flicking into his eyes. He brushed the errant strands back. "I am absolutely hilarious. You just lack the wit to appreciate my sense of humour."
"You’re so right," Harry agreed. "I’m sure there are loads of people way better than me to annoy."
"But none quite so adorable."
If looks could kill then Draco would have been rotting alongside Voldemort at that moment; to make matters worse, he looked amused by Harry’s outrage.
Sighing, Harry gave up. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?"
"You looked so lonely, Potter, I couldn’t…"
"No, no." Harry shook his head. "Not here here. Here." He twirled a finger around the room. "Ginny and Neville’s wedding."
"Clearly, I was invited."
"Yeah, right."
"I would hardly gatecrash a Weasley wedding. I do have some standards, you know."
"Who would invite you?"
Draco clapped a hand to his chest. "That hurts, Potter. Truly." When Harry’s expression remained sceptical, he continued. "I came with Astoria. She plays on the Weaslette’s team and for some reason desired to attend this function. Who am I to deny a woman’s foibles?"
"Ah-hah! I knew you weren’t invited."
Draco took a sip of champagne and cast his eye disparagingly around the room, settling his gaze on Molly Weasley sitting by the door, as far away from the band as she could manage, rocking a flame-haired baby in her arms. "A guest, Potter, a guest. I am Astoria’s ‘plus one’ and she assures me the Weaslette agreed. I can only assume she was correct since I have not been chased from the building by fork-toting Weasleys."
Draco’s partner finally registered with Harry. "You’re here with Astoria? But I thought…"
Draco looked back at Harry, vaguely amused. "My sexual proclivities do not bar me from social events."
Embarrassed, Harry stuttered, "No, no, I didn’t mean…I was just…"
"Relax, Potter. I know what you meant. Astoria required an escort for the evening, and I was available. Keeps my mother happy," he added mildly, eyes sliding away.
For once, Harry showed a modicum of tact and changed the subject. "Um, yeah…so Astoria’s a Chaser, isn’t she? Ron thinks she’s not bad."
"Not bad? She’s world class. Almost as good as me, but then again, I have taught her everything she knows."
Harry snorted. "Yeah, someone told me you were playing Quidditch for a living." He pretended to think "You’re a Chaser as well, aren’t you? What happened to being a Seeker? Not good enough?"
It was a cruel jibe and Harry knew it. Draco was one of Quidditch’s rising stars, tipped for the national team in the next World Cup and continually plastered throughout the pages of Quidditch Weekly. The poster boy for a legion of wizards and witches alike, but, as the press frequently reported and Draco had just confirmed, only wizards had any chance.
Draco smiled lazily and slid a finger down the side of his glass, collecting moisture on his fingertip. "Unlike you, I was fortunate enough to gain some muscle and height," he said, licking the moisture away. Harry tried not to stare. "And discovered that other positions are infinitely more pleasing. I’d recommend it but I don’t think you have the experience."
"I’m experienced," Harry protested - a little too loudly judging from the stare he got from a passing reveller.
"I’m sure you are, Potter." The patronising tone indicated otherwise.
"I am. I change positions in Weasley games all the time."
"What you and Charlie get up to is no concern of mine."
Harry’s cheeks reddened and he stuttered, "That…That’s not what I meant and you know it."
"Do I?" A crocodile couldn’t have smiled any wider. "Perhaps I have been misinformed. You just can’t believe anything in print these days, can you?"
"Not all of it, no," Harry said.
Draco was clearly amused by Harry’s discomfort and he said nothing for a few minutes, the smile never leaving his lips.
Harry looked away, watching a swarm of red-headed children race around the outskirts of the dance floor. Arthur Weasley, red-faced and puffing, was running after them, and Harry wasn’t sure if he was playing or trying to catch the little terrors.
Adults were thumping back and forth the in a grotesque parody of Scottish dancing. Arms flailing and feet bouncing as if on hot coals, seemed to be the general theme, and Harry saw Hermione dragging Ron alongside her, his staggering steps testament to how many whiskies he’d had during the meal.
There was no sign of the happy couple, though, and Harry envied them. They’d managed to sneak off with no one noticing. Lucky sods.
He took another mouthful of his drink.
