Fic: Bed of Roses (NC17)
Author: accioscar
Title: Bed of Roses
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, Harry/Ginny (possibly implied but in no way explicit - Miss Weasley gets no screen time in this movie!)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: It’s the Hogwarts Reunion and there’s only one way to survive: Getting drunk!
Warnings: EWE; some swearing/cussing; man-on-man sexin (obviously! ;D); features drunk!Draco, bottom!Draco, sarcastic!Draco, jealous!Draco and slightly Hermione-like!Draco (but don’t tell him I said that!); the Harry/Ginny implication kinda leads to implied infidelity - but it really depends how you look at it. (In my head, at least, Harry is not really with Ginny - everyone just assumes he is.)
Total word count: Approx 3,000
Original prompt request number: 198
Third prompt at link
Disclaimer: This story/artwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author’s notes:
1. The title is in no way related to the Bon Jovi song of the same name and I’m pretty sure Mr. Jon Bon does not own the rights to those 3 words, so no suing shall ensue. kthxbai!
2. I may have, possibly, completely invented some Hogwarts rose gardens. Plz to be forgiving me for this?
3. Many, many thanks to my fantastic beta! ♥
Beta: scarlet_malfoy
Bed of Roses
Fucking treacle tart. Treacle FUCKING tart! It was obviously some huge cosmic joke at his expense. The universe was mocking him, he was sure.
Although… knowing this place, the Great Harry Potter himself had probably specially requested it.
And what had he expected? Nothing else had changed.
The same wooden tables, laid out in the same rows, piled high with the same food they’d eaten over five years ago. And what sort of school held a five-year reunion, anyway? He had just about managed to block out all memory of most of his former classmates - he really didn’t need reminding of how much of a bumbling fool Longbottom was or how much more of an obnoxious know-it-all Granger was.
Draco sighed, bemoaning his luck at being dragged to this thing by Pansy as he looked up at the ceiling. Same old house colours? Check. (Although now they seemed to be intertwined in intricate patterns, no doubt meant to symbolise house unity or some such drivel!) Floating candles? Check. Hogwarts ghosts floating about? Check. Merlin, he wouldn’t be surprised if the cloud formations on the enchanted ceiling were exactly the same as the last time he’d sat right here! The only new addition was the giant banner stretched out across the entire width of the vast hall, declaring:
WELCOME BACK CLASS OF 1998
And technically, that was inaccurate anyway. Most of the people in the room hadn’t graduated at all (and half of them weren’t even in Draco’s year) and those that had, had taken remedial classes at the Ministry of Magic whilst the castle was being rebuilt and had actually sat their N.E.W.T.s in early 1999. Not that he was being pedantic, of course.
But really, treacle fucking tart!? The universe was definitely mocking him.
***
Draco was still inwardly cursing his luck an hour later, when the tables had been cleared to make way for a dance floor and the band had started to play. He stood on the periphery - Pansy next to him, tap tap tapping her foot in time to the latest Weird Sisters tune whilst he tried not to throw up his dinner at the sight of Longbottom with his tongue down that Loony Lovegood’s throat.
“Aw… come on, Drake,” Pansy whined, not for the first time that night.
“Pansy,” Draco snapped. “Do I look like a fucking duck to you?”
She smirked.
“No, no, on second thoughts,” Draco said, holding up his hand to silence Pansy before she could come up with some sarcastic reply, “don’t answer that. Not if you want to live.”
“Oh come on, just one dance.” Pansy wasn’t about to give up. “You know you want to,” she simpered, batting her eyelashes at him.
“No. What I want to do right now is gouge my eyes out with a rusty spoon. Have you seen the state of those two?”
“You’re such a miserable git sometimes, Drake.”
“Parkinson! Don’t call me that. And whilst we’re at it, I’m not a squirrel’s nest or a low cart used for carrying heavy loads, so don’t call me Dray, either!”
“You read the dictionary way too much, you know that?”
Draco scoffed. “Just because I happen to have my own personal library and I actually know how to read…”
“Ssh… Draco, I think I just heard Granger cream her knickers from all the way across the room.”
“Oh dear MERLIN! Pansy, I’ve been traumatised enough in my life without you adding to it. Remember? Evil, dark wizard terrorizing my family and crazy werewolves running about my home. I really don’t need that mental picture to keep me awake at night, thank you very much.”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “Yes, Draco,” she droned. “How could I ever forget? Not when you- hey, where are you going?” she asked just as Draco turned to walk away.
