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Tales of Apparation Gone Awry

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Draco knows he shouldn’t apparate after drinking. He knows he shouldn’t; it was drilled into every students head during their long awaited instruction in the subject at school. He could probably recite the droning speech on the rules of the subject in his sleep he’d heard it so many times.

As Draco stood at the apparation point around the corner of the Leaky Cauldron one night, his mind only brushed over the unfortunate consequence of splinching for a moment, before moving into the far more pleasant territory of Draco’s bed. His sheets were simply divine, handpicked from Italy by his mother on one of her regular vacations to the country with her revolving door of young suitors. Some of them were nearly as young as Draco. It was deliciously scandalous, and Draco quite enjoyed teasing her about it after a glass or two of wine when he visited.

So there Draco was, dreaming of his silky soft sheets when he abruptly stumbled into some kind of mix of his favourite wet dream and his absolute worst nightmare.

Draco stumbled slightly after apparating, catching himself on the back of an armchair while attempting to rectify his lack of balance. A crash sounded from the next room, and Draco was met with a truly frightening sight: Harry Potter in his underwear.

“Potter,” Draco cried, slurring slightly. “Why are you in my house?”

Potter just stared at him for a moment before saying “why am I in your house?”

Potter looked surprisingly good in his half-naked state, his hair wild and his glasses askew. Draco found he quite liked him like that, even more than he liked the buttoned up professional Potter who smiled at Draco across the Ministry cafeteria whenever he saw him, or winked at him whenever someone said something particularly boring or stupid when Draco was called in by the Auror Department for a potions consult.

“Are you daft?” Draco asked. He careened sideways into an armchair. “Yes, Potter, why are you in my house?”

Your house?” Potter repeated.

“Honestly, Potter. Did you hit your head?” Draco snorted. He attempted to shoot a sneer Potter’s way, but it shifted into something resembling an odd smile as it twisted its way across his face.

“Draco, are you drunk?” Potter asked. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, drawing Draco’s eyes to it. Draco wanted to replace Potter’s teeth with his own, sinking them into the soft flesh.

“A gentleman never tells,” Draco answered. He was having a hard time tearing his eyes away from Potter’s mouth.

“I’ll get you a glass of water,” Potter said.

“You won’t know where my cups are,” Draco cried, heaving himself out of the armchair to follow Potter.

How odd, he’d always thought his kitchen was to the right of his living room, not down a hall to the left. He must have been mistaken.

“Oh, I think I’ll find them,” Potter replied, a smile in his voice.

Draco scrunched his nose up. He hated when Potter sounded all cute and appealing. Draco wasn’t allowed to find Potter appealing. It’s Potter.

“Bottoms up,” Potter said, shoving a glass of water and a vial of what looked like a Sobering Potion into Draco’s hands.

Draco sent what he hoped was a terrifying scowl Potter’s way, before drinking down the potion, followed by the water.

Potter stared at Draco expectantly while Draco blinked a few times, the room suddenly coming into crisp detail. Crisp, strange detail.

“This isn’t my house,” Draco said immediately.

“Indeed it’s not,” Potter replied.

“This is your house,” Draco stated, deadpan.

“Also correct.”

“Why am I in your house?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“I beg to differ, Potter. My guesses are always far superior,” Draco said. He stood up straighter and brushed off his robes. “Right. I’ll be going then.”

“Are you sure you’ll be ok to—“ Potter started, before Draco cut him off.

“Unless you’re planning on tucking me into bed, I’m sure I’ll be fine to Floo home,” Draco sniffed haughtily.

Potter shot him a cheeky grin. “Well, I could.”

“Goodnight, Potter,” Draco called over his shoulder.

He was still shaking his head at himself as the green flames cleared to reveal the living room of the house that was very much his.

He wasn’t quite sure why he was disappointed by that fact.


It’s Pansy’s fault the next time.

Draco hadn’t been able to resist sharing that he’d somehow ended up in Potter’s house at some ungodly hour of the morning, taking great care not to leave out the minor detail of Potter being mostly naked during the encounter. Pansy had laughed far louder than was called for, considering they were in the middle of the Ministry cafeteria surrounded by their workmates, but she vowed to buy Draco a drink after work so she was forgiven. What wasn’t forgiven was her reasoning for buying said drink. She put it down to Draco needing to ‘drown his feelings’ or some bollocks. What Draco needed was to wipe the memory of Harry Potter’s bare chest and lightly hairy, and surprisingly muscled thighs from his memory. Yes, that would solve everything.

Possibly unfortunately for Draco, Pansy never could settle for just one drink. That one turned into three, which turned into six, which turned into an amount high enough that Draco was unable to count anymore. Or keep his mouth shut, apparently.

“But, Pansy, his thighs,” Draco murmured wistfully, as Pansy clumsily attempted to cram a Firewhiskey into Draco’s hands, spilling a good chunk of it onto the slightly sticky tabletop. “You should’ve seen them.”

“I’m quite alright, Draco. Although, I wouldn’t say no to a bit of sharing once you end up snaring him, hmm?” Pansy sounded far less drunk than Draco did, he noted. That never boded well for him. Pansy was known to note down things Draco said while drunk to use against him later. It was so very Slytherin of her that it warmed his heart.

“Love you, Pans,” Draco mumbled, shoving his face into her arm.

“Christ,” Pansy muttered. “Maybe I’ll finish that Firewhiskey for you instead.”

“No,” Draco cried, clutching it to his chest. He’d be angry with himself the next morning for letting the alcohol get on his nice robes, no doubt. But that was a problem for future Draco.

“Future Draco has issues,” Draco mumbled into his drink.

“I’m sure he does,” Pansy replied, ordering another two Firewhiskeys, which she kept far from Draco’s grabby hands. “But what are his issues this time?”

“Future Draco has to deal with Potter,” Draco said. His voice sounded less pointed and more wistful than he’d have liked. He took a gulp of Firewhiskey to distract himself.

“Draco in all forms likes dealing with Potter,” Pansy said. She attempted to point a finger at Draco, but only succeeded in gesturing towards his left ear. “You’ll have to admit it one day.”

Never,” Draco hissed.

“I’m surprised he didn’t throw you out on your ass last time,” Pansy said. “Maybe Potter likes dealing with you too?”

“Don’t get my hopes up, Pans. I’m too drunk and vulnerable.” Draco slumped down until his head was resting on the table. “But his thighs.”

“That’s it, we’re leaving,” Pansy said, standing up too fast and having to catch herself on the table. “Shall we Floo back to mine? I can transfigure the couch into a bed if you like?”

“In this state? You’ll end up creating a bath again.”

“Hey, you liked that bath,” Pansy huffed. “You said it had nice taps.”

“I’ll just apparate, I don’t want to get Floo powder on my robes,” Draco said. He noted that he stood with far more grace than Pansy.

“That’s a terrible idea,” Pansy stated.

“I didn’t splich myself last time,” Draco replied.

“While true, it’s still a terrible idea. You might end up at Potter’s again.”

“Fine,” Draco huffed. He followed Pansy outside, heading towards the bank of public Floos that were always far too dirty for Draco’s liking. It had taken days to get the low quality Floo powder out of his robes last time he’d used them. They should be condemned, really.

Making a split-second decision, Draco ripped his arm out of Pansy’s grasp and jogged round the corner, cackling at the sound of Pansy’s surprised yell. He apparated out of the alley just as Pansy rounded the corner, her expression murderous. He was still cackling to himself as he popped into his living room, gleefully constructing the picture of the sour look Pansy would direct his way the next time she saw him, pissed off that he’d disobeyed her.

His laughter died on his lips at the sight of Potter sprawled across a couch clad only in a dressing gown, watching Draco with an unreadable expression.

“Potter,” Draco cried. “You’re in my house again.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Potter groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“You’re clothed this time,” Draco said.

“Indeed,” Potter replied. “Is this going to become a regular thing?”