"Since we are on the topic of illustrious careers, Potter," Draco said, snapping Harry back to the conversation. "What is it you do again? Auror? Work for the Ministry? Ah, no, I remember now - you work in a joke shop."
Business partner in the highly successful chain of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes was hardly ‘working in a joke shop’ but Harry knew he deserved the quip. George, had he not disappeared with Angelina to their hotel room upstairs, would, however, have flattened Draco. Harry felt obliged to retort.
"And you sit your arse on a broom."
"Touché." Draco raised his glass, still smiling. "To us, the undisputed layabouts of the wizarding world."
Harry couldn’t help but smile back. "To us," he agreed and swallowed the remnants of his drink. "I need another one of these."
*
Draco watched as Harry worked his way through several pints of his vivid concoction, progressing from tipsy to drunk in less than an hour. And with each pint Harry edged his seat closer to Draco’s so that by the third he might as well have been sitting on Draco’s lap.
"You know," Harry said loudly, poking a finger into Draco’s chest. "I hated you at school."
"The feeling was mutual."
"Was it?"
Harry’s hand had dropped on to Draco’s thigh and squeezed. "Potter," Draco stared at his hand, "what do you think you are doing?"
"Nothing."
"Well, I’d be grateful if you did nothing with your hand elsewhere."
Harry ignored him, leaning closer and flicking buttons the buttons of Draco’s waistcoat open, one by one. "But now I’m thinking you’re not so bad. Not bad at all."
Draco shifted uncomfortably in his chair, the warmth radiating from Harry’s body caressing his skin. "I’m flattered, Potter, but I suspect that in this state you’d even say that to Filch."
"Nah." Harry attempted to shake his head but clearly thought better of it and only managed a half-wiggle. "You’re much better than Filch. You," the finger stabbed again and harder, "Draco Weasley, are very hot."
Malfoy froze. "Malfoy, Potter, it’s Draco Malfoy."
"Tha’s what I said."
"No. It wasn’t." Draco managed to draw his chair back sharply, leaving Harry clutching at the air and on the verge of toppling to the floor.
Righting himself, Harry blinked owlishly. "Wha’ did I do?"
Draco just shook his head in annoyance, trying not to react when Harry tugged the cravat from his jacket pocket and waved it in the air.
"Truce."
"Truce flags are generally white, Potter."
"Pffft. This is a special flag." The ‘special’ flag was waved more viciously, and Draco wondered just how much it would take for Harry to fall off the chair. Amusing as the thought was, he snatched Harry’s cravat from his fingers and shoved it in his own coat pocket.
"You should think about sobering up, Potter, or going home, before you do yourself an injury."
"Can’t go home, Ginny said not to. She thought we’d all get too drunk to Appa…Appa…to swish home, so she booked us all rooms in the hotel. Upstairs. But not you though, ‘cause you," with Draco out of reach, the pointing finger stabbed the air, "weren’t best man like me."
"I did tragically miss out on that honour, yes."
"You’re being sarcastical." Harry’s bottom lip jutted out as he considered what he’d just said. Draco found, to his horror, that he thought the expression was rather adorable.
"Sarcastic," he corrected quickly. "And I’m never that, Potter."
"Hermione! Ron! You’re back!" Harry bellowed, startling Draco, who turned to look at the approaching couple. They looked like they’d just stumbled back from the battlefield at Hogwarts; Ron was clinging to Hermione for support, wide eyes trying to focus on Draco.
"You’re Draco Miffloy," he slurred. "Tha’s my seat you’re shittin’ in."
Harry giggled and Hermione smacked the side of Ron’s head with her free hand. "Ron!"
"Wha’ did I say?" He winked at Harry in pantomime of subtlety and looked enormously pleased with himself.
"You promised your mum you would be nice."
"I am…" he belched and Hermione leaned back, tutting, "I am always, always, always…what am I always?"
"Nice," Harry finished.
"And I thought Harry on his own was bad enough," Draco said, feeling a surprising moment of affinity with Hermione Weasley.
"You have no idea," she agreed, guiding Ron to another chair and depositing him none-too-gently in it.
As she took a seat beside Draco, the waiter popped into existence, and before Hermione could stop him, Ron had ordered them all whiskies. Doubles.
"Ron," she scolded, watching him down his in one swallow.