“To find some real alcohol!” he called back over his shoulder. “Someone must have something other than this Hippogriff’s piss excuse for a punch!” he said, gesturing to the glass in his hand before vanishing it wandlessly.
***
It had only partly been an excuse to escape Pansy. He really had needed to get some decent alcohol. What with the hideous PDA from the loony brigade and the inordinate number of Gryffindors laughing at every single word that came out of Harry Potter’s mouth, the only way to survive was to get blind drunk. There were some things that even Salazar himself couldn’t deal with sober, and a giggling gaggle of Gryffindors was definitely number one on that list.
But Pansy was relentless in her campaign to get Draco to make a fool out of himself on the dance floor, so he had actually taken temporary refuge with one Gryffindor in order to escape her.
She managed to find him an hour and half a bottle of Firewhisky later, though, leaning against said Gryffindor with an arm draped across his broad shoulders.
“Draco!?” Pansy exclaimed. “What are you doing?”
“My friend Mr. Weasel, here, has kindly procured for me some alcohol that doesn’t taste like the floor of the Owlery,” Draco answered, slurring and moving his head around far too much.
“Er… Draco,” Pansy grinned uncomfortably at George and gave Draco a look that said ‘Should you really be calling him that whilst you’ve got your arm around him and his entire family is glaring Unforgivables at you?’
An awkward silence stretched out between the three of them, in which Pansy could practically feel Draco taking a drunken fumble through her mind. She was about to hex his arse when his slurred rambling broke the silence. “Pansy, Pansy, Pansy. It’s ok; Weasel and I have a mutual understanding. He understands he’s a weasel. I understand that I need to be highly intoxicated in order to survive this Hufflepuff exercise in nostalgia disguised as a ‘reunion’. Isn’t that right, G - Ginger?”
George laughed. “Yeah, something like that.”
“Anyway. Us homosexuals have to stick together,” Draco said. “Er… but not literally,” he added as an afterthought, springing away from George as though he’d been burned. “Because, you know… eww. Just eww.” Draco screwed his face up in an expression of pure disgust. “No offence, Weasel.”
To Pansy’s surprise, George didn’t yell “sic ‘im!” and let his rabid pack of relatives tear Draco limb from limb. Instead he just chuckled and gave Draco a hearty slap on the back as though they were old chums. “None taken, Ferret face, none taken.”
With that George took his leave and Draco gave Pansy a smug look. Pansy was still a Slytherin, though - and not a pissed out of their mind one at that - and George Weasley was still George Weasley. She was pretty sure Draco would pay for that one later.
***
“Ah, Potter! Potty, Potty, Pothead.” Draco slumped back on the marble staircase, waving his bottle of Firewhisky around as he spoke. He’d tried to escape Pansy again by sneaking off to the library, but he’d got as far as the staircase in the entrance hall before his legs had decided that was ‘Quite enough walking, thank you very much’.
And now here was Potter, by all appearances attempting to sneak away from the party himself. Just what Draco needed.
“What?” Potter asked. “What did you just say?”
“Um… Scarhead? I said Scarhead.”
Potter quirked an eyebrow at him. “You’re drunk.”
Draco decided a nice slow clap was in order for that ultimate statement of the obvious, but the staircase he was on had obviously decided to move and he was holding on for dear life - his dear, precious life. Never mind that in all his years at Hogwarts, the entrance hall staircase had never been known to move. It was moving now - obviously some things had changed after-all. “Congratulations, Super Potter! Your superior powers of observation reign supreme!”
Potter scowled. “Why d’you have to be so snarky all the time?”
“You do realise that snarky is not actually a word, right?”
“Fuck you, Malfoy.”
“No, really. There’s a dictionary in the library. Fourth floor. Go check. Whilst you’re at it, look up the meaning of Potter. I think you’ll find it somewhere between plebeian and prat. Literally.”
“Grow up, Malfoy. We’re not twelve anymore.”
“Yeah, but you know what they say; when at Hogwarts…”
“What? Get drunk and act like a dick?”
“Or… get dick and act like a drunk. Two out of three ain’t bad. You offering?”
“That makes no sense.”
“I know,” Draco managed to choke out before bursting into fits of laughter.
“You really are wasted, aren’t you?” Potter asked, sitting down on the step next to Draco and trying to pry the bottle from his hands.
“So!” Draco huffed, snatching it back. “You would be, too, if you were me.”
“Why’d you come tonight, Malfoy? You hate practically everyone here, anyway.”
“Oh, dear!” Draco mock-exclaimed. “Your super special powers seem to be failing!”
