Title: Alleged Inebriation
Author: Constant Vigilance
Status: Fin
Email: tirel@pcnuthut.com

Website: https://www.angelfire.com/tv2/firebird_ascending/
Rating: R for implication
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Spoilers: AU. Characters aged up to age of consent.
Warnings: Slash
Disclaimer: I own nothing. JKR is God.
Summary: It’s the end of the year party. Realizations are made.
Notes: A huge thank you to Cassy, the living thesaurus *G* Your help was wonderful and greatly appreciated!

Salvation has a funny way of making even the most prim and proper of folks let their hair down. Or turn a blind eye to others in the process of letting their hair down. That was rather the case as the professors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry blithely ignored the goings on of their seventh year students. The typical end of year party was anything but typical this year. Voldemort was gone and everyone had something to celebrate.

 

For the seventh year Slytherins, that was freedom from the yokes of familial responsibility. Their parents could hardly force them to become Death Eaters when their leader was dead. Of course, for most of the Slytherins, their parents couldn’t force them to do anything because they themselves were dead, Kissed, or awaiting the Kiss in Azkaban.

 

Draco Malfoy was, as usual, at the center of the Slytherin seventh years. They had chosen to take up residence in front of the fire, lounging on couches and fluffy armchairs while sipping their drinks and watching the rest of their year mates celebrate the end of an era. The Ravenclaws stood mostly in small groups, discussing who knew what. The few that mingled interhouse could be found sitting in equally small groups talking quietly.

 

The Hufflepuffs could be found flitting from group to group, laughing and crying and generally pushing every emotion to the extreme. They hung all over one another, hugged and kissed friends and foes alike, and one or two even had the audacity to attempt a trek over to the Slytherin section of the room. Well-placed glares chased them away, however.

 

The Gryffindors were all over as well. They could be found by their boisterous laughter. They were at the center of every dirty joke told, every game that went on, every spike of the punch. And Draco couldn’t keep his eyes off of them. Or at least one of them. Harry Potter. The savior. The Gryffindor. The recipient of Draco Malfoy’s unrequited love for more than a year now.

 

He shook that thought off and glared at Weasley to make himself feel a bit better. That only engendered a snicker from behind him. He turned his glare on his housemates.

 

“What the hell are you laughing at?” he snapped.

 

“You,” Blaise grinned back. “You and your desperate attempts not to stare directly at Potter for long periods of time.”

 

“What are you…I’m not…” Draco sputtered and finally spat out, “Fuck off, Zabini.” Blaise just snickered behind his glass, trading amused glances with the rest of the Slytherin seventh years. It had long been a source of amusement in the House of the Snake, Draco Malfoy lusting after Harry Potter. It had also been a catalyst for the Slytherin’s to choose the side of light.

 

Draco Malfoy was the undisputed leader of Slytherin. Where he went, the others followed. Even to the point of turning their backs on their families. Of course, the fact that their families wanted to sacrifice their futures to an insane man hell-bent on destroying half of the wizarding world wasn’t exactly putting their families in a good light. And so, when Draco announced that he was throwing in with the ‘other’ side, they followed without comment.

 

Later, when they found out that what they had in actuality followed was Draco's prick, Draco was the recipient of some of the worst teasing ever to be experienced by a teenaged male. Only that they were Slytherins first and normal teenagers second saved Draco from having his secret spilled all over Hogwarts.

 

Draco was dragged out of his sulk by Pansy’s giggling. He glanced up at her with a frown. “What?” he snapped.

 

She lifted her drink to her mouth and took a delicate sip. “Potter alert. Nine o’clock.” It was all Draco could do not to whip his head around and stare like a besotted Hufflepuff. Carefully, cautiously, he scanned the room. He started at the Ravenclaw group lurking at two o’clock, moved past the Gryffindor nail painting party at 12 o’clock and skimmed over the Hufflepuff Hug-a-Thon at 10 o’clock.

 

Then his eyes settled on Potter. Potter who was gloriously half dressed for some reason.

 

Draco felt his pants tighten up as he took in Harry’s clothing. No shoes. No socks. How the hell did anyone manage to possess feet that made you want to fuck them, Draco wondered. Small, perfect toes. A tantalizing arch that utilized with the other foot would provide a lovely curve in which to rest one’s cock. Ankles that called out to Draco's teeth, begging him to nibble up them.