“I can’t predict future Draco’s behaviour,” Draco stated. “Future Draco has to deal with things.” He collapsed on the couch half on top of Potter’s feet.

“Things, huh?” Potter asked, marking the page in his book.

Draco nodded seriously. “Where are your thighs, Potter? Can I see them?”

Merlin,” Potter muttered again. He got up and disappeared through a doorway. He came back with a vial of Sobering Potion, holding it out to Draco.

“Stupid Potter,” Draco muttered as he held the vial to his lips. “Wanting me to leave before I can see his pretty thighs.”

Potter unsuccessfully attempted to stifle a laugh. Draco glared at him.

“Pretty thighs, huh?” Potter smirked.

It only took a moment for the potion to take hold, before Draco stood abruptly, directing a wide eyed look Potter’s way, before stepping into the Floo, his robes be damned.

He could hear Potter’s laughter as he Floo’d away.

It was all Pansy’s fault, really.


“I’m never drinking again,” Draco announced to Pansy the next morning.

“Thank Merlin for Sobering Potions,” Pansy agreed. “Also, you’re an absolute git.” She hit out at him with her handbag. “I can’t believe you made off like some criminal and apparated away. You could have splinched yourself.”

“Ah, but I didn’t,” Draco said. He leaned against Pansy’s desk and stared at her with wide eyes. “I did something even worse.”

“You went to Potter again, didn’t you?”

“I never went to Potter in the first place,” Draco cried. “That implies some level of wanting to go to where Potter is.”

“You cannot truthfully say you don’t want to end up in Potter’s house again with him barely clothed.”

“But the point is my drunk self can’t be trusted. Sober Draco would never just turn up at Potter’s house. Sober Draco would also never ask to see Potter’s thighs.”

“Wait, you did what?” Pansy cried, shrieking with laughter.

“You’re a shite friend if you ever let me drink again,” Draco hissed.

Pansy probably couldn’t hear him over the sound of her own laughter, the stupid bint.


It was official: Pansy was a shite friend.

Not that she was there, but Draco had mentioned to her in passing that he, Greg, and Blaise were getting together for a drink. He’d definitely told her, so Draco was obviously not responsible for anything he did whilst drunk. That was the responsibility of Pansy, naturally.

“I hate Pansy,” Draco declared. He was lying on the ground gazing up at the stars in Blaise’s backyard, Greg lying next to him.

“You love Pansy. You both adore each other, Merlin knows why,” Blaise replied.

“I do love Pansy,” Draco nodded. “But she’s really shite.”

“That star looks like a dog,” Greg said, pointing at the sky.

“Alright, Greg,” Draco said, patting Greg’s shoulder. “She’s shite because I’m not allowed to drink and she’s letting me.”

“What motive would Pansy Parkinson, of all people, have to stop anyone from drinking?” Blaise asked. “I mean, the hypocrisy alone…”

“Because I apparate to Potter when I drink,” Draco sighed.

“Do you really?” Blaise asked. He sounded dangerously interested now. It was a sign that nothing was going to end well for Draco.

“It’s a very painful topic. I don’t want to talk about it,” Draco declared.

Blaise snorted in response. “If Potter’s anywhere near as obsessed with you as you are with him then I’m sure it is a painful topic. Well, a mildly discomforting topic, anyway. I should hope Potter knows how to properly bugger a bloke without tipping the pain threshold.”

“Stop talking about Potter buggering blokes,” Greg cried.

“Yes, Blaise, listen to Greg,” Draco nodded.

“You’re just afraid you’ll get hard,” Blaise replied.

Draco’s hand dropped to the front of his trousers.

“Oh dear,” Draco muttered.

Merlin, Draco, stop,” Greg cried. He rolled to the side in an attempt to get away from Draco’s erection, but only succeeded in making himself vomit onto the perfectly manicured grass.

“That’s it, both of you are going home,” Blaise declared. “Greg, I’m putting you in the Floo are you are not going to vomit on any of my mother’s rugs on the way there. I don’t fancy having to walk by the site of your murder whenever I’m feeling like a spot of tea. Draco, you’re apparating from here and you’d better hope for your sake that you end up at Potter’s.”

“Sober Draco says going to Potter’s is a bad idea,” Draco declared.

“Well partially drunk Blaise says going to Potter’s is a splendid idea,” Blaise retorted. “Maybe he has a collection of broomsticks he can show you. Make sure you ask to ride his biggest one.”

“Do you think that will help?” Draco asked earnestly.

“Definitely,” Blaise replied.

“Brilliant,” Draco cried, smiling drunkenly.

“Brilliant,” Blaise echoed with a smirk.

Draco waved at his friends as he apparated away, catching sight of Greg vomiting onto the grass again before he popped away.

Draco hadn’t been fully intending to apparate to Potter’s again, he’d just kind of let him take himself somewhere. Somewhere had obviously ended up being Potter’s living room.

“Potter,” Draco hissed loudly. Potter’s living room was dim, the only light coming from a lamp on a side table. “Potter, you git,” Draco muttered louder.


Draco turned to see Potter standing in the door to the hallway, his hair mussed from sleep. He rubbed one of his eyes tiredly. Draco felt his knees buckle slightly at the sight.

“Broomsticks,” Draco declared, shaking himself back into reality.

“What?” Potter asked, interrupting himself with a yawn.

“Blaise said something about broomsticks.”

“Were you at the Three Broomsticks?” Potter asked. “Do you need me to help you get back there to get Zabini to take you home?”

“No, I … your broomsticks. You have a collection,” Draco declared, nodding frantically.

“Zabini told you I have a collection of broomsticks?” Potter asked slowly.

Draco nodded. “He said I should ask to ride the biggest one.”

Potter spluttered, walking forward to clasp Draco’s arm, gently steering him through the hallway and into the kitchen.

“You’re going to sit right there and I’m going to make you some tea to go along with your potion,” Potter said.

“Were you asleep?” Draco asked. He watched the way the light bounced off Potter’s skin, eyelashes casting shadows over his cheekbones when he lowered his eyelids.

“That’s generally what someone does during the night, yes,” Potter said, smiling at Draco to take the sharpness out of the retort.

“Is that what you do at night?” Draco started before he could stop himself. “I would’ve thought you’d be doing someone at night.” He clamped his hands over his mouth as soon as the words had been released.

“Are you alright, Draco?” Potter asked. His face was notably redder than it had been a few moments before.

“Don’t answer that,” Draco hissed. “Sober Draco won’t want the answer.”

Potter stared at Draco for a moment, before sitting down in the chair opposite Draco. He placed the tea in front of them both, but kept the vial of Sobering Potion in his hand.

“Will sober Draco only want to hear my reply if he gets a certain answer?” Potter asked.

“Yes, but I’m not supposed to say that.”

“Merlin, you’re a mouthy drunk, aren’t you?” Potter laughed. “Drink this.” He pushed the vial towards Draco, who took another few sips of his tea, before drinking the potion down. “Now, to answer your question—“

“Merlin, no,” Draco cried. He shot away from the table and made for the Floo. “Stop letting me in here,” he yelled over his shoulder. “You’re a complete sadist for not warding me out of here by now.”

Potter burst into laughter in the kitchen, the sound following Draco into the living room.

“Draco,” Potter called from the doorway as Draco fumbled with the Floo powder. “I’m not sleeping with anyone.”

Draco just threw the powder down, yelling out his address.

He made sure to send Blaise a box of the foulest candy he could find the next morning.


Draco’s sudden vow of sobriety had been going shockingly well, considering his lifestyle and group of friends. Each refusal of a Firewhiskey in favor of a Butterbeer was met with a chorus of groans from his friends, right sods they were.

It was going swimmingly, that was, until Pansy got dumped.

“You have to drink this with me,” Pansy declared, showing up on Draco’s doorstep with a large bottle of clear liquid and thick eyeliner that couldn’t quite hide her red rimmed eyes.

“You want me to drink water with you?” Draco asked, stepping aside to let Pansy in.

“It’s Muggle alcohol. Vodkey, or something.”