“Malfoy…”
“Why do you think, Harry?”
Potter just looked at him with a blank expression that reminded Draco of his house-elf, Blinky.
“Why do you think I came here tonight?” Draco repeated, leaning closer to Potter.
“Don’t!” Potter backed away, jumping to his feet.
“What?” Draco all but shouted. “Don’t what? Expect you to acknowledge my existence?”
“Don’t start, Malfoy. Please. I told you, it’s not that easy.”
“Fine. Fuck off, then.”
Potter just glared.
“Go on, run along,” Draco ushered him away, waving his hands dismissively. “Wouldn’t want to keep the She-Weasel waiting, now would we?”
“Fine,” he shouted. “Drink yourself to death, for all I care!”
“I will!”
“Fine!”
“Fine!”
Draco waited long enough so that it wouldn’t look like he was following Potter in before storming back into the Great Hall himself. He really needed another drink and that Weasel had a bottle of Green Fairy Absinthe with his name on it. He half-stumbled, half-stomped through the crowds, knocking people out of his way like bowling pins until he found George. He could practically feel Potter’s eyes burning a hole in his back but he didn’t hang around long enough to let Harry approach him. He intended to take his drink out into the rose gardens and drink until he passed out or felt better - whichever came first.
***
Potter followed him. Of course Potter followed him - the git was nothing if not stubborn and predictable.
“Malfoy,” he called out before stepping around the large rose bush Draco was sitting behind. “Malfoy? I heard voices…. Were you- were you talking to yourself?”
“No! Of course not! I was talking to this rose bush, but it’s not much of a conversationalist. I suspect it’s just using me for my heavenly body.”
Potter laughed. “You’re quite funny when you’re drunk.”
“Funny looking…”
“Huh?”
Draco didn’t answer. He closed his eyes and took another swig of absinthe, spilling some of the green liquid down the front of his dress robes. Green. Like Potter’s eyes.
“Treacle tart,” he blurted out suddenly, his eyes still closed.
Draco could hear the confusion in Potter’s voice. “What?”
He tried to jump to his feet but his head was spinning and his legs wobbled as though he’d been hit by a particularly nasty Jelly-Legs Jinx. The result was a sort of wobbly scramble with Potter’s arms around him, helping him, supporting him, holding him. “They served treacle tart,” he repeated, almost urgently.
“Um… yeah, my favourite.”
“I know,” Draco sighed, leaning his head against Harry’s chest. The other man was so warm, warm and safe, and Draco’s head hurt with the unfairness of it all.
“Oh.” Draco felt Harry’s heart beat speed up ever so slightly. “Draco… that- that was years ago.”
“Three years, nine months and six days,” Draco mumbled into the fabric of Harry’s robes. “And it still makes my blood boil with jealousy.”
Harry swiftly backed off, leaving Draco to (quite unreasonably, in his opinion) support his own weight.
“I can’t.” Harry shook his head.
“Such a defeatist, Potter. You really are putting Gryffindor to shame.”
“I…”
Draco stepped towards Harry, bringing them within touching distance again. “Be brave, Harry.” He lifted his hand to Harry’s face, brushing his fringe aside to run his thumb across the faded scar on his forehead.
Harry shivered under his touch. “I can’t, Draco.”
“I believe in you.”
Harry paused. He seemed to be running something over in his mind, every conflicting emotion written all over his face. “Do you?” he eventually asked.
“Yes,” Draco answered, far too honestly for his liking.
“Do you trust me?”
“With my life - which you happen to have saved quite a few times.”
Harry shook his head. “I can’t,” he repeated, his voice strained, his eyes wide and shining.
He turned suddenly, starting to walk away, but Draco stopped him, grabbing his arm in a surprisingly firm grip - considering the state he was in.
“You’re a fucking coward, Potter!”
Harry tried to pull away. “Let go, Malfoy.”
Draco only gripped tighter. “You act like such the big damn hero, but really you’re just running scared," he sneered. “You make me sick.”
“Shut up!” Harry practically growled, his face burning with anger.
“NO! Why the fuck should I?” Draco raised his voice. “You’re pathetic! So fucking afraid!”
Harry suddenly wrenched his arm from his grip to grab the front of Draco’s robes in both hands. Their faces were mere centimetres apart and the tension bubbling thickly beneath the surface was enough to have Draco hard and aching in seconds.
“I said. Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” Harry spat the words through gritted teeth, his green eyes alive with fury.