 

And the jeans. No, Potter couldn’t wear normal trousers to the party. He had to wear jeans. Tight fitting washed out blue jeans. Jeans that were actually unbuttoned? Draco took a second look. Hell, yes. They were zipped, but unbuttoned. This required a subtle shifting to adjust his suddenly rock hard cock. Perhaps not too subtle as Goyle and Crabbe snickered and offered to dump their icy drinks in his crotch.

 

He scowled at them, and then moved his attention back to Potter. Potter, who wore a button down, long sleeved shirt. An unbuttoned, rolled-up-sleeved shirt that hung around his bare chest like a fucking frame. A six-pack showed below tan nipples that made Draco salivate. He discreetly checked his lips for drool. Perhaps not discreetly enough as Millie dropped a silk hankie next to his left hand.

 

He glared at her and then moved his gaze below the six-pack. Oh, dear Merlin, the happiest of happy trails pointed in an unswerving line towards the one place Draco longed to be. He pulled his gaze away, zipping up to the safety zone above the shirt. The neck. He barely managed not to moan out loud. All right, so he moaned out loud, but not that loud. Then Blaise asked if his stomach hurt, and was that why Draco was whimpering.

 

He glowered at him and then went back to studying Harry’s neck. Right…there. Yes. That was the first place that he was going to mark Potter. Taste Potter. Claim Potter. Then he was going to move up to that fucking delicate ear and whisper the nastiest things into it, watching Potter turn pink with embarrassment. Then he was going to lose himself in that sweet, sweet mouth and never come up for air.

 

“Draco? Draco, honey, you’d better start breathing again,” Pansy whispered amusedly. “He’s going to think you’re dead.”

 

Draco was glaring at Pansy again, so he had no idea what the hell Potter tripped over. Knowing Potter, it was thin air. Whatever it was, it sent the Gryffindor on a face plant right at Draco's feet. Draco had to nearly sit on his hands in order to keep from rushing to the brunette’s aid. But eventually, Potter sat up, a stupid grin on his face.

 

“Whoops,” he snickered at himself. “Hey! Draco!” his eyes lit up as he recognized where he had fallen. “How are you tonight?”

 

“Fine, Potter,” Draco drawled. “Much better than you. Or at least much less inebriated.”

 

Potter didn’t seem to mind the insult. He just giggled and proceeded to crawl inch by blissful inch into Draco's lap. Draco stared wide-eyed from Harry to the other Slytherins and back to Harry again. The Slytherins seemed as amazed as he, and Harry just seemed too fucking happy to care that he was now perched in the lap of his biggest school enemy.

 

He squirmed a bit to get comfy, snuggled in so that his head was nestled at Draco's neck, and then looked about, a bit annoyed. Spotting what he was looking for, he waved his hand and the ottoman that Hannah Abbot had been sitting on flew out from under her arse and butted up against Draco's chair. Harry leaned down and lifted Draco's legs onto the ottoman and then snuggled back down.

 

“Better,” he sighed. “I was slipping off since your legs were lower than my arse.”

 

“Aha,” was all Draco could manage.

 

“So, what have you been doing all evening, Draco?” Harry asked cheerfully, his breath warming Draco's neck and doing badbadbad things to Draco's trousers. “I was playing strip poker with the guys. Well, with Ron, Seamus, and Neville at least.” He giggled and began tracing small patterns onto Draco's chest. Draco stared in shock, unable to form a coherent sentence.

 

The other Slytherins congregated on the couches next to the chair to have a front row seat. They made no effort to hide their interest and no effort to help Draco out of his predicament. Harry giggled again. “Neville won. It was hilarious. Ron was so sure he was going to win, but he wound up stripped first. Did you know?” he glanced up quickly into Draco's eyes.

 

“Did I know what?” Draco managed to croak.

 

“Did you know that even Ron’s cock has freckles?”

 

Draco felt himself turning a bit green. “Er, no, I didn’t. And would rather never have known that at all, thank you.”

 

Another trill of laughter. “His pubic hair is even oranger than his head. I think Seamus is going to try to shag him. He was going on and on about never having had a redhead. Ron’ll freak when he winds up on the bottom! Seamus only tops,” Harry disclosed to Draco in a not so whispery voice.

