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Malfoys Don't Get Drunk

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It takes Harry a little while to get the key in the door, but finally it swings inwards and he and Ron stumble in with Draco between them. He steadies himself with a hand on the door frame, eyes roaming over the dark interior of the room. He and Ron are pretty worse for wear themselves, but most of the others at the Christmas night out had been in a worse state or too busy copping off with each other (cough cough Dennis and Pansy) so here they are. 

Ron fumbles the Put-Outer out of his pocket.

“Right, let’s get the- Oh, bugger, I’ve dropped it.” he says, and give Draco a little shove, tipping all of their inebriated friend’s weight onto Harry while he bends down to retrieve it.

“That’s it, Weasley, bend and snap,” Draco slurs into Harry’s shoulder, breath warming the fabric of his shirt a little. Harry needs to find a way to stop Hermione from lending him her DVDs.

Ron's mission to rescue the Put-Outer is a success, and he clicks it, sending a ball of light skimming over to the nearest light source; a stand lamp over by a surprisingly homely squashy brown sofa. There's a fluffy rug and small TV, a well made but worn-looking wooden coffee table with a few very faint rings, like Draco occasionally forgets to put a coaster down. Harry always pictured Draco's house as more… Posh.

Not that he really thinks about Draco's house much. Well, not often. Not that often.

“Alright, let's get you some water and-”

“No. No water.” Draco says, shaking his head. “I'm not some… Some drunken idiot you have to look after, you know.” He drew himself up, over balanced, and staggered backwards, grabbing onto them for support and nearly tipping them all into a pile on the floor. ”I am a Malfoy, and Malfoys do not get drunk. We enjoy alternatives to sobriety.”

Harry snickers but Ron raises an eyebrow. “How do you even tell whether he's taking the piss or not when he's like this?”

Harry shrugs. “Either way it's pretty funny.” he says. ”Right, help me get him to the kitchen.”

Draco struggles and slips out of Harry's grip. He strains to get away from Ron too, eyes sharp suddenly and jaw set. “Unhand me, you big, ginger… man.” he says, losing steam at the end of the sentence after a strong start. That's the way Draco is, Harry thinks fondly. He tries to put on this nasty front sometimes, but he can never quite follow through properly. 

Draco frees himself and stumbles forward, spinning around to regard them as he sways on his feet near the Christmas tree. “S’fine. I'm fine. You four can go now.”

Harry and Ron exchange a glance. 

“I'll grab the water, you get him upstairs.” Ron says. 

It's easier said than done. Draco doesn't cooperate until they get to the stairs, and then suddenly he becomes a little too willing. 

“Dyerwannaseemabedroom?” he says, arms hooked around Harry's neck suddenly, breathing into his ear. He's so sloppy that it's more ridiculous than sensual, and Harry even manages a chuckle when under any other circumstances hearing those words would be-

Well. Nevermind about that.

“Come on, you lightweight, let’s get you into bed.”

“Yeah. Lessgo t'bed.” Draco says, and - oh, sweet Merlin, did Draco just lick his face? He's climbing the stairs now at least, with a little help from Harry. 

“You know what your problem is Potter?” Draco asks. Harry doesn't, but he's pretty sure Draco is about to tell him. 

“My annoying auror partner who always gets smashed at the work night out, and only calls me Potter when he's drunk or pissed off with me?” he suggests. 

“That is a lie.” Malfoy says, each word carefully pronounced so as not to slur. Once they're at the top of the stairs, he pauses for a moment, then drags Harry through a door into a bedroom lit only by the sodium glow of the lamppost outside the window. He can make out the vague shape of a wardrobe and a chest of drawers, but the bed takes up most of the room and his attention. “I only call you Potter when I'm thinking about sex.” he says, and lunges for him, hands cupped around Harry's face. 

Harry swerves his head sideways to avoid it. He's ached for this for years now, but not like this. If he ever kisses Draco he wants them both to be fully present. He wants them to remember it forever, because he's known for some time now that Draco is it for him. His legs bump against the bed frame as he backs away and he's in no condition to keep himself upright so they tumble onto the bed, landing in an awkward pile. 

“Whoa. Spinny.” Malfoy says, and Harry laughs because those are two words he had no idea were in his partner's vocabulary. He shoves Malfoy off him, and they lie there shoulder to shoulder for a moment while Malfoy blinks and tries to adjust to his new horizontal status. 

“You're so drunk.” Harry mumbles, mouth turning up at the corners in spite of himself. Draco’s bed is the softest bed he's ever laid in. It's got that squishy muggle stuff in it, he thinks. The foamy stuff. He'd know it if he was sober. 

“M'not drunk. Tipsy.” Draco protests. 

“You cried and told Ginny how beautiful her valentines poem back in school was. You lay on the pool table and sang The Green Green Grass Of Home. How did you even find out about Tom Jones? You are unbelievably drunk.”

“S'not originally Tom.” Draco says, like that makes everything better. He closes his eyes, wincing slightly. “I might be a little drunk.” he says. “I'm pretty sure the ceiling's never done that before.”

“Get some sleep, you muppet.” Harry says, keeping his tone as quiet and level as he can. He even chances brushing a little hair away from Draco's face. Draco's expression is slack now, and his breathing is levelling out. Draco never did tell him what his problem was, but that's OK because he's pretty sure it's Draco. 

The bed feels too soft and warm to get up, and Harry just really doesn't want to. Draco will be horrified in the morning that he came onto him, but Harry can have this. He can sleep here this one night. For a few seconds as his eyes close he lets himself think about what it would be like if Draco actually wanted him here, not just because he was drunk. If their lips met and they could tumble onto the bed in entirely different circumstances. “G'night… Malfoy.”



It takes Ron a minute or two to find the glasses in the cupboard, several minutes more to remember what he was supposed to be doing instead of rearranging Malfoy's fridge magnets, and longer than is dignified to clamber up the stairs. He loses about a third of the glass of water along the way. 

Harry and Malfoy are fast asleep next to each other on the bed. Harry is scrunched up small on his side like always, a little patch of drool forming by his chin already. Malfoy is sprawled in all directions with his mouth hanging open. Catching flies, as his mum would say.

He wonders if they'll even acknowledge waking up in bed together in the morning. Probably not, if the last few years of dancing around each other was anything to go by. Ron shakes his head, finds the guest room, and crashes out in there. He wouldn't miss this awkward breakfast for the world.