"Is jus’ one drink, ‘Mione."
"Sometimes I don’t know why I married you, Ron Weasley. I feel like I’ve two children and not just one."
"Come ‘ere." Ron reached out to try and pull Hermione in for a kiss, and she swivelled away from him, leaving him flailing.
"Draco," she said brightly, tucking some loose curls behind her ear. Draco had to admit that unlike her slovenly husband, she looked rather attractive that evening, and her attempts at civility were refreshing. "Are you having a nice time?"
"It’s most definitely been entertaining," he replied. "Potter, here, has been enlightening me about his love life."
"Really?" Hermione said, surprised.
"He was admitting his undying love for me, isn’t that right, Potter?" Draco said, expecting a flurry of slurring denials, but instead saw that Harry had fallen asleep, his head lolling against his chest.
"Harry’s drunk," Ron declared. "Can’t hold ‘is whisky."
"Merlin’s beard," Draco looked at the unconscious man, shaking his head. "He’s going to regret that tomorrow. Whisky on top of the swill he’s been drinking."
Hermione sighed heavily. "And now I’ve got to get him upstairs to bed. And him," she bobbed her head at Ron, "and retrieve Rose from Molly. She’ll be needing a feed soon."
Draco heard the words come out of his mouth before he could stop them. "I’ll make sure Potter gets to his room safely."
Hermione looked relieved. "Could you, Draco? That would be extremely helpful."
"I seem to have no other obligations this evening; my date appears to have absconded with Oliver Wood."
"Just make sure you get him there in one piece," she said and looked despairingly at her own inebriated husband. "Try to resist the temptation to strangle him."
Ron was peering into his empty glass and sensed her looking. "I think I’m jus’ going to have another for the road, love." He focused on the full glass in front of Draco. "Miffloy, you wanting tha’?"
Draco slid the glass to Ron’s open hand. "Knock yourself out, Weasley."
"Thank you so much, Draco. And there was me thinking I’d misjudged you."
Draco took the key to Harry’s room that Hermione was holding out to him. "I can’t have you actually liking me, Granger," he said. "It would upset the balance of the Universe."
"It’s Weasley now. Or you even try out ‘Hermione’ if you liked."
"You’ll always be Granger to me."
*
Negotiating the corridors was tricky, the stairs even more so, and Draco cursed the hotel’s malfunctioning lift. On several occasions he nearly resorted to magic, but the penalties for unauthorised use of the Obliviation charm were high and he couldn’t take the risk of a Muggle seeing him. Not for the first time did he curse the new Muggle-protection laws.
So he had to half-carry an increasingly tactile Harry Potter up five flights of stairs, and by the time he reached the room, he was sure no part of him had remained unfondled. At any other time he would have been flattered, but Harry was slurring out an assortment of names and not one of them was Draco Malfoy. It was guaranteed to kill any twinges he might have been feeling.
"Watch it, Charlie," Harry gasped as Draco propped him against the wall to unlock the door.
"It’s Draco." The key slid into the lock but Harry’s fingers wrapped clumsily around his and stopped him from turning the key.
Harry’s other hand pawed at the front of his shirt. "Are you comin’ in for a night cap?" Harry giggled and his hand slid lower to the front of Draco’s trousers only to be stopped by tight grip.
"No, Potter, you’re going to bed."
"Yeah, with you."
"No." Draco finally managed to get the key turned and pushed the door inwards, taking advantage of Harry’s lack of co-ordination to bundle him into the room.
Harry stumbled into the small hallway, his stunned expression brightening when Draco held out a hand. He reached out and Draco pressed the room key into his damp palm.
"Drink lots of water and go to bed, Potter," he said, and to Harry’s obvious surprise, he pulled the door closed.
Draco’s heart was thudding in his chest and he rested a palm against the closed door to centre himself. Inside the room he could hear the receding sound of staggered footsteps and a door closing.
It was a relief, now that Harry was inside he could stop pretending and admit just how hard pushing him away had been. Being called ‘Charlie’ dampened the fire, but didn’t quench it. It was too well entrenched.
He let out a breath and pushed away from the door, straightening his tie and smoothing his suit jacket. A bulge in the inner pocket made him frown, and he pulled out Harry’s cravat.