 

“And how do you know that?” No. He didn’t sound jealous. Not a bit. And his jaw wasn’t clenching up.

 

“He told me,” Harry nodded. “We were talking about me finally losing my virginity. He told me that he bottomed only the once to lose his virginity and he hated it. So now, he only tops. He offered to pop my cherry though,” Harry smiled loopily. “Wasn’t that nice of him?” Blaise and Pansy were plastered to Greg and Vince respectively, trying not to burst into laughter. Millicent had already fallen, giggling, off the arm of the couch.

 

“Yeah, Potter,” Draco gritted out. “That’s great.” It was sad, really, that Seamus only topped. Because after Draco got through removing his genitals with nail clippers and puncturing his scrotum with hot pokers, bottoming would be the only option left to the lecherous leprechaun.

 

“I told him no, though,” Harry confided, nuzzling up Draco's neck again. Hmph. How lucky for Finnegan.

 

“Really? And why would you do that?” No, that wasn’t a note of hopefulness in his voice

 

“I figured if I ever got you to shag me, you wouldn’t want his cum germs on me. Mmmm, you smell like caramel and vanilla,” he breathed in, causing shivers to run up Draco's spine.

 

If I ever got you to shag me? Draco's heart leaped in his chest. He wanted Draco to shag him? To be his first, even?

 

Cum germs? Blaise mouthed at him with tears of laughter running down his face.

 

“Draco, will you kiss me?” Harry whined plaintively.

 

Draco stared at Harry with wide eyes. “Er…what?” he asked inanely. Harry giggled.

 

“You got all goggle-eyed,” he snickered. “I asked you to kiss me,” he repeated.

 

Draco's goggle eyes moved from Harry’s bewitchingly lovely face to the faces of Draco's own nearest and dearest. Millie had fallen off of the couch again. Greg had been taking a drink and now had firewhiskey spewed all over his face. Pansy was trying to wipe it off with a napkin, but because her eyes were watering from the tears of laughter, she was missing more than she was helping. Vince managed to control his arm movements enough to snatch the cloth out of Pansy’s hand and begin mopping his best friend’s face.

 

Blaise just leaned forward with a huge, interested grin and waved Draco on. Draco looked back at Harry. Harry who had just become Harry, not Potter. Harry who would neverever evernever be Potter again now that he’d gazed into Draco's eyes and asked so prettily for Draco to kiss him.

 

“I…I can’t,” Draco heard himself saying.

 

What? What the hell? Why not? Ohmyfuckinggod what the hell are you saying? Draco's inner voice couldn’t believe Draco was saying no anymore than the other Slytherins. Pansy stopped laughing. Greg and Vince stopped mid-swipe and stared open mouthed, firewhiskey still dripping off of Greg’s face. Millie’s head popped back up from behind the couch and Blaise looked as though Draco had just offered to buy ice cream sundaes for the first year Hufflepuffs.

 

“Please?” Harry whimpered mournfully, nuzzling closer into Draco's neck.

 

Draco took a deep breath, relishing in the feeling of Harry’s arse in his lap. He looked intently into Harry’s deep, deep green eyes, loving how they sparkled with desire, finally for him. And then he shook his head slightly. “I’m sorry, Harry,” he said softly. “I can’t.”

 

Harry’s face fell. Draco resisted the urge to gather the limp body closer and hug Harry until he was happy again. He resisted the urge to beg for help from his housemates. He resisted the urge to cry and beat himself about the head and shoulders for his stupidity.

 

“Why?” Harry whispered brokenly. “Is it because I’m a boy?” Harry met his eyes, desperation to understand vivid in his expression.

 

“No,” Draco sighed. “I quite like that you’re a boy.”

 

“Is it because I’m a Gryffindor?”

 

“No,” Draco shook his head. “I don’t care what house you’re from.”

 

“Is it because I’m ugly?” Harry asked, his head drooping, his eyes downcast.

 

Draco placed a finger under Harry’s chin and raised his eyes back up. “Absolutely not,” he stated forcefully. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

 

“Is…is it because I’m…the Boy-Who-Lived?” Harry’s voice was overflowed with dejection.

 

“No!” Draco replied vehemently. “I don’t care about that. Any of it. You’re just Harry.”

