Written for the summer workshop of Game of Drarry. It’s settled in the same universe as Adapt or perish, written for a Drarryland prompt, but it stands alone.
Summary: It's pub night and Harry is not going to let the chance pass.
Word Count: 2016
Rated: M (just to be safe)
Warnings: alcohol consumption
Thanks to Etalice for the beta work!
Read on AO3
It was strange how things happened sometimes but, after an improvised party at Luna’s place, everyone seemed to forget there was a time when they weren’t friends.
Around midsummer, they had established they would meet weekly. Not all of them would make it every time, but someone would show to take some shots and talk about how stressful their week was or anything else really. You could see Pansy talking with Hermione about the best shops for buying quills; Seamus would advise Greg on the best ways to brew homemade firewhiskey; and Luna, well, she just was herself, and everyone showed her affection in their own ways.
Only...
Harry thought he was the last one to arrive at the pub on Friday night. He almost tripped over his own feet when he saw that Malfoy and Ron were the only ones sat on the table. More than that, they were chatting amicably. That was a first.
He approached them with caution, wondering if the situation would go wrong within the minute.
"Oi, Potter, could you tell this bint friend of yours here that there's no way in the seven hells the Chuddley Cannons are going to win the next game against his sister's team?"
"Mate, Ginny is going to kill you if she discovers you are betting against her," he looked at his best friend with an eyebrow raised, sitting on the chair across them.
"First, I'm not betting, Robards let us do a betting pool on condition that we don’t use money, so technically it’s not betting; second, I'm not even offended by that, seriously, Malfoy, you have lost your touch; and third, this is something I wanted to ask long ago, you guys are partners and call yourselves by your last name?"
"You call him Malfoy too," Harry said a bit defensively.
"Yes, but you spend more time together than with your… well than with anyone else, really. Heck, you even spent a night together."
"We were stranded."
"We don't talk about that night."
They talked over each other, and Malfoy looked pointedly at Harry.
“Hermione!” Ron bellowed, “Light of my days, come save me from this two!” She laughed, coming to their table while Malfoy mouthed a question for only Harry to hear.
“Have you told them?”
“What?” Harry asked, confused, but as Hermione sat after being hugged and kissed by her probably already tipsy boyfriend, Malfoy seemed reluctant to keep talking.
“Sorry for the delay, I wanted to finish a report,” she said, looking extremely happy with herself. “Ah, it seems it’s just the four of us today.”
“I thought Pansy was coming,” Malfoy said, his eyes widening slightly.
“Uhm, dunno, I think she said something about a concert last week?” Hermione mused.
Harry observed as Malfoy took his butterbeer bottle and started to pick at the label with his long fingers, worrying his lower lip and avoiding to look at them.
“Ok, I’m going to order," Hermione said.
“You know, the last one to arrive has to buy a round of firewhiskey, and I think this week that one is you, ‘Mione,” Ron said a wide smile plastered on his face.
She rolled her eyes before answering. “Ok, but you come with me to help. And that’s the last alcohol you’ll drink tonight.” They headed to the bar, Ron in tow, complaining loudly.