His lips quirked. "Well, well, well, Potter, looks like you haven’t got rid of me that easily."
*
When Draco strolled into Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes to return Harry’s crinkled cravat a couple of days later, Harry was surprised and embarrassed.
But Draco didn’t mention the events of the wedding, and Harry, relieved, played along. Feeling defensive and proud, he gave Draco a tour, thankful that George was over at the old Zonko’s shop doing a stock take.
Draco made a good pretence of being interested, even when Harry began to babble, and insisted on buying some Skiving Snackboxes and, with a smirk, an edible Dark Mark.
They went for a drink - giving George much fuel for a week’s worth of ridicule. And arranged to meet the following Sunday for lunch.
Draco, Harry quickly realised - although still an arrogantly pompous prat - was actually fun to be with. Whether Draco thought the same of Harry, Harry couldn’t be sure, but what was a couple of lunches soon became a regular Sunday engagement much to Ron’s horror.
"You’re mates with that prick?"
"Yeah, sort of."
"But it’s Malfoy!"
"Ron, leave him alone and finish your dinner." Hermione effectively silenced Ron’s arguments.
So, every Sunday Harry and Draco would meet in Hogsmeade, and Harry, only slightly tipsy because he had to work the next day, would Apparate back to Grimmauld Place and spend the rest of his evening with Kreacher. As far as Harry could tell, Draco went back to Malfoy Manor.
Occasionally, Harry considered inviting Draco back to his home, but he didn’t. It might have given Draco the wrong impression. Not that Harry necessarily minded Draco having the wrong impression, but it didn’t seem to be reciprocated. Draco had made it perfectly clear they were friends and that suited Harry fine. Absolutely fine, he assured himself.
When Harry had to attend a christening, interrupting their weekly lunch, Harry was disturbed by how disappointed he was. Draco, however, when Harry told him he’d have to cancel, didn’t seem too bothered.
If Harry were to be completely honest, it stung.
*
"What’s he doing here?" Harry heard Ron not-so-subtly hiss at Hermione, a few pairs of eyes glaring at him as the Minister droned on at the front of the church.
Harry turned and was surprised to see Draco Malfoy sitting in the back row of the church, looking ridiculously out of place amongst the ragtaggle assortment of Weasleys and their extended family.
As surprised and interested in her response as Ron, Harry leaned as close as he could without suffocating his newly christened goddaughter, Rose. She was nestled in the cradle of his arms and sucking at the sleeve of his jacket.
"I invited him," Hermione hissed back.
"What the bloody hell for?" Ron said, earning a disapproving ‘shush’ from a woman in the row behind.
"I thought he’d be good company for Harry."
What? Harry thought. Me?
"Harry?" Ron said, eyes shooting to Harry for an explanation.
Harry shrugged. "Don’t look at me," he said. "I didn’t know he was coming."
"’Mione?"
"Just leave it, Ron. Pay attention to the service."
Ron settled into a grumpy silence, flicking his eyes back to Draco Malfoy occasionally as though expecting the other to attack at any moment.
Harry caught Draco looking at him and waved Rose’s hand up and down. Draco smiled when Rose took the opportunity to vomit milk down the front of Harry’s suit and her ornately frilled, and centuries old, christening gown.
*
It wasn’t until they were settled in an upstairs room of the pub along the road, doors enchanted against Muggles, plates filled with sandwiches and tea cups filled to the brim, that Harry had a chance to speak to Draco.
"You never said you were coming," he challenged, taking a seat at the table Draco had found in the corner.
Draco pointed a finger across the crowded room at Hermione, who had been accosted by both sets of grandparents, both intent on doting on Rose. "She swore me to secrecy. Said it would be a nice surprise. Merlin knows why."
"She’s a woman," Harry said sagely, as though that was all the explanation required.
Draco nodded.
"Do we have to sit at a table with him," Ron’s voice boomed out. He had stopped at the empty chair beside Harry and was scowling.
"Ron, leave off would you, and sit down."
"Yes, Weasley, please take a seat beside us. I do so love your intellectual conversation. We can discuss bottoms and farting."
Harry groaned. "Draco, pack it in."
"But why? It’s fun. And it’s such a novelty to see him sober. Look at his forehead; I swear that blood vessel is going to rupture any second. You might want to cover your tea cup."