 

“So, why won’t you kiss me, then?” Harry begged.

 

Draco sighed again. He turned his head away, refusing to look at Harry or at the congregated Slytherins. “Because it would be taking advantage of you. You’re drunk. You’re not in your right mind. It wouldn’t be fair to you.” He practically shuddered at how fucking noble that last statement was. A short sob brought his attention back to the dark haired boy resting on his lap.

 

Once single tear escaped Harry’s green eyes and trailed a silvery line down his soft cheek. “But I love you,” he offered up his trump card. Draco's breath caught in his throat and that was the excuse he was planning on using for the lightheaded feeling and the damn twinkling stars he saw.

 

“Y-you what?” he whispered brilliantly.

 

Harry sniffled and stared longingly across the six inches that separated them. “I love you, Draco. I want you to kiss me.” Draco could tell that Harry’s proclamation had startled more than just it’s recipient. No sound came from the couches or chairs; not even a whisper of breath. All the Slytherins were waiting, on edge, to see what Draco would do with this new information.

 

“I-I don’t know what to say,” he finally managed.

 

Harry smiled forlornly and sniffed again. “Just kiss me then.”

 

Wishing with all his soul that he could do just that, Draco slowly shook his head. Harry’s face fell and another tear made it’s way down his tanned cheek. Against his will, Draco reached out and captured that tear on his thumb. He let it run down the back of his thumb while he carefully dried the trail left in its wake.

 

“Don’t cry, Harry,” he begged, his own forehead creased in sorrow. “It would never work out between us.”

 

It was Harry’s turn to shake his head. “You just said you didn’t care that I was a Gryffindor, or a boy, or Harry Potter. And you said I was pretty.”

 

Draco barely managed to catch the harsh bark of laughter that came surging up from his chest. “That’s true. You are very pretty. And I said I didn’t care that you were The-Boy-Who-Lived. I never said anything about Harry Potter,” he pointed out.

 

Harry frowned and sniffed again. “B-But what’s the difference?”

 

Draco sighed. “The-Boy-Who-Lived, that’s all just crap. Propaganda made up by the Ministry. Harry Potter is a real person. A special person,” he said with a blush, knowing he was never going to live this down. “He’s kind and gentle. He’s good and pure. He’s not meant for the likes of me. I’m hateful and harsh. I’m a bad person.”

 

Harry sat up so fast that, had Draco been leaning forward an inch more, his nose would have suffered greatly. “Bollocks!” he snapped. “You are a good person, Draco. Whether you believe it or not. I wouldn’t love you if you weren’t.”

 

Draco sighed again. “Harry, just—“

 

“No!” Harry interrupted. “You are a good person. I see you.” He stretched his hand out and gently brushed his knuckles against Draco's soft skin. “I see you do good things. Even though you try to hide them, I still see.” Draco frowned a bit and Harry reached up to smooth down the line between his eyebrows. “I saw when you helped Neville on that Potions exam a month ago. I saw when you took Susan Bones to Madam Malkin’s to get her something that Terry Boot would drool over last Yule. I saw that you sent McGonagall roses when you learned that her daughter had died.”

 

Draco's eyes darted about, never quite meeting his friends’ knowing looks, never settling on Harry. “I-I only told Longbottom about the dragon fang because he was about to blow his cauldron up,” he protested. “That was a case of self preservation! And have you seen the rags that Bones girl wears?” He huffed and rolled his eyes, a safe direction, as no one was perched on the ceiling smirking at him like they were perched on the couches smirking at him.

 

“Dr--,” Harry tried.

 

“No!” the frantic note in Draco's voice was evident, even to Draco. Especially to Draco. “I just couldn’t stand having to stare at her in some raggedy burlap sack all evening. That’s all! That’s the only reason,” he persisted. “And of course I sent flowers to McGonagall. I was sucking up, Potter,” he sneered. “It’s what I do. And we Slytherins can’t really brownnose the Gryffindor head of house too much. We need every bit we can scrape together.” He ended with a hmph of air and a flip of his hair, finally staring into Harry’s eyes in defiance.

 

Harry smirked, a look that would have been much more at home on the blonde. “Then why didn’t you sign the card, Draco?” Harry asked softly, the smirk dissolving into an honest smile.