Draco opened his mouth, but he didn’t have time to utter even one tiny syllable before Harry silenced him with a brutal kiss, slamming his lips against Draco’s with such force that his legs finally gave way and they both went tumbling backwards into the rose bush.
Draco landed with an ‘oomph’, thorns tearing at his robes and skin, but Harry didn’t stop his assault. His tongue pushed into Draco’s open mouth with such an authority he could almost believe it had always been there - and nowhere else. Draco could feel Harry’s prick hard against his own as they kissed, and his hands tore at Draco’s robes almost desperately - causing the solid silver buttons adorning the front of them to fly off in every direction. Draco was sure his most expensive dress robes were ruined but he couldn’t find the energy to care. Not when Harry’s hands were on his skin, stroking across his chest as he broke the kiss to attach his mouth to Draco’s neck. Draco arched up into Harry’s touch, small moans of pleasure building in the back of his throat, as his hands travelled lower.
Draco thought he might explode the instant Harry’s hand found his leaking prick, but he managed to hold off. Harry suddenly seemed content in going slowly, gently running his thumb across the sensitive head before reaching lower to play with his balls. Draco rubbed himself against Harry’s hand, a strange squeak escaping his lips as the tip of Harry’s finger circled the tight ring of muscle at his entrance. Harry leant back to look at him and Draco suddenly felt naked under his piercing gaze. Then he realised that he was naked. He was naked and Harry wasn’t. It took a moment for him to find his wand somewhere amongst the tangled thorns and velvety black petals surrounding him, and then he rectified the situation, spelling Harry’s robes clean off. Harry gasped - no doubt surprised that Draco could perform such magic whilst so inebriated - and Draco suddenly felt two fingers push into him. It was his turn to gasp then. To gasp and pant and moan and wonder exactly when Harry had uttered a lubrication charm.
Harry watched Draco’s face as he fingered him - his eyelids fluttering and his mouth open in a perfect O as tiny breathy moans escaped his lips. But then Draco caught Harry’s eye and a sudden serious expression crossed his face - well, as serious an expression as he could manage whilst lying naked in a rose bush.
“Are you going back to her?” Draco asked, before biting nervously on his lower lip.
Harry frowned. “Draco, we’re in a rose bush and I have my fingers up your arse. Is now really the best time?”
“All you have to say is no. One little syllable. Easy.”
Harry hesitated.
“Oh, my god!” Draco tried to squirm away, but Harry hooked his fingers, pressing firmly on that spot. “Ah… oh… fuck,” Draco panted. “It really is that fuck- fucking - oh - fucking easy for you, isn’t it? You’re really going to fuck me right here then go back to- ah- to - sweet Merlin! To her - to that ginger muff!?”
Harry leant forward then, to kiss away Draco’s indignation and this time it was gentler. Harry’s tongue was warm and he tasted like treacle tart - a fact that suddenly didn’t make Draco want to hex everything in sight. Harry pulled his fingers out and Draco mourned their loss with a loud moan. He heard the whispered charm this time and then Harry was inside him, his thick cock sliding in ever so slowly to stretch him more than fingers ever could.
“Oh fuck, Draco!” Harry gasped. “You feel so good. So fucking tight.”
Draco thought about making some snide remark about a certain someone’s loose pussy but he figured it would probably ruin the mood.
And anyway, all coherency was swiftly driven from him as Harry suddenly pushed all the way in, lifting Draco’s legs and bending him almost in half as he leant forward to press their foreheads together. Draco didn’t realise he’d been holding a breath until he felt Harry’s, warm against his lips. And it wasn’t until he heard the words that he realised he’d had his eyes closed the whole time.
“Look at me.”
“Can’t.” Draco screwed his eyes shut even tighter. He wasn’t quite sure what he was more afraid of - what he would see if he opened his eyes, or what Harry would see.
“Draco, look at me.”
“Can’t," he repeated, his head swimming.
“Why not?”
“If I look at you, I’ll love you.”
A silent beat passed, in which Draco planned a violent and bloody revenge on the Ginger Weasel for so obviously spiking his drink with Veritaserum.
To his surprise, Harry started to move, slow firm strokes that sent tiny shockwaves of pleasure tingling down his body to curl out of his toes.
“You’ve looked at me plenty of times before tonight.”
“Exactly,” Draco’s drugged mind replied without his consent.
Harry leant down to whisper into Draco’s ear then - so softly the words were almost lost in the low hum of music drifting out from the Great Hall.
“One little syllable. Easy, right? No. No, Draco, no. Now look at me.”