“Oh no,” Draco replied, taking a step back with his hands raised. “I’m never drinking again, remember.”

“We’re in your house, Draco. There’s nowhere you could possibly need to apparate to,” Pansy cried in exasperation. “And I just got dumped – I mean, I just did the dumping. Regardless, have a little heart, Draco.”

“I’ll find a reason to apparate,” Draco replied. “I can’t be trusted.”

“Well then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Pansy declared. “Now, come help me forget about that stupid git Robert.”

“He really is a stupid git, isn’t he?” Draco surrendered, allowing Pansy to pour him a glass of the Muggle alcohol.

“Cheers to that,” Pansy replied, raising her glass.

They both took a large gulp of the liquor, before dropping the glasses on the floor, retching.

“What the buggering fuck is that, Pansy?” Draco cried. He rushed to run his tongue under the sink.

“That, my dear Draco, is exactly what Obliviate would taste like if it was a drink. Bottoms up,” she said, shoving a new glass of the alcohol into Draco’s hands.

“Oh, Merlin,” Draco muttered, but followed Pansy’s lead.

“I’m going to fuck Blaise,” Pansy declared, a few hours and half a bottle of Muggle alcohol later.

“You and half the city,” Draco replied, sipping on his glass of definitely-not-water. It didn’t taste half as bad now that his vision was all fuzzy.

“He’ll say yes,” she said.

“Course he will,” Draco replied.

“I deserve it.”

“Yes, you do.”

“So do you,” Pansy said, sitting up slightly. “You should fuck Blaise too.”

“I don’t want to fuck Blaise,” Draco said.

“Oh, that’s right. You want to fuck perfect Potter with the pretty thighs and the apparently oh-so-apparation-friendly house.”

Draco stared at the ceiling.

“You’re not denying it.”

“I’m starting to think you’ve all been adding Veritaserum to my drinks.”

“Nope, you just get mouthy when you drink.”

“That’s what Potter said,” Draco sighed wistfully.

“Yes, I’m sure Potter loves it when you get mouthy,” Pansy said in a teasing tone. “I mean it though. You deserve to fuck someone too. Draco,” she said, grasping Draco’s shoulders and staring into his eyes. “I give you permission to fuck Potter.”

Potter hasn’t given me permission to fuck Potter.”

“He keeps letting you into his house, doesn’t he?” Pansy asked. “Go and ask him.”

“Too direct,” Draco said. “He’d never go for it. I suspect he likes the chase, or some bollocks.”

“You’re projecting,” Pansy snorted, shaking Draco’s shoulders. “Ask him, you abominable git. Maybe do it sober though.”

“That will never happen,” Draco declared.

“Alright, then there’s no time like the present,” Pansy said, dragging Draco to his feet.

“Where are we going?” Draco asked.

“Apparate us to Potter’s.”

“But you’ll be there.”


“I can’t fuck Potter if you’re there.”

“You’ll never even ask if I don’t make you.”

“Fair point.”

Draco attempted to gather his thoughts and envision Potter’s living room, but the look of it kept chopping and chancing in his alcohol addled mind.

“I can’t picture it,” Draco said.

Merlin,” Pansy cried, exasperated. “How do you usually get there then?”

“I just kind of think … nice things.”

“Nice things?” Pansy asked, deadpan.

“Yes, like my bed and how it’s nice, and how tea warms me up when it’s cold, and how I like it when you hug me.”

Pansy stared at him for a moment. “You hate it when I hug you.”

“I have appearances to keep up,” Draco sniffed.

“Alright, well I hate to break it to you, but you can’t ask Potter to fuck you.”

“Why not?” Draco cried.

“Trust me,” Pansy declared. “Now, think about all those disgustingly mushy things that you somehow managed to connect to Potter, and take us there.”

Embarrassingly, Draco was able to apparate to Potter’s living room almost immediately after that.

“Potter,” Pansy bellowed, barely giving Draco enough time to take in his surroundings. “Where are you?”

After a moment they heard a swear sound from down the hallway, and Potter shuffled into the room wearing only his pants.

“Blimey,” Pansy muttered, her eyes raking over his form.

Draco gulped loudly. He nudged Pansy hard enough that she toppled over. “Thighs,” he hissed, pointing at Potter.

“It’s a bloody Tuesday night,” Potter cried, throwing his hands in the air. “Do you two ever do anything but drink?”

“I got dumped,” Pansy said. “So I stole his Muggle vodkeys.”

“You mean vodka,” Potter said. “How much did you drink?”

Draco held up his pointer finger and thumb, making a small space between them. “This is how much was left.”

“Oh Merlin,” Potter muttered. He stared at Draco, raising his eyebrows slightly. Draco realized his unit of measurement happened to be gesturing towards Potter’s pants, where the material stretched slightly over what was apparently Potter’s generously sized prick. He dropped his fingers.

“Draco needs to ask you a question,” Pansy declared from the floor.

“You said I wasn’t allowed to ask the question,” Draco said, pointing at Pansy.

“Not that one, although after seeing him in just his pants I may reconsider,” Pansy said. Draco kicked her when he saw her staring at Potter’s half naked form for a beat too long.

“And what is it Draco needs to ask me?” Potter asked, a half smile on his lips. His eyes skimmed over Draco, not flitting to Pansy once.

“Potter, come here,” Pansy demanded. Potter complied, walking to stand closer to them, but keeping the couch in between them. “Draco was going to ask you something, but then he said all this sweet shite, so now he has to ask you something else. So, without further ado: Potter, will you do me the honor of marrying Draco?”

Potter muttered “what?” at the same time as Draco yelled “you absolute bint” and tackled Pansy to the ground from her crouched position.

“What is happening?” Draco heard Potter mutter as Pansy managed to pin Draco to the ground. She smirked at Potter maddeningly, so Draco attempted to kick her again, before realizing his legs were pinned.

“Some information you should know before you marry Draco: he pretends he doesn’t like it, but this is exactly the position he’d like you to put him in.”

“I’m going to cut your hair off in your sleep, you absolute troll,” Draco hissed. He attempted to flail, but Pansy’s grip on his wrists was too strong. “Potter, help me.”

“I’ll let you two sort this out,” Potter said. “There’ll be tea in the kitchen when you’re ready to discuss our upcoming wedding, Draco. Pansy, I assume you’ll be marrying us?”

“Absolutely,” Pansy cried. “Did you hear that, Draco?”

“I will cut the legs off of all your pants, Parkinson,” Draco yelled.

Pansy cackled maniacally.

After the ten minutes it had taken Draco to pry Pansy’s gleeful form from atop him, Potter was waiting in the kitchen with three cups of tea on the table, and two vials of Sobering Potion.

Pansy groaned when she saw the potion, and buried her face in Draco’s shoulder.

“We have to work tomorrow,” she muttered. “The potion reminded me.”

“Today, technically,” Potter supplied, sipping on his tea.

“Will you keep making tea even after we’re married?” Draco asked, stumbling into a chair. “If you do then I promise to tell you before you let yourself go too much.”

“Of course,” Potter replied. “Although, I’m not sure if the proposal counts, since Pansy technically asked me. You might have to do it yourself for it to be official.”

Draco scowled at Potter’s deviant smirk. He didn’t even attempt to glance in Pansy’s direction, knowing the awful grin that would be painting her face.

“Yes, Draco, do it yourself,” Pansy hissed.

“Parkinson, you of all people know how much courting goes into a relationship before the marriage,” Draco said. “Potter hasn’t started courting me. It would be improper. You clearly know nothing of propriety, though I could have guessed that.”

“So what you’re saying is that you should ask me to be in a relationship with you before I start courting you?” Potter asked.

“Well it doesn’t have to be me that asks,” Draco sniffed. “I’d quite like to be asked, you know.”

“Drink that potion and we’ll continue this conversation,” Potter said.

Pansy all but tipped the potion down Draco’s throat for him.

“Why does this always happen?” Draco groaned after the potion had worked its way through his system.