"What do you do, Malfoy, read a dictionary when you go to bed?"
"Yes, but you wouldn’t like it, Weasley: no pictures."
"You’re not that clever."
"But I am and you know it." Draco cocked his head to the side. "Are you just going to hover at our table all day or sit down? Or here’s an insane thought: you could go sit with your wife and daughter."
Ron looked genuinely puzzled, glancing over at Hermione. "What for? She’s managing fine on her own and she knows where I am." His heaped plate landed heavily on the table and Ron seated himself, stuffing a sandwich in his mouth as he said, "She’s loving it, really."
Harry looked over at Hermione and thought she looked far from ‘loving it’; she looked harassed and tired, surrounded now by a mass of cuckolding Weasleys; even her own parents had been pushed to the side.
"She looks thrilled," Draco said dryly, sharing a look with Harry.
"Uncle Harry! Uncle Ron!" two excited voices screamed. Teddy Lupin and Victoire Weasley barrelled in their direction from the midst of the throng. "Auntie Hermione said you’d keep us entertained."
"Oh, she did, did she?" Harry grinned, and scooped Teddy up off the ground, tipping him upside down as the boy squealed in delight. "What do you think, Vicky, should I drop him?"
Victoire, a year younger than Teddy but infinitely more sensible, nodded briskly, her red pigtails bouncing. "Drop him," she agreed.
"Nooooo!" Teddy yelled as Harry loosened his grip and let the little boy plunge a few inches. The giggling reached crescendo pitch and by the time Harry set Teddy on his feet again both he and Victoire were breathless and wheezing.
"More! More!"
"No, way. I’m old and knackered," Harry said. "Draco, you’re not doing anything, why don’t you give him a swing?"
The look of horror on Draco’s face was priceless. "I do not swing children, Potter."
"Aw, come on, Malfoy, you’d love it." Ron spoke around a mouthful of crisps, spitting some onto the table.
"No, no and no. Have I made myself clear enough?"
Victoire was tugging hard at Harry’s sleeve and he looked down. "What is it?"
Her bright blue eyes were staring at Draco. "Who is he, Uncle Harry?"
"That’s your Uncle Draco."
"I am not her Uncle Draco," Draco said loudly. "We are barely related. I am no more family to her than I am to this uncouth cretin, here."
Ron scowled. "I don’ want to be related to you either, Malfoy. You’re a prat."
"Uncle Ron said a swear," Teddy exclaimed. "He’s gonna get in so much trouble."
"Aw, shite, I’ll get an earful from Hermione now."
"You did another." Teddy poked Ron’s shoulder. "Gran says your hair will fall out if you use swears."
"Would be a good look for you, Weasley."
"Push off, Malfoy." Ron pushed his chair away from the table. "I need a drink. You want anything, Harry?"
"Could you get me a Snake Bite and Black?"
"A what?"
"It’s a Muggle drink, Weasley, don’t you know anything?"
Ron ignored him. "Come and ask for it yourself. It sounds like a girl’s drink."
Harry looked apologetically at Draco as he got to his feet. "We’ll be back in a minute. Do you want anything?"
"No, thank you, Potter. I think I’ll just stick with tea."
"Keep an eye on the kids, would you?"
"You’d better just be a minute."
Ron snorted. "Not scared of a couple of kids, are you?"
Harry pushed Ron in the direction of the bar before Draco lynched him. As he looked back at the table and saw the discomfort on Draco’s face, he thought maybe the answer to Ron’s question was ‘yes’.
*
Draco was finding the little monsters amusing. Swinging them around had been less unpleasant than he’d thought, and the discovery that they believed everything they were told was far too much of a temptation to resist.
"What do we call you?"
"You can call me Your Highness. And if you want to bow or curtsey then that is acceptable."
Victoire and Teddy stared at him, their eyes as huge as saucers. Exchanging glances, and in a flurry of limbs, they both bowed, then curtsied, then giggled.
"Adequate for a first attempt," Draco said seriously. "Although it is preferable for ladies to curtsey and gentlemen to bow."
"Why?" Teddy demanded. Draco frowned and he hastily added, "Your Highness."
"Decorum."
Victoire slowly repeated the word. "Dec-cor-im."