And he did.
~fin
Title: Bed of Roses
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, Harry/Ginny (possibly implied but in no way explicit - Miss Weasley gets no screen time in this movie!)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: It’s the Hogwarts Reunion and there’s only one way to survive: Getting drunk!
Warnings: EWE; some swearing/cussing; man-on-man sexin (obviously! ;D); features drunk!Draco, bottom!Draco, sarcastic!Draco, jealous!Draco and slightly Hermione-like!Draco (but don’t tell him I said that!); the Harry/Ginny implication kinda leads to implied infidelity - but it really depends how you look at it. (In my head, at least, Harry is not really with Ginny - everyone just assumes he is.)
Total word count: Approx 3,000
Original prompt request number: 198
Third prompt at link
Disclaimer: This story/artwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author’s notes:
1. The title is in no way related to the Bon Jovi song of the same name and I’m pretty sure Mr. Jon Bon does not own the rights to those 3 words, so no suing shall ensue. kthxbai!
2. I may have, possibly, completely invented some Hogwarts rose gardens. Plz to be forgiving me for this?
3. Many, many thanks to my fantastic beta! ♥
Beta: scarlet_malfoy
Bed of Roses
Fucking treacle tart. Treacle FUCKING tart! It was obviously some huge cosmic joke at his expense. The universe was mocking him, he was sure.
Although… knowing this place, the Great Harry Potter himself had probably specially requested it.
And what had he expected? Nothing else had changed.
The same wooden tables, laid out in the same rows, piled high with the same food they’d eaten over five years ago. And what sort of school held a five-year reunion, anyway? He had just about managed to block out all memory of most of his former classmates - he really didn’t need reminding of how much of a bumbling fool Longbottom was or how much more of an obnoxious know-it-all Granger was.
Draco sighed, bemoaning his luck at being dragged to this thing by Pansy as he looked up at the ceiling. Same old house colours? Check. (Although now they seemed to be intertwined in intricate patterns, no doubt meant to symbolise house unity or some such drivel!) Floating candles? Check. Hogwarts ghosts floating about? Check. Merlin, he wouldn’t be surprised if the cloud formations on the enchanted ceiling were exactly the same as the last time he’d sat right here! The only new addition was the giant banner stretched out across the entire width of the vast hall, declaring:
WELCOME BACK CLASS OF 1998
And technically, that was inaccurate anyway. Most of the people in the room hadn’t graduated at all (and half of them weren’t even in Draco’s year) and those that had, had taken remedial classes at the Ministry of Magic whilst the castle was being rebuilt and had actually sat their N.E.W.T.s in early 1999. Not that he was being pedantic, of course.
But really, treacle fucking tart!? The universe was definitely mocking him.
***
Draco was still inwardly cursing his luck an hour later, when the tables had been cleared to make way for a dance floor and the band had started to play. He stood on the periphery - Pansy next to him, tap tap tapping her foot in time to the latest Weird Sisters tune whilst he tried not to throw up his dinner at the sight of Longbottom with his tongue down that Loony Lovegood’s throat.
“Aw… come on, Drake,” Pansy whined, not for the first time that night.
“Pansy,” Draco snapped. “Do I look like a fucking duck to you?”
She smirked.
“No, no, on second thoughts,” Draco said, holding up his hand to silence Pansy before she could come up with some sarcastic reply, “don’t answer that. Not if you want to live.”
“Oh come on, just one dance.” Pansy wasn’t about to give up. “You know you want to,” she simpered, batting her eyelashes at him.
“No. What I want to do right now is gouge my eyes out with a rusty spoon. Have you seen the state of those two?”
“You’re such a miserable git sometimes, Drake.”
“Parkinson! Don’t call me that. And whilst we’re at it, I’m not a squirrel’s nest or a low cart used for carrying heavy loads, so don’t call me Dray, either!”
“You read the dictionary way too much, you know that?”
Draco scoffed. “Just because I happen to have my own personal library and I actually know how to read…”
“Ssh… Draco, I think I just heard Granger cream her knickers from all the way across the room.”
“Oh dear MERLIN! Pansy, I’ve been traumatised enough in my life without you adding to it. Remember? Evil, dark wizard terrorizing my family and crazy werewolves running about my home. I really don’t need that mental picture to keep me awake at night, thank you very much.”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “Yes, Draco,” she droned. “How could I ever forget? Not when you- hey, where are you going?” she asked just as Draco turned to walk away.