“Now, about that conversation,” Potter said.

Draco cut him off with a hand held up. “As much as I’d love to hear your witty retorts, Potter, I’ve had quite enough of being ridiculed by my awful trollop of a best friend today, so I won’t be needing it from you too.” He stood up, dragging Pansy with him. “Thank you for the tea, but we’ll be going.”

“Draco, wait,” Potter said, standing to follow them.

“Draco Malfoy, you get yourself back in that kitchen,” Pansy hissed.

“It’s far too late at night for a rejection, Pansy,” Draco replied.

“You are the dumbest sod to ever grace the wizarding world,” Pansy grumbled, but let herself be dragged into the Floo.

The last thing Draco saw through the green flames was Potter’s confused and slightly hurt face.


It takes less than two full days for Draco’s brain to completely betray him again. He wanted to see Potter. Annoyingly wanted to. So the only logical solution would be to go and see him. The only problem was: Draco was sober and had no upcoming social engagements. He could create one himself, but neither Pansy nor Blaise would ever let him live it down when he inevitably would reveal the true reason he’d wanted to see them on such short notice. He didn’t quite fancy having the situation lorded over his head for the rest of his life.

So, if he couldn’t drink with anyone else, then he’d need to do it alone, which was quite possibly the most pitiful thing Draco had done in a very long while. Planning a solo drinking night would definitely be going on the list of lowlights of his life thus far.

Now that he had a reason to drink, he’d need a reason to go to Potter’s. If he didn’t then drunk Draco, the absolute traitor, would no doubt let it slip to Potter that he had come over solely because he wanted to see him. Which wouldn’t do. Draco still had some semblance of pride left. He might be scraping the bottom of the bottle, but there was still some there.

Pansy was the perfect scapegoat. She had no real connections to Potter outside of Draco himself, so she would have no idea of Draco’s well thought out plan to throw her under the bus.

In preparation for Draco’s top secret mission he downed half a bottle of Firewhiskey in an inadvisably short amount of time, and deliberately apparated to Potter’s place. When he popped in, the same lamp shined in the corner, but Potter was nowhere to be found. Draco half expected him to pop out from around the couch or behind a painting and scare the life out of Draco, but the house was quiet. It would be just Draco’s luck if Potter wasn’t home. Draco assumed he had some semblance of a life, after all, and it wasn’t quite as late as the other times he’d popped in.

Draco crept down the hallway, passing the dark kitchen where Potter had made him tea all those other times. Draco stopped, debating for a moment whether he should make Potter some tea, but decided he should probably figure out whether Potter was even there first.

There were four doors at various intervals down the hallway that Draco could see, and upon opening the one closest to him, Draco found himself in a bathroom. It was quite small, and not really to Draco’s tastes. The hand towels didn’t look nearly soft enough, nor did they match any of the bathroom’s objects in colour or style.

“Honestly, Potter. How do you even live,” Draco muttered under his breath.

The next door he opened lead into a guest bedroom, and the one after that a coat closet. Draco was beginning to think he and Potter were embroiled in an intense game of Hide and Seek, when he heard what sounded like a sharp intake of breath through a door up ahead to the left. Draco smirked and shuffled up to the door, pressing his ear to it. Potter was definitely in there, and he sounded like he was having breathing problems. Draco thought about running back to the Floo and hightailing it out of there, not wanting to get caught with a dead Harry Potter on his hands. But the alternative was much more frightening: having Potter die before Draco could properly see his thighs again. That wasn’t going to happen if Draco could help it.

Draco threw open the bedroom door. “Don’t die on me, Potter,” he cried, tripping over his own feet and tumbling towards the bed. Potter let out an almighty shriek, and rushed to cover himself in the sheets, twisting them around his legs.

“Draco, what the buggering fuck are you doing?” Potter cried. His chest was deliciously bare, Draco could see it from his vantage point on the floor.

“I came to … what was it I came here for?” Draco said. “That’s right: Pansy.”

“You’re drunk again,” Potter sighed. It sounded almost like he was disappointed. “Why are you always drunk when you come here?”

“I’m not allowed to, otherwise,” Draco replied. He scooted over to the bed and rested his chin on the covers at the edge.

“You’re allowed to. And I’m getting a bell to put above the Floo. A very loud one. Merlin, I almost had a bloody heart attack.” Potter rubbed his hands over his face, before glancing at one of them and grimacing slightly.

“I thought you were dying,” Draco stated. “You sounded like you were dying.”

“I sounded…” Potter trailed off. “That’ll do wonders for the ego,” he muttered.

“Now that you’re not dead, I can throw Pansy under the bus. Wait, no. Apologize for Pansy.” Draco nodded at his own words. “Potter, my knees hurt. Can I get on the bed?” Potter glanced down at his covered lap, before nodding once. Draco kicked off his shoes and heaved himself up, planting his head firmly on one of Potter’s pillows.

“Comfortable?” Potter asked, after watching Draco squirm for a full minute, before reaching an acceptable position.

“Quite,” Draco replied. Potter was watching him with a soft expression. It made him want to spill his secrets, so naturally that’s what he did. “I have a secret.”

“Do you now?” Potter asked. He slid down until he was lying next to Draco, facing him.


“I take it that you’re wanting to tell me that secret? Or maybe I should guess?”

“You’d never guess it,” Draco said with a giggle. “It’s quite a juicy secret, and I’m a good authority on what is and isn’t a juicy secret.”

“Does it have something to do with you coming here and getting into my bed?” Potter asked. He brushed away a lock of hair that had fallen into Draco’s eyes.

“I can’t say,” Draco said.

“Why ever not?” Potter asked. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“I’m not allowed to say,” Draco replied. “Sober Draco said I had to come and apologize for Pansy instead of telling you my secret.”

“Well, how about this: I give you permission to tell me the secret. Will that work?” Potter looked so bloody earnest. Draco wasn’t sure what infuriated him more; Potter’s genuine constant earnestness, or the fact that his stomach twisted itself in mildly pleasant knots whenever Potter looked at him that way.

“You’re quite devious, Potter. Did you know that?” Draco sat up and wiggled closer to Potter.

“It’s been known to happen at times,” Potter replied. His voice got all breathy by the end when Draco was a hairsbreadth away.

Draco leaned down to whisper in Potter’s ear. The volume was likely a bit higher than what was necessary for a whisper due to his level of intoxication, but it worked all the same. “I didn’t really come here about Pansy.”

“Oh?” Potter asked in mock confusion. “Then why ever did you come here?”

“I came because,” Draco leaned in far enough that his lips brushed Potter’s ear. Potter let out a sharp intake of breath at the light contact. “I wanted to see you.” Draco pulled back minutely and pressed a finger to his lips. “You can’t tell anyone.”

Potter stared at him for a moment, before reaching out to brush his thumb over Draco’s cheek.

“Draco,” Potter said breathily. “I’d really like for you to come into the kitchen and sober up and not run away before this conversation is finished. Please.”

“If I have to drink a Sobering Potion then I might lie,” Draco said, honestly.

“Please don’t,” Potter whispered. His thumb brushed over Draco’s bottom lip. Draco couldn’t help dating his tongue out to lick it. Potter breathed in sharply, and drew back his hand. He laughed when Draco pouted at him. “Come on, let’s get into the kitchen before I do something stupid while you’re drunk.”

Potter fixed some tea, seemingly content to sit there and let Draco babble on about nonsensical things for a moment, like Potter’s poor choice in hand towels, and Greg’s lack of talent for Astronomy.

“Sounds exciting,” Potter said, smiling at Draco over the rim of his cup as Draco finished a story about Pansy attempting to climb into the roof of the Leaky Cauldron using conjured ropes.

“It was, quite,” Draco replied. He kept eyeing off the bottle of Sobering Potion that sat next to Potter’s elbow. “I don’t want to drink that.”

“Why not?” Potter asked.

“Alcohol is my Veritoo— no, Veritaserum,” Draco said, nodding. “And I’m not … brave like you. I can’t say things without it.”