 

Draco glanced around, searching for some backup from his housemates. The only thing he found were more smirks, a couple of nods and one bitten knuckle (Pansy was trying to keep from giggling). He sighed. “Whatever,” was all he could come up with.

 

“Dance with me then,” Harry snuggled against Draco's side again, “Since you won’t kiss me, at least dance with me.”

 

Draco closed his eyes briefly, reveling in the feeling of a warm, willing Harry cuddled to his side. Then, his eyes opened and he peered down at his living dream sadly. “Harry, I—“

 

“Dance with him, Draco.”

 

Draco's head shot up and he locked eyes with Blaise. The darker Slytherin quirked one side of his mouth up in a wry smile. He nodded encouragingly toward the small square of floor currently occupied by several couples swaying to music.

 

“What can it hurt?” he continued. His smile widened a bit and his look turned almost fond as he watched Harry Golden Boy Potter curled in Draco's lap like a kitten. “And even if it does, do you really want to have passed up this chance?”

 

Draco turned his narrowed gaze on the rest of his house members. Pansy sniffed and blinked rapidly but smiled and nodded along with Blaise. Greg and Vince gave duplicate grunts and grins. Millicent sighed and rested her head on her hands, nodding in approval.

 

He looked down at Harry, who had decided to look up at him. “Please?” Harry whispered.

 

Draco's resolve was lost in that breathy plea. He lifted a nearly shaking hand and brushed a strand of dark hair out of Harry’s eyes. “Okay,” he answered softly. Harry’s face lit up like the sun and Draco felt the warmth of that smile sink into his skin, trip through his bones and come to rest in a cozy, warm ball in the center of his chest.

 

Harry hopped up, tugging on Draco's arm, and Draco followed. They moved to the center of the dance space, couples making way for them with incredulous looks. When Draco took Harry into his arms, he was amazed at the easy way that Harry just melted into his embrace. Harry tucked his head up under Draco's chin and sighed contentedly. His arms snuck around Draco's waist and locked the blonde into his grasp.

 

Draco couldn’t help but slide his own arms around Harry’s willing warmth and pull him in closely. They began to sway, slowly and not really in rhythm with the music, but it didn’t matter to either one of them. The music, the swaying…it was all a formality. The only important piece was that they were together, in one another’s arms…finally.

 

One song blended into another. Couples stopped staring and went back to dancing. The Slytherins on the couch watched intensely, small smiles resting on their lips. But nothing fazed Harry and Draco. They were where they wanted to be.

 

Around the third song, Harry eventually looked up dreamily into Draco's face. He smiled. Draco caught his breath, but didn’t move away as Harry stretched the slight bit needed to bring their lips together. His eyes fluttered closed and he drank in the taste, the feel of Harry’s chapped lips moving sensuously across his own. The kiss wasn’t deep, nor did it last long. But it said everything that they hadn’t been able to voice. It was full of promise, full of sweetness.

 

“What the bloody hell are you doing?”

 

Draco jerked at the screech reverberating in his ear. He looked down at Harry who rolled his eyes and dropped his head onto Draco's chest, and then he looked past Harry at the screecher. Weasel stood in front of them, his face as red as his hair, his shirt unbuttoned and his eyes as huge as dinner plates.

 

“What are you doing to Harry, you arse?” Weasel demanded again.

 

“We’re just dancing, Ron,” Harry slurred. Draco frowned at that. It was the first time Harry had slurred since he fell into Draco's lap. “No harm, just dancing.” The stupid grin on Harry’s face was open and innocent. Completely opposite from the sex kitten snuggling that he’d done to Draco or the devastatingly breathy ‘I love you’s that he’d whispered into Draco's ear. Completely opposite the stranglehold that Harry had on Draco's waist or the nuzzling he was still doing to Draco's neck.

 

Draco stood stock still, letting Harry attempt to defuse his best friend even while clinging to Draco. Instead, he contemplated the crowd gathering around them. A crowd that included a frowning Granger waving her wand and a desperate Longbottom trying to stop her.

 

“Sobrius.” He saw her mouth again, making a simple wand gesture in Harry’s direction.

 

He frowned now, mirroring Granger’s expression, and looked down at Harry. Harry who was still hanging on him. Harry who was still grinning drunkenly. Harry who was still clutching Draco like a lifeline.

 

“Um…Harry?” he tried.