“To find some real alcohol!” he called back over his shoulder. “Someone must have something other than this Hippogriff’s piss excuse for a punch!” he said, gesturing to the glass in his hand before vanishing it wandlessly.
***
It had only partly been an excuse to escape Pansy. He really had needed to get some decent alcohol. What with the hideous PDA from the loony brigade and the inordinate number of Gryffindors laughing at every single word that came out of Harry Potter’s mouth, the only way to survive was to get blind drunk. There were some things that even Salazar himself couldn’t deal with sober, and a giggling gaggle of Gryffindors was definitely number one on that list.
But Pansy was relentless in her campaign to get Draco to make a fool out of himself on the dance floor, so he had actually taken temporary refuge with one Gryffindor in order to escape her.
She managed to find him an hour and half a bottle of Firewhisky later, though, leaning against said Gryffindor with an arm draped across his broad shoulders.
“Draco!?” Pansy exclaimed. “What are you doing?”
“My friend Mr. Weasel, here, has kindly procured for me some alcohol that doesn’t taste like the floor of the Owlery,” Draco answered, slurring and moving his head around far too much.
“Er… Draco,” Pansy grinned uncomfortably at George and gave Draco a look that said ‘Should you really be calling him that whilst you’ve got your arm around him and his entire family is glaring Unforgivables at you?’
An awkward silence stretched out between the three of them, in which Pansy could practically feel Draco taking a drunken fumble through her mind. She was about to hex his arse when his slurred rambling broke the silence. “Pansy, Pansy, Pansy. It’s ok; Weasel and I have a mutual understanding. He understands he’s a weasel. I understand that I need to be highly intoxicated in order to survive this Hufflepuff exercise in nostalgia disguised as a ‘reunion’. Isn’t that right, G - Ginger?”
George laughed. “Yeah, something like that.”
“Anyway. Us homosexuals have to stick together,” Draco said. “Er… but not literally,” he added as an afterthought, springing away from George as though he’d been burned. “Because, you know… eww. Just eww.” Draco screwed his face up in an expression of pure disgust. “No offence, Weasel.”
To Pansy’s surprise, George didn’t yell “sic ‘im!” and let his rabid pack of relatives tear Draco limb from limb. Instead he just chuckled and gave Draco a hearty slap on the back as though they were old chums. “None taken, Ferret face, none taken.”
With that George took his leave and Draco gave Pansy a smug look. Pansy was still a Slytherin, though - and not a pissed out of their mind one at that - and George Weasley was still George Weasley. She was pretty sure Draco would pay for that one later.
***
“Ah, Potter! Potty, Potty, Pothead.” Draco slumped back on the marble staircase, waving his bottle of Firewhisky around as he spoke. He’d tried to escape Pansy again by sneaking off to the library, but he’d got as far as the staircase in the entrance hall before his legs had decided that was ‘Quite enough walking, thank you very much’.
And now here was Potter, by all appearances attempting to sneak away from the party himself. Just what Draco needed.
“What?” Potter asked. “What did you just say?”
“Um… Scarhead? I said Scarhead.”
Potter quirked an eyebrow at him. “You’re drunk.”
Draco decided a nice slow clap was in order for that ultimate statement of the obvious, but the staircase he was on had obviously decided to move and he was holding on for dear life - his dear, precious life. Never mind that in all his years at Hogwarts, the entrance hall staircase had never been known to move. It was moving now - obviously some things had changed after-all. “Congratulations, Super Potter! Your superior powers of observation reign supreme!”
Potter scowled. “Why d’you have to be so snarky all the time?”
“You do realise that snarky is not actually a word, right?”
“Fuck you, Malfoy.”
“No, really. There’s a dictionary in the library. Fourth floor. Go check. Whilst you’re at it, look up the meaning of Potter. I think you’ll find it somewhere between plebeian and prat. Literally.”
“Grow up, Malfoy. We’re not twelve anymore.”
“Yeah, but you know what they say; when at Hogwarts…”
“What? Get drunk and act like a dick?”
“Or… get dick and act like a drunk. Two out of three ain’t bad. You offering?”
“That makes no sense.”
“I know,” Draco managed to choke out before bursting into fits of laughter.
“You really are wasted, aren’t you?” Potter asked, sitting down on the step next to Draco and trying to pry the bottle from his hands.
“So!” Draco huffed, snatching it back. “You would be, too, if you were me.”
“Why’d you come tonight, Malfoy? You hate practically everyone here, anyway.”
“Oh, dear!” Draco mock-exclaimed. “Your super special powers seem to be failing!”