“I think you’re plenty brave,” Potter said. He reached across the small table to clasp Draco’s hand. “And I’ll tell you right now that I won’t laugh at you, or whatever you’re scared will happen. You don’t need to be embarrassed.”

Draco snapped his fingers and grinned. “Embarrassment. Perfect thinking, Potter.” Potter just raised an eyebrow at him. “If I say something truly embarrassing then I won’t be able to come back here.”

“That’s not quite what I was going for.”

“Give me the potion,” Draco demanded. Potter sighed, but complied.

“I have half a mind to cast Incarcerous on you,” he muttered. “Draco, I like you coming here. I’d like it even more if you came here sober. Maybe for dinner sometime. Or we could watch a film, or read the Prophet, or pick out bloody hand towels if that’s what you wanted.” Potter’s stare was piercing.

Draco blinked at him and downed the potion to avoid processing that.

“Are you sober now?” Potter asked after a moment, sounding exasperated.

“Unfortunately,” Draco replied.

“If you get up I will cast a spell,” Potter stated. Draco nodded. “Draco, why do you keep coming here? I know you said you wanted to see me, but is that the only reason? And why can’t you just Floo call on a weekend afternoon like a normal person?” Draco shifted in his seat, not wanting to meet Potter’s eyes. “Talk,” Potter demanded. His hand was still gripping Draco’s tightly on the tabletop. Draco stared at it, looking at the way their fingers were entwined with each other. “You said your new plan was to spill all your secrets, so do it.”

“I … feel safe here. I like seeing you and I want to all the time, and I know that if I come here you’ll make me tea, and...” Draco scrunched his nose up at the sound of his own voice. “It feels like you’re taking care of me. I like it; it’s not exactly a common thing that happens to me these days.”

“We’ve definitely come a long way,” Potter chuckled. His thumb drew small circles on the outside of Draco’s hand. “I would, you know. Take care of you, if that’s what you needed. If you’d let me.”

“I’d … I’d like to let you,” Draco said quietly. “But I can’t.”

“You can,” Potter said insistently. “Tell me what you want me to do and we can do it.”

“I can’t,” Draco said. He gently tugged his hand from Potter’s grasp.

“Please don’t go, Draco,” Potter said. “I think I know what you want but I need you to say it, and without the alcohol. I’ll wait if you need time to process, or whatever. I’ll wait.”

Draco paused in the doorway to the living room, Potter right on his heels. He turned around to watch Potter, whose eyes were searching his face. “I don’t deserve someone like you,” Draco whispered.

“You do,” Potter said insistently. “God, Draco, you do. Please believe me. If you won’t do that then go and ask Pansy, or your mother, or, hell, any of the people whose lives you’ve been able to make better by just doing your job at the Ministry. I want you, but I need you to let yourself be wanted first.”

Draco stepped forward to close the space between them, cupping the back of Potter’s neck and bringing their lips together. It was unlike what he’d always pictured as being their first kiss; there were no swiftly wandering hands, no biting of lips, and no movements of tongues that were closer to fighting than anything else. Potter’s hands rested firmly on Draco’s hips, holding him in place as Potter moved his mouth against Draco’s in a way that was almost chaste. Draco wasn’t sure who pulled back first, but he wanted to dive straight back in.

“I’ll wait,” Potter said against his lips. Draco felt himself nod minutely, before he pulled away from Potter’s grasp and walked to the Floo. He tried to ignore the feeling of despair he felt as he left Potter’s house, but he couldn’t quite manage it. He glared at his living room and it came into focus, wanting to kick out at his couch that looked so unlike Potter’s. His house had never felt so lonely.


It didn’t take long for Draco to Floo call Pansy. He’d debated calling her as soon as he’d Floo’d in to his place, in fact, but he’d been scared that she’d somehow hex his bollocks off if he called at such a late hour. He settled for the next morning, as he was getting ready for work.

“Pans,” Draco said, kneeling in front of his Floo and no doubt creasing his work robes. “I’m screwed up.”

“It’s far too early in the morning for a crisis,” Pansy stated.

“Potter said I have to ‘let myself be wanted’.”

That caught Pansy’s attention.

“Did he now? Very noble of him, though I should’ve expected nothing less.”

“Is he right?” Draco asked.

“Let yourself have nice things, Draco,” Pansy said. “I thought you were done beating yourself up about what you did in the war, but clearly you’re not. You need to be. Potter will be good for you, and he’s practically giving himself to you on a platter. Take what he’s offering, if not for your sake than for mine.”

“What could you possibly get out of me seeing Potter?” Draco snorted.

“Thrilling stories of your sexual escapades, of course,” she replied. “But seriously, let yourself have what you want. You’re far too selfless these days for my liking.”

“Am I really going to do this?” Draco asked. “I’m really going to confess my bloody feelings to Potter. Pans, I don’t even really know what they are.”

“Just start with the same drivel about him reminding you of your bloody sheets, or whatever you were spouting the other day. He’ll eat it up. In the meantime, we should go out tonight to celebrate your last night of the single life.”

“You realize nobody has actually asked anybody else to date them yet, right?”

“Do you even need to ask?” Pansy asked, deadpan. “We’re celebrating. I’ll round up Blaise and Greg and we’ll host a funeral for you since Merlin knows you won’t be leaving Potter’s bed for at least a month after you finally get in it.”

“I was in it last night, actually.”

“You what?”

“See you at work,” Draco cried, cutting off the Floo call.


Draco made sure he didn’t see Pansy at work, for his own health. He made sure he didn’t see Potter, too. Or rather, he made sure Potter didn’t see him. When he’d catch sight of Potter waiting for an elevator, Draco would take the stairs. Slowly, so as not to get sweaty in his robes. If Potter walked into the cafeteria, Draco would crouch down and shuffle out of sight. It wasn’t that Draco specifically wanted to avoid Potter at this point, it was that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself from doing something untoward like kiss him in front of their coworkers now that he’d had a taste. He didn’t particularly want the story of how they got together that Draco would inevitably tell their good looking, extremely blonde children and grandchildren in decades to come to contain anything about Draco being reprimanded for groping Potter in the hallway. He wanted a story, so that was what he would have.

Nothing ever worked out for Draco exactly as he’d planned, anymore. That was doubly so when Potter was involved.

Pansy was true to her word, and walked through Draco’s Floo an hour after he’d managed to tear himself away from the clutches of his Potions supervisor that evening. The man could talk for hours about the uses of Gillyweed in athletic potions, and there was only so much Draco could listen to.

“Put on that blue silk shirt, we’re going out,” Pansy boomed from Draco’s living room. Draco nearly dropped the glass of pumpkin juice he was holding, managing to catch it with the tips of his fingers.

“What the bloody fuck are you wearing?” Draco cried when Pansy walked into his kitchen.

“I’m looking to pull,” Pansy replied.

“Your tits are out,” Draco screeched, floundering to get away from Pansy’s assets which looked like they were about to grab him and pull him in under the tiny stretch of fabric that was barely restraining them.

“See, I’m hoping Blaise will have the opposite reaction,” Pansy said. She leaned down against Draco’s table, her skirt riding up. “Though he’s far less gay than you, so that’s probably a given.”

“I can see your underwear. You’re wearing a thong, in case you’d forgotten.”

“Thank you, Draco. Blaise will no doubt find it appealing, rather than terrifying.”

“If you say so.”

“Oh please, you can’t honestly tell me that if Potter was standing in your kitchen wearing nothing but his pants that you wouldn’t be salivating like a teenager. Oh wait, that already happened except it was in his kitchen.” Pansy raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him.

“You may have a point.”

“I usually do. Now, get the blue silk shirt, it makes your everything look nice.”

“Need I remind you that I’m not looking to pull tonight,” Draco called as he rummaged through his closet. “I’ve finally decided that I’ll ask Potter on a bloody date instead.”