"Decorum," Draco corrected. "A word not often heard amongst the Weasleys."
"Draco," Hermione chastised, overhearing his last remark. She's managed to escape the clutches of the Weasley hordes and had Rose balanced in one arm, the other holding a bag filled with gaily wrapped gifts.
That reminded Draco he hadn’t passed along his present and he pulled it from the inside of his jacket: a small box neatly wrapped in tissue paper. "For Rose," he said, showing the box to Hermione and slipping it into the bag with the others.
"Thank you," she said. "But that doesn’t get you off the hook. You were terrorising the kids."
"If I am reluctantly abandoned with the offspring of your family, then I think I am allowed the pleasure of taunting them, don't you?"
"Abandoned?" she said, her face tightening. "Where're Ron and Harry?"
"I believe Harry is introducing your husband to a Muggle concoction called a Snake Bite and Black."
"They're at the bar?"
"That was where they were headed," Draco agreed, "with the promise to return swiftly and relieve me of babysitting duties. That was half an hour ago."
Hermione looked thunderous. "I’ve just about had it with those two," she muttered and with an abrupt, "Here, take Rose for a minute," Draco suddenly found his arms full of squirming child.
"I don't want..."
His protestations fell on deaf ears; Hermione was already marching off across the room in search of her errant husband.
Rose was happily gurgling to herself, fascinated with the buttons on Draco's shirt. A slither of mucous was leaking from one nostril and Draco eyed it, and Rose, with disfavour. "One mark on my shirt and your mother will be changing nappies on an orang-utan," he threatened. Rose's fat little fingers tugged at one of the buttons and she burped in response.
"Your Highness?" Teddy said, forcing Draco's attention away from Rose.
"Yes?"
"Me and Vicky want to go to the buffet."
"And?"
"We aren't allowed without an adult. Auntie Hermione said." Victoire nudged him and he bowed.
She rolled her eyes and said, "No, you idiot, you need to say Your Highness at the end."
"Oh, yeah, right. Forgot. Your Highness," Teddy finished and bowed again just to make sure.
Rising carefully from the chair, awkwardly positioning Rose so her grubby fingers were removed from his shirt, Draco nodded. "Right then, minions, to the buffet. And only fill your plates with as much as you can eat."
Teddy and Victoire yelped in delight and raced off in the direction of the food.
"Your Uncle Harry is going to owe me for this," he informed Rose, who was staring at the long strands of his hair brushing the top of his jacket with devious intent, and followed after them.
*
"You a'right?" Harry asked for the third time, his alcohol-laden breath huffing in Draco's face.
"Yes, Potter, I'm exceptional. I would be even more exceptional if you refrained from leaning on me."
"I’m not leanin’, I’m just tired is all."
"If tired is another way of saying drunk, then yes, you are. Very drunk. Is this becoming a habit for you these days?"
"Nah, only when I can get Muggle drinks."
"I still don’t see what the attraction is. The stuff smells like fruit juice."
"Ribena," Harry corrected. "The blackcurrant stuff that’s in it. Makes it sweet. You should try it, you’d like it."
"Maybe another time."
"Muggles say that it gets you drunk fast." Harry’s hand rested on Draco’s arm. "But I don’t think so."
"Absolutely not. You are as sober as a judge."
Nimble fingers trailed down Draco’s sleeve and stroked against the back of his wrist. Draco cleared his throat and pulled his hand away, reaching out for the half-full wine glass that a few hours before had replaced the tea. It was a mistake; Harry’s hand dropped directly onto Draco’s thigh and continued caressing.
"Potter, stop that. There are children present."
"They aren’t watching. Nobody’s watching. We’re all by ourselves." Each stroke shot straight to Draco’s groin.
What Harry said was true. Once Hermione had found her errant husband and Harry, she’d relieved Draco of his growing entourage of adoring children in exchange for the latter. There was a flurry of curtseys and bows as Draco led Harry back to their corner table; he remembered to wave regally, entertained by the surrounding adults’ confusion as they collected their offspring.
Most of the children had long gone, only adults remained, and some couples with sleeping tots in baskets at their sides.
Hermione was chattering to Ginny Weasley, rocking Rose gently in her arms, while they both ignored Ron’s snores. He was stretched out along the bench seat opposite them, several empty pint glasses on the table with the dregs of reddish liquid in them.