“Malfoy…”
“Why do you think, Harry?”
Potter just looked at him with a blank expression that reminded Draco of his house-elf, Blinky.
“Why do you think I came here tonight?” Draco repeated, leaning closer to Potter.
“Don’t!” Potter backed away, jumping to his feet.
“What?” Draco all but shouted. “Don’t what? Expect you to acknowledge my existence?”
“Don’t start, Malfoy. Please. I told you, it’s not that easy.”
“Fine. Fuck off, then.”
Potter just glared.
“Go on, run along,” Draco ushered him away, waving his hands dismissively. “Wouldn’t want to keep the She-Weasel waiting, now would we?”
“Fine,” he shouted. “Drink yourself to death, for all I care!”
“I will!”
“Fine!”
“Fine!”
Draco waited long enough so that it wouldn’t look like he was following Potter in before storming back into the Great Hall himself. He really needed another drink and that Weasel had a bottle of Green Fairy Absinthe with his name on it. He half-stumbled, half-stomped through the crowds, knocking people out of his way like bowling pins until he found George. He could practically feel Potter’s eyes burning a hole in his back but he didn’t hang around long enough to let Harry approach him. He intended to take his drink out into the rose gardens and drink until he passed out or felt better - whichever came first.
***
Potter followed him. Of course Potter followed him - the git was nothing if not stubborn and predictable.
“Malfoy,” he called out before stepping around the large rose bush Draco was sitting behind. “Malfoy? I heard voices…. Were you- were you talking to yourself?”
“No! Of course not! I was talking to this rose bush, but it’s not much of a conversationalist. I suspect it’s just using me for my heavenly body.”
Potter laughed. “You’re quite funny when you’re drunk.”
“Funny looking…”
“Huh?”
Draco didn’t answer. He closed his eyes and took another swig of absinthe, spilling some of the green liquid down the front of his dress robes. Green. Like Potter’s eyes.
“Treacle tart,” he blurted out suddenly, his eyes still closed.
Draco could hear the confusion in Potter’s voice. “What?”
He tried to jump to his feet but his head was spinning and his legs wobbled as though he’d been hit by a particularly nasty Jelly-Legs Jinx. The result was a sort of wobbly scramble with Potter’s arms around him, helping him, supporting him, holding him. “They served treacle tart,” he repeated, almost urgently.
“Um… yeah, my favourite.”
“I know,” Draco sighed, leaning his head against Harry’s chest. The other man was so warm, warm and safe, and Draco’s head hurt with the unfairness of it all.
“Oh.” Draco felt Harry’s heart beat speed up ever so slightly. “Draco… that- that was years ago.”
“Three years, nine months and six days,” Draco mumbled into the fabric of Harry’s robes. “And it still makes my blood boil with jealousy.”
Harry swiftly backed off, leaving Draco to (quite unreasonably, in his opinion) support his own weight.
“I can’t.” Harry shook his head.
“Such a defeatist, Potter. You really are putting Gryffindor to shame.”
“I…”
Draco stepped towards Harry, bringing them within touching distance again. “Be brave, Harry.” He lifted his hand to Harry’s face, brushing his fringe aside to run his thumb across the faded scar on his forehead.
Harry shivered under his touch. “I can’t, Draco.”
“I believe in you.”
Harry paused. He seemed to be running something over in his mind, every conflicting emotion written all over his face. “Do you?” he eventually asked.
“Yes,” Draco answered, far too honestly for his liking.
“Do you trust me?”
“With my life - which you happen to have saved quite a few times.”
Harry shook his head. “I can’t,” he repeated, his voice strained, his eyes wide and shining.
He turned suddenly, starting to walk away, but Draco stopped him, grabbing his arm in a surprisingly firm grip - considering the state he was in.
“You’re a fucking coward, Potter!”
Harry tried to pull away. “Let go, Malfoy.”
Draco only gripped tighter. “You act like such the big damn hero, but really you’re just running scared," he sneered. “You make me sick.”
“Shut up!” Harry practically growled, his face burning with anger.
“NO! Why the fuck should I?” Draco raised his voice. “You’re pathetic! So fucking afraid!”
Harry suddenly wrenched his arm from his grip to grab the front of Draco’s robes in both hands. Their faces were mere centimetres apart and the tension bubbling thickly beneath the surface was enough to have Draco hard and aching in seconds.
“I said. Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” Harry spat the words through gritted teeth, his green eyes alive with fury.