“Oh, you’ll pull tonight,” Pansy said deviously. She’d followed Draco into his bedroom and was lounging on his bed. She looked straight out of one of the magazines the boys in Draco’s school year horded like gold. He told her as much, getting a stinging hex to the thigh in return. “Would you hurry up,” she sighed. “Honestly, your hair looks fine, stop fluffing it. I’m sure Potter likes it however it bloody looks.”

“So I’m dressing for Potter, am I?” Draco asked. He took a last look at his hair, deeming it acceptable.

“Don’t you always? I have it on good authority that you bribed Potter’s Auror partner into making him smell a bunch of perfume potions to find out which he liked best.”

“It’s all lies, obviously.”

 “I also note that you’ve been wearing the one he gave glowing reviews about.”

 “Who did you have to bribe to get this information? I’m going to have to Obliviate you.”

 “You told me yourself. Drunk, of course.”


“Come on, we’re late. We were expected at Greg’s half an hour ago.”

“You only got here twenty minutes ago,” Draco hissed.

“But now we get to make an entrance,” Pansy smiled.

“If any of Blaise’s body parts go anywhere near the underside of your clothing before I’ve had at least five Firewhiskeys then I’ll hex you both.”

Pansy just kissed his cheek in reply.


Draco wasn’t sure what the purpose of dressing for Potter was if he was going to be sitting n Greg’s living room all night. Granted, it had been amusing playing drinking games and watching Blaise’s eyes glaze over whenever he looked at Pansy’s chest, but he looked good and wanted to be seen. Pansy just patted his head when he whined at her, and told him to be patient. Apparently her tolerance for his pout could only go so far, because ten minutes later she was rounding up Greg and Blaise and pushing them into the Floo.

“Where are we going?” Draco slurred, gasping when Pansy brandished the Floo powder a little too close to his shirt.

“We’re helping you pull,” Pansy replied.

“You are not all coming to Potter’s,” Draco cried. “When it was just one of you Potter got bloody proposed to. With three of you there who knows what will happen.”

“You’d get knocked up and Potter would spontaneously acquire a Crup?” Blaise suggested.

Draco just glared at him.

He hadn’t been expecting Pansy to Floo them to the Leaky Cauldron, and he was given a new appreciation for Pansy’s insistence on the shirt, noticing two witches eye him appreciatively as he stumbled out of the Floo. Not that it was witches he was looking to impress.

“This way,” Pansy said, grabbing Draco’s wrist and tugging him further into the crowd.

“You’ve left Blaise and Greg behind,” Draco said, grabbing at the air behind him where Greg had previously been standing. “They might get lost.”

“Greg might. Blaise has radar for my tits at the moment. Besides, we have more important business to attend to.”

The Important Business was apparently halted by Pansy’s need to flirt with half the Spanish National Quidditch Team that were over by the bar, but Draco didn’t mind so much because their Seeker kept buying him drinks. Pansy finally had enough after their Keeper asked how much she was per hour. Draco had to drag her away before she threw her drink in the bloke’s face.

“Right, that should have sufficiently riled Blaise up,” Pansy said, adjusting the scrap of material she called a shirt. Draco wasn’t entirely convinced the thing was staying on without the use of sticking charms. “As for you, we should see if you’ll be pulling tonight. I have it on good authority that you will be.”

“I swear to Merlin if you’re trying to set me up with someone again,” Draco grumbled. He couldn’t quite see his feet properly. He only stopped staring at them when the sound of a very familiar laugh sounded from next to him. Draco whirled around and damn near smacked Pansy across the face in his haste to turn his body to the right.

Sat in a corner booth was Potter with a bunch of his friends. What really distracted Draco was that Potter looked good. Draco didn’t often see him outside of his Auror robes and now his sleepwear; Potter was wearing a light green Muggle shirt that set his eyes off perfectly and brought out some of the highlights in his hair. It even looked like he’d styled it, since it looked less like a mess than usual. Draco wanted to muss it up.

“Potter,” Draco called, walking up to the booth doing what he hoped was a sexy sway of his hips. Though judging by Pansy’s giggle it hadn’t achieved the desired effect.

“Draco,” Potter said, smiling widely. “I was wondering when you’d get here.”

“Why are you here?” Draco asked. “I’m supposed to be celebrating before I’m chained to your bed for—“

“Might want to stop there, Draco,” Blaise said, his hand over Draco’s mouth. Draco had no idea when he’d found them, but he was sure Pansy was mightily peeved that Blaise had his eyes somewhere other than her assets.

“No, please continue,” Granger said with a giggle. Draco attempted to glare at her, but it was hard with Blaise’s hand covering half his face.

“I’m here having a drink,” Potter said, still smiling at Draco. “I’d ask to buy you one, but it seems like the Spanish Quidditch team has you covered.” Potter smirked at him.

Draco snorted. “As if I’d let any of them come anywhere near me. Honestly, Potter.” He ran his eyes appreciatively over Potter’s form. “You, on the other hand, know full well that I’d let you.”

Across the table Weasley groaned and Granger attempted to stifle her laughter.

“Come sit with us, Draco,” Granger said, moving further into the booth. “Your friends are welcome to join.”

“Thank you, Granger,” Pansy said. She shoved Draco into Potter, who was attempting to stand. Potter caught Draco around the waist and rolled his eyes towards Pansy.

“I’ll get you that drink now,” Potter said with a smile.

If Draco had been in any way briefed about the intended course of the night, he would have put Galleons on it ending extremely badly. In no realm could his and Potter’s friends interact not only civilly, but enjoy themselves while doing it, and without any insults or hexes being thrown. Not that Draco would have noticed if they had been, seeing as how he had Potter pressed against his side. Potter had twisted slightly to face him better, one arm on the back of the booth behind Draco’s shoulders; his free hand split its time between lifting Potter’s Butterbeer to his lips, and resting on Draco’s thigh.

“Potter,” Draco said after his third Potter-purchased drink. “I can’t see.”

“Have you been hexed?” Potter asked, a smile on his lips.

“Yes, by copious amounts of Firewhiskey. Can I try your glasses? They might help me see better.”

Potter smiled fondly, but took off his glasses, offering them to Draco. Draco frowned at them and attempted to slide them onto his face, but they kept getting caught on his ear. Potter laughed and slid them on for him.

“Potter, I don’t know how to tell you this, but your eyesight is all blurry.”

“Thank you for your diagnosis, Draco,” Potter replied. He gently took the glasses off Draco’s face and put them back on, pushing them up higher on the bridge of his nose when they slipped down. His eyes appeared even greener when magnified slightly through the lenses.

“You have lovely eyes,” Draco said softly, the tip of one finger tracing the corner of Potter’s left eye. Potter smiled and caught his hand, twining his fingers with Draco’s and pulling them to rest on Potter’s knee, before their attention was drawn to Greg who had broken into a rendition of one of the Weird Sisters’ songs.

Their fingers stayed twined together as they talked, Potter’s body pressed against Draco’s as much as it could be in the small booth. Draco’s eyes drifted from where Potter was laughing at a fantastically funny story Draco had just told involving his trip to Romania to collect ingredients for a potions experiment, to where Pansy and Blaise were watching him with hawk eyes. It startled Draco slightly, to see their eyes trained on him when he hadn’t been expecting it, and his minuscule jump caused Potter to glance over at them as well.

“Draco,” Pansy said loudly, eyes locked on Draco’s. “Isn’t it about time you headed home soon?”

“Is it?” Draco asked, eyebrow raised. Pansy jutted her chin forcefully towards Potter, in a way that was ridiculously unsubtle.

“But I thought Draco was supposed to go home with Harry,” Greg asked, breaking his conversation with Granger and Weasley.

“Good Merlin, Greg,” Blaise muttered.

“That’s a good point, Potter,” Draco said, turning back to Potter. “How am I supposed to apparate to yours if you’re here?”

Potter smirked, a small dimple appearing on one cheek. “You can – shut it, Hermione – you can come back with me if you want? Maybe by Floo this time, though?”