It had been a long day, but a pleasant one, and Draco was too tired to summon the energy to fend off Harry’s not unwanted advances. He was not, however, accustomed to being groped so blatantly in public.
Harry’s hand cupped against the bulge in his trousers and he let out a groan. "Potter, please. Not here."
"Why not?" Harry whispered against his neck, fondling Draco’s balls through the fabric.
"Because…" It sounded too much like a squeak and Draco tried again. "Because I’m asking you to …sweet Merlin…stop it, Potter." Sweat was beading on his forehead, and he was pressing into Harry’s hand. His voice was saying no, but his body was screaming ‘yes, right now, right here’.
They were at a Weasley christening. It wasn’t right. "No," he managed with a little more conviction. "No, Potter, no."
Something in his tone must have got through to Harry because the hand lifted. He almost asked for Harry to put it back, but he saw people were beginning to move. The bar staff were sliding down the shutters and encouraging the guests to vacate the room.
"Everybody’s leaving," he said, hearing the strain in his voice. He was still achingly hard and it was taking all of his will power not to reach down and finish what Harry started. Filch, he thought, Ron Weasley. Charlie Weasley. He let out a breath of relief as the tension abruptly lessened.
"Let them." Harry sounded sleepy and his head was growing heavier on Draco’s shoulder.
Draco shrugged it off, forcing Harry to sit upright, and for a moment Draco thought Harry was going to vomit. His face bleached of colour and he dropped his head.
"I’m going to be sick."
"No wonder," Draco said unsympathetically, watching normal colour return to Harry’s cheeks. A waitress was heading in their direction and he nodded his understanding at her. "We’re just going."
She smiled and turned to another cluster of bleary-eyed guests.
"Get up, Potter."
"Do I have to?"
"Unfortunately for me, yes you do. Come on, up you get."
With Draco’s help, Harry staggered to his feet. "Don’t let me drink like this again."
"As if anything I said would have stopped you."
"’Course it would. I trust you."
Draco paused in their weaving path, shocked by what Harry had just said. He opened his mouth to question the statement when Hermione’s voice interrupted him.
"I’m feeling a sense of déjà vu," Hermione said, smiling at him and bobbing her head at Harry, and then in Ron’s recumbent direction.
"A most unpleasant one. I don’t suppose there are convenient hotel rooms booked this time?"
"No, I didn’t expect the two of them to drink so much."
"Aren’t you the optimist?"
"I used to be," Hermione said. "Look, Draco, I know it’s a lot to ask but is there any chance you could…?"
"I’ll get Potter home."
She smiled her thanks. "That takes a load of my mind."
"Do you have a Portkey or is there a Floo nearby?"
"Harry’s house isn’t connected to the network - the Ministry thought it was too dangerous after…you know… It’s bad enough the Fidelius charm was broken."
Draco didn’t want to be drawn into a discussion of the past. "I could Apparate us somewhere nearby if you gave me his address."
She looked appalled at the notion. "But you’ve been drinking."
"Not that much."
"You’d still be over the limit to Apparate you both. Take a taxi."
"A taxi? I am not getting in a taxi."
"You don’t have to. Just pop Harry in one and then you can break the law if you like without risking Harry’s life."
Draco glared at her. "These new laws are a damned nuisance. Forcing us to resort to Muggle transport rather than Apparate home."
"The Anti-drink Apparition laws are there for our protection, Draco," Hermione said starchly. "As well you know. Can you imagine what state these two would arrive home in if they Apparated?"
"In several liquefied pieces," Draco agreed.
Hermione’s expression was calculating. "You could always get the Knight Bus."
"Take this," Draco jerked a thumb towards Harry, "on that lurching monstrosity? I don’t see how he’s going to stand without regurgitating his meal, never mind travel. The house-elves are good with laundry but they can’t perform miracles, and this suit cost me more than your yearly salary."
"Are you just going to spend all night arguing with me, Draco, or are you going to admit I’m right?"
"I would never deign to admit you were correct, Granger, but I concede that a taxi might be the most convenient solution."
"I’m right."
"Smugness is not an attractive character trait." Draco nudged Harry towards the door.
"I’m still right."
*
onto part two