 

“Shut up, Ferret!” Weasel bellowed. “You have nothing to say that we want to hear.”

 

Draco sneered. “I was going to ask Harry a question, Weasley, concerning his level of intoxication.”

 

Ron frowned, his own level of intoxication causing him to not quite understand the pertinence of the statement. “Huh?” he managed.

 

“I think what he means, Ron,” Hermione interrupted, stepping up to the trio, breaking Neville's hold on her arm as she did so, “is that Harry is not responding to the sobriety charm.”

 

Harry took on the look of a hunted animal. Neville rolled his eyes and sighed.

 

Hermione cocked her head and eyed Harry up and down. “So, Harry,” she asked, a tiny smirk beginning to form on her lips, “Why is it that you aren’t affected by the charm?”

 

Harry refused to meet Draco or Ron’s eyes. He bit his lip and peeked up guiltily at his other best friend. “Um…cause I wasn’t drunk?” he squeaked out.

 

Ron could only gape. Draco wanted to do the same but was damned if he would resemble the Weasel in any fashion. Instead, he reached out to grasp Harry’s chin and tugged his face over to look at him. He searched deep green eyes for an answer.

 

“Why were you pretending to be?” he asked softly, a spark of hope blossoming in his heart when Harry blushed.

 

“You wouldn’t have let me near you if you thought I was sober,” Harry whispered sadly. “I’d never have had a chance to tell you how I feel. We’d have parted ways at the end of this year and you’d have forgotten all about me. I’d never see you again.”

 

Draco's breath caught in his throat.

 

“You were telling me the truth, then,” he stated. “You actually love me.”

 

“What?” Weasel screeched. He was quickly hushed by Hermione and Neville.

 

Harry nodded, his eyes shining with withheld tears. “I actually love you,” he choked out. “Please, don’t hate me,” he pleaded. “I had to tell you. I knew it was stupid but I couldn’t let you leave without telling you. Without feeling your arms around me just once. Without…without kissing you.”

 

He could feel Harry tensing in his arms, but he couldn’t say anything. What would he say? He hadn’t lied when he’d said that he was bad for Harry. That Harry deserved a better person. He’d said it thinking that Harry was too pissed to comprehend his own actions. And now that he knew that Harry had meant every word of it…well, the sentiment hadn’t changed. He couldn’t do that to him.

 

“Harry, I—“ he began.

 

“Tell him you love him too, Draco,” Blaise broke in again. Draco looked to see his housemates standing together on the edge of the dance area, smiles on their faces. Blaise grinned. “It can’t hurt, and even if it does, do you really want to have passed up this chance?” he repeated his words from earlier.

 

As before, Draco looked down at Harry’s face. Harry’s beautiful face that was rapidly transforming from hopelessly tragic to hopefully delighted. He wanted to tell him again how wrong he was for him. He wanted to warn Harry that a life with Draco Malfoy wasn’t something to look forward to. He wanted to take him into his arms and kiss him until Harry couldn’t remember his own name.

 

“Draco?” Harry whispered encouragingly. “Please?”

 

Draco was lost again. Lost in the hopeful green depths of Harry’s eyes. Lost in the soft touch of Harry’s hand on his own. Lost in the sight, the smell, the presence of Harry. “I…,” he swallowed heavily. “I love you, too,” he whispered.

 

Once again, Harry’s smile lit the room. It lit the world. It lit the fire that had banked inside Draco's heart. He smiled back. Harry flung his arms around Draco's waist again and buried his face into Draco's neck.

 

“Oh, yesyesyes,” he murmured into the silky cloth. “I love you, Draco. I love you so much.” He glanced up, his eyes shining…this time in happiness. “I’ve waited so long to tell you. To talk to you. To hear you tell me how you felt about me.”

 

Draco smiled back at the sincere joy in Harry’s voice. He glanced up as he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Weasel was being carted backwards by Finnegan and Longbottom. Granger following along behind with a pleased smirk on her face. The reason became apparent as Draco noted that the redhead was screaming something the whole way, but no sound was coming out.

 

“Hey Harry,” he whispered, a smirk on his face.

 

“Hmmm?” Harry sighed happily.

 

“I do love you.”

 

Harry nearly purred.

 

“But I’m going to get you for making me picture Weasel’s freckled cock.”