Draco snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous, Potter. I’m not Flooing to your house; apparation is tradition.” He glared at both Pansy and Granger, who were wearing identical amused expressions.

“Well, then tell me when you’re wanting to go and I’ll Floo back to mine a few before you want to leave. That way you can apparate to mine and I’ll be there.”

“Brilliant,” Draco smiled. “You’re a bit brilliant, you know that, Potter?”

“You think so?” Potter asked, leaning in close enough that their foreheads brushed together.

“Wait,” Draco said, leaning backwards sharply. “Pansy, I can’t remember what you said; am I supposed to tell him now or later that he reminds me of my sheets?”

“Oh Merlin,” Pansy muttered.

“This is fantastic,” Granger hissed to Greg.

“Did he say sheets?” Weasley said.

Blaise just downed his drink.

“Is that right?” Potter asked. He looked amused, at least.

“Yes,” Draco said firmly. “Honestly, keep up, Potter.”

“I’m not sure it’s actually possible to keep up with you,” Potter replied.

“Well, as long as you acknowledge that,” Draco sniffed. Potter’s hand at some point had snaked around to the back of Draco’s neck, where he was fiddling with the ends of Draco’s hair.

Potter leaned in, brushing his lips over Draco’s ear. “Come home with me,” he said, the air from his lips making Draco shiver.

“If you insist,” Draco replied, straightening his shoulders.

“Draco,” Potter said. He hadn’t pulled back very far, his breath now washing over Draco’s lips. Draco’s eyes fluttered closed. “Will you hex me if I kiss you here?”

“What?” Draco asked, his mind fuzzy with the fact that Potter’s nose was brushing against his.

“Answer the question, Draco.”

“No, I won’t,” Draco replied.

“Good,” Potter said, before pressing his lips to Draco’s. The sound of a wolf whistle – Blaise, most likely – was drowned out by the roaring in Draco’s ears as he grabbed Potter by the waist and pulled him closer. The kiss was far different from their first, their lips sliding together quickly, Potter’s warm tongue pressing past Draco’s lips to curl around his own. Draco made a small noise in his throat and attempted to press himself even closer to Potter, but was pushed back slightly by a hand on his chest. Potter’s pupils were blown wide, his lips red and wet. Draco leaned in to bite the bottom one quickly, and Potter giggled.

“Draco,” Potter said, holding him back. “I’m going to Floo home now before I end up on my knees under the table. Give me five minutes and then apparate there.”

“Five?” Draco whined.

Pansy flicked a bit of Firewhiskey at him.

Potter leaned in to kiss him deeply, pulling back when Draco’s hand started to massage his upper thigh.

“Five minutes,” Potter smirked. He maneuvered himself past Draco and out of the booth, calling out goodbyes to their friends as he did so.

“Merlin, Draco,” Greg muttered. “I thought you were about to fuck on the table.”

“Shut it, Greg,” Draco hissed. He grabbed Greg’s drink and downed it in retaliation.

“I told you the blue shirt would work,” Pansy said, smiling smugly.

“I think Draco could have turned up dressed in a sack and Harry still would have taken him home,” Granger said, smiling at Draco.

“He’s a bit bloody obsessed, mate,” Weasley said.

“That’s fine, Draco is as well,” Pansy felt the need to pipe up. “Honestly, Draco, the sheet comment alone.”

“Yes, what was that about?” Greg asked.

“You’re a bloody traitor, Greg,” Draco hissed, attempting to stun them all into silence with the force of his frown.

“Draco says Potter reminds him of nice things,” Pansy said gleefully.

“You’re loving this, aren’t you, you absolute troll,” Draco muttered.

“Like his bed and hugs.”

“That’s so lovely, Draco,” Granger smiled.

Weasley pretended to vomit into his hands.

“Right, I’m off,” Draco said, standing up.

“It hasn’t quite been five minutes,” Blaise unhelpfully supplied.

“Potter will understand,” Draco replied. “He’ll have long since learned how you lot are.”

Draco sashayed off to the apparation point, ignoring the jeering coming from the booth.

Potter wasn’t in the living room when Draco apparated in, stumbling like he did every time he attempted drunk apparation.

“Potter?” Draco called, peering down the hallway.

“In here, Draco,” Potter called from the kitchen. Draco walked in to find Potter leaning against the counter, a Muggle beer in one hand. Potter’s eyes surveyed Draco, apparently liking what they saw. “Come here,” Potter said, putting down his beer and extending a hand to Draco. Draco went easily, letting Potter wind his arms around his waist and pull him in close. Potter wasted no time, pressing his lips to Draco’s and licking into his mouth, tongue hot and demanding. Draco groaned against his lips, leaning heavily into Potter and pressing a leg between his thighs. He could feel Potter hardening through the thick denim of his jeans, and Draco pushed forward into it.

Potter pulled back with a gasp, resting his forehead against Draco’s.

“I need you to do something for me,” Potter said.

“This sentence better include the word ‘cock’ in some form,” Draco said, nipping at Potter’s throat.

“Take a Sobering Potion,” Potter said. Draco pulled back and frowned at Potter, confused. “For my own peace of mind. I need to know you want this, and I don’t want to feel that I’m taking advantage of you. I couldn’t handle it if you left regretting it.”

“Ok,” Draco said, taking the potion Potter offered him. “But I think you may be overthinking this a little.” Potter smiled wryly at him, but pulled him back in for a kiss once Draco had finished the potion.

It was an incredible feeling to go from drunk to sober whilst kissing Potter. As Potter’s tongue stroked Draco’s, Draco could feel his senses sharpening. He was more aware of the heat of Potter’s mouth, of the strength of the arms that he was wrapped in, and the feel of the hardness pressed against his thigh. Draco pushed forwards, grinding his thigh into the bulge of Potter’s erection. Potter groaned, but pulled back.

“Still ok?” Potter asked, grinding minutely onto Draco’s thigh.

“I believe you said something about getting on your knees earlier?” Draco replied, lifting a teasing eyebrow at Potter.

“Well I wouldn’t want to disappoint,” Potter replied, smirking at Draco. He pressed a filthy kiss to Draco’s lips, before sliding to his knees on the kitchen floor, back pressed against the cupboards with Draco towering over him.

Potter wasted no time getting Draco’s cock out, pulling his trousers and pants down to mid-thigh, before grasping Draco’s prick and pressing a wet kiss to the tip.

“Tease,” Draco hissed, as Potter pressed open-mouth kisses along his length. Potter glanced up at him with mirth in his eyes, before sucking Draco down almost to the root. Draco swore and gripped the cupboards, leaning over Potter to get a better view of the way his head worked as he moved up and down Draco’s length, his tongue working him over.

Draco’s hips started moving of their own accord, hitching forward slightly into Potter’s eager mouth. Potter groaned, the sound sending vibrations down Draco’s spine, and he urged Draco’s hips forwards with his hands. Draco moaned and gripped the countertop tightly, before thrusting into Potter’s mouth. Potter opened his mouth wider and pressed a hand to the bulge in his jeans. The sight of it made Draco moan, his hips beginning to move faster. Potter reached up to roll Draco’s balls in his hand gently, swallowing around the head of his prick when Draco pressed it in even deeper.

“Potter, I’m…” Draco tried to say. His breath whooshed out of him when Potter pressed a dry finger against his hole, rubbing gently. Draco’s fingers dug into the countertop as he simultaneously tried to push back onto Potter’s finger at the same time as he pressed into his wet mouth. The combination of the two sensations quickly got the better of him. “I,” Draco attempted to say something, but found himself unable. Potter urged him deeper into the wet clutch of his mouth, sucking hard and letting the head of Draco’s cock nudge the back of his throat. Draco’s orgasm hit him so suddenly that he didn’t have time to warn Potter, only able to grip the thick strands of his hair between his fingers as he moaned Potter’s name, leaning over him heavily with an elbow resting on the countertop in front of him. Potter smirked at him from his position on the ground, before rising up, pressing himself between Draco and the counter, kissing Draco deeply.