Draco opened his mouth, but he didn’t have time to utter even one tiny syllable before Harry silenced him with a brutal kiss, slamming his lips against Draco’s with such force that his legs finally gave way and they both went tumbling backwards into the rose bush.
Draco landed with an ‘oomph’, thorns tearing at his robes and skin, but Harry didn’t stop his assault. His tongue pushed into Draco’s open mouth with such an authority he could almost believe it had always been there - and nowhere else. Draco could feel Harry’s prick hard against his own as they kissed, and his hands tore at Draco’s robes almost desperately - causing the solid silver buttons adorning the front of them to fly off in every direction. Draco was sure his most expensive dress robes were ruined but he couldn’t find the energy to care. Not when Harry’s hands were on his skin, stroking across his chest as he broke the kiss to attach his mouth to Draco’s neck. Draco arched up into Harry’s touch, small moans of pleasure building in the back of his throat, as his hands travelled lower.
Draco thought he might explode the instant Harry’s hand found his leaking prick, but he managed to hold off. Harry suddenly seemed content in going slowly, gently running his thumb across the sensitive head before reaching lower to play with his balls. Draco rubbed himself against Harry’s hand, a strange squeak escaping his lips as the tip of Harry’s finger circled the tight ring of muscle at his entrance. Harry leant back to look at him and Draco suddenly felt naked under his piercing gaze. Then he realised that he was naked. He was naked and Harry wasn’t. It took a moment for him to find his wand somewhere amongst the tangled thorns and velvety black petals surrounding him, and then he rectified the situation, spelling Harry’s robes clean off. Harry gasped - no doubt surprised that Draco could perform such magic whilst so inebriated - and Draco suddenly felt two fingers push into him. It was his turn to gasp then. To gasp and pant and moan and wonder exactly when Harry had uttered a lubrication charm.
Harry watched Draco’s face as he fingered him - his eyelids fluttering and his mouth open in a perfect O as tiny breathy moans escaped his lips. But then Draco caught Harry’s eye and a sudden serious expression crossed his face - well, as serious an expression as he could manage whilst lying naked in a rose bush.
“Are you going back to her?” Draco asked, before biting nervously on his lower lip.
Harry frowned. “Draco, we’re in a rose bush and I have my fingers up your arse. Is now really the best time?”
“All you have to say is no. One little syllable. Easy.”
Harry hesitated.
“Oh, my god!” Draco tried to squirm away, but Harry hooked his fingers, pressing firmly on that spot. “Ah… oh… fuck,” Draco panted. “It really is that fuck- fucking - oh - fucking easy for you, isn’t it? You’re really going to fuck me right here then go back to- ah- to - sweet Merlin! To her - to that ginger muff!?”
Harry leant forward then, to kiss away Draco’s indignation and this time it was gentler. Harry’s tongue was warm and he tasted like treacle tart - a fact that suddenly didn’t make Draco want to hex everything in sight. Harry pulled his fingers out and Draco mourned their loss with a loud moan. He heard the whispered charm this time and then Harry was inside him, his thick cock sliding in ever so slowly to stretch him more than fingers ever could.
“Oh fuck, Draco!” Harry gasped. “You feel so good. So fucking tight.”
Draco thought about making some snide remark about a certain someone’s loose pussy but he figured it would probably ruin the mood.
And anyway, all coherency was swiftly driven from him as Harry suddenly pushed all the way in, lifting Draco’s legs and bending him almost in half as he leant forward to press their foreheads together. Draco didn’t realise he’d been holding a breath until he felt Harry’s, warm against his lips. And it wasn’t until he heard the words that he realised he’d had his eyes closed the whole time.
“Look at me.”
“Can’t.” Draco screwed his eyes shut even tighter. He wasn’t quite sure what he was more afraid of - what he would see if he opened his eyes, or what Harry would see.
“Draco, look at me.”
“Can’t," he repeated, his head swimming.
“Why not?”
“If I look at you, I’ll love you.”
A silent beat passed, in which Draco planned a violent and bloody revenge on the Ginger Weasel for so obviously spiking his drink with Veritaserum.
To his surprise, Harry started to move, slow firm strokes that sent tiny shockwaves of pleasure tingling down his body to curl out of his toes.
“You’ve looked at me plenty of times before tonight.”
“Exactly,” Draco’s drugged mind replied without his consent.
Harry leant down to whisper into Draco’s ear then - so softly the words were almost lost in the low hum of music drifting out from the Great Hall.
“One little syllable. Easy, right? No. No, Draco, no. Now look at me.”
And he did.
~fin