“Good?” Potter asked after a moment.

“You bloody well know it was good,” Draco replied, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “Now are we going to stand here all night, or are you going to fuck me?”

“Definitely the second one,” Potter said, tugging Draco towards the bedroom. He pulled his shirt off as he walked, tossing it in the general direction of the living room. Draco was mesmerized by the way his back muscles moved, and wondered if Potter could be convinced to install a mirror on the ceiling above his bed so Draco could watch them work. It might just be just gaudy enough that he’d go for it.

Potter lead Draco into the bedroom, not bothering to close the door before he pressed himself to Draco’s back, the bulge of his erection resting against Draco’s ass.

“Why are we still wearing clothes?” Draco gasped as Potter nipped at the side of his neck.

“You haven’t taken them off yet,” Potter replied, grinding his hips against Draco.

“Bloody figures I’d have to do everything myself,” Draco muttered, turning around to tug his shirt off tossing, it onto the ground. He allowed Potter a moment to run his hands up and down his chest, brushing over his peaked nipples and feeling the dips in his stomach muscles, before nudging Draco down onto the bed.

“Merlin, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” Potter whispered, catching Draco’s mouth in a filthy kiss and grinding their pricks together. Draco keened and fisted his hands in Potter’s hair, urging him into a rhythm that hardened his cock at a phenomenal rate.

“Off,” Draco mumbled against Potter’s mouth, tugging at his jeans. Potter chuckled, but complied, sliding his jeans and pants down his thighs before kicking them onto the floor. Draco’s hands immediately went to his thighs running up and down where they could reach.

“Oh, that’s right,” Potter said, pressing a kiss to Draco’s shoulder. “You have some kind of odd obsession with my thighs.”

“It’s an appreciation,” Draco replied, glaring up at Potter, who snorted with laughter. Draco took advantage of Potter’s moment of distraction, rolling them over so he was straddled atop Potter’s hips. He quickly wiped the grin off Potter’s face, rolling his hips and grinding his ass against Potter’s cock. Potter’s hands flew to his hips, pressing Draco against him. “Care to put your fingers to better use, or do I have to do that myself as well?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow at Potter.

Potter whimpered, but complied, reaching for his wand and casting a lubrication charm on his fingers. He slid one into Draco quickly, followed by another when he met little resistance. Draco sighed contentedly, rocking himself back onto Potter’s fingers as they pushed and twisted inside him. The tips of his fingers brushed against Draco’s prostate, causing Draco to let out a loud moan. Potter’s cock twitched against Draco’s ass at the sound, Potter himself biting his bottom lip and pressing a third finger into Draco.

“Alright,” Draco said, swatting at Potter’s hand. Potter drew his fingers out with a small sound, grabbing onto the base of his cock. “Merlin, you’re not going to go off like a schoolboy, are you?”

“Have you seen what you look like?” Potter asked, rubbing his cock against Draco’s hole. “It’s obscene.”

“Sit up, would you,” Draco commanded, more than asked. “I’d quite like to kiss you without having to strain my back.”

Potter did so, pressing himself against Draco’s body as he slid into a sitting position, back resting against the headboard. Draco braced himself with a hand on Potter’s shoulder, the other reaching back to hold Potter’s cock in place.

“Oh Merlin,” Potter moaned, grasping Draco by the hips and pulling him in for a filthy kiss by the back of his neck. Draco wasn’t sure who made the high pitched whining noise when the head of Potter’s cock slipped inside him, but he was pretty sure it had been him. When Potter was balls deep inside him he paused, giving himself a moment to adjust to the intrusion. Potter turned his attention to Draco’s neck, pressing wet kisses into the skin and leaving marks that would no doubt turn purple before the night was up.

When Draco was able to rock on Potter’s cock without any discomfort he began to move, pulling Potter’s mouth to his own to hide the sounds he made when Potter’s cock shifted inside him. Potter’s hands roamed up and down Draco’s back, pressing into his shoulder blades and the dip at the bottom of his spine as Draco began to properly move. Potter’s cock dragged thick and heavy inside him, twitching slightly whenever Draco let out a particularly needy whimper. Potter braced his feet on the bed and began to thrust up into Draco hard, angling himself to hit the part of Draco he had been trying to avoid, lest he do what he’d teased Potter about just before. Finishing within a mere few minutes would certainly not get Draco invited back, which was exactly what he was hoping for now that he’d had the opportunity to get a taste of Potter.

“Potter, I’m,” Draco started, before cutting himself off with a moan when Potter thrust up hard, grazing his prostate.

“Merlin, yes,” Potter gasped, twining his tongue around Draco’s, swallowing his moans. Potter reached down to wrap a hand around Draco’s cock, tugging him in time with his thrusts which had sped up. Draco gripped onto Potter’s shoulder tightly, his nails leaving little half-moons in the skin.

“Potter,” Draco gasped, tipping his head back. Potter dove in, sucking at Draco’s neck. “Potter – oh, Merlin, Harry,” Draco cried, clenching his hands tightly against Potter’s shoulders as he came, his body jerking in Potter’s arms as he rode out his orgasm. Potter began to thrust erratically as Draco nested his head into the juncture of Potter’s neck and shoulder, letting out satisfied whimpers whenever he thrust back in. Potter came with a gasp, Draco’s name sounding like a prayer, as he gripped Draco tightly, cock jerking inside him.

After a moment Potter rolled to the side, reaching for his wand and casting a Scourgify on them both, washing away all visible evidence of their orgasms.

Draco rolled to face Potter and hit out at him with a pillow. “Potter, you absolute ass,” Draco hissed. Potter laughed and grabbed at Draco’s wrists, tugging him in closer and pressing a kiss to Draco’s lips. “We could’ve been doing that this whole time,” Draco hissed against Potter’s chest, where Potter’s arms had him pressed.

“To be fair, I did try to ask you out a few times,” Potter said. “You had the tendency to run away before I could, though.”

“Well I’m sure I had my reasons,” Draco replied, sniffing haughtily.

“Draco,” Potter said some time later, as Draco’s eyes were starting to flutter closed. “This means that you won’t run away again, yeah? That you’ll stay?”

“You’d best believe so, Potter,” Draco mumbled. “I don’t let just anyone fuck me, you know. That would be improper. I’m not Pansy, of all people.”

Potter snorted, pressing a kiss to the top of Draco’s head. “Of course not,” he muttered, but Draco could tell he was smiling.

“Speaking of Pansy, you should probably ward her out before she comes over trying to catch us in the act. She’s a right tart sometimes.”

“Mmm, you’re probably right. About updating the wards, that is,” Potter said through a yawn.

“Honestly, Potter, your level of security is concerning. Just about anyone could get in here,” Draco scolded.

“What makes you say that?” Potter asked. He burrowed his face into his pillow.

“Well, I’ve been able to keep getting in here,” Draco said. “You really should have better anti-apparation wards. Or any at all, really.”

“I have great anti-apparation wards. The Ministry had someone come out here to do them,” Potter said. “I updated them a few months ago.”

“What are you on about, Potter?” Draco said. “It wasn’t that long ago that I started making a nuisance of myself in your living room.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Potter agreed, raising his head to blink blearily at Draco, shooting him a lopsided smile. “But I did update them to let you in easier. I’ve been trying to ask you out for a while, you know. I wanted to be prepared for when I finally did.”

Potter,” Draco said. He wasn’t sure whether to kiss Potter, or tell him what an idiot he was for waiting so long, so he did both.

“I think you can probably call me Harry now, Draco,” Potter smirked, laughing through Draco’s soft but insistent kisses.

“It’s tradition, Potter,” Draco said, before rolling atop Potter and kissing him deeply. “But I might be persuaded to break tradition.”

“I’ve got time,” Potter replied. “I’m good at waiting.”

Draco rolled his eyes and called him an idiot, but the soft press of his lips took the sting out of the words.

Maybe drunk apparation wasn’t such a bad thing after all, if Draco got Harry out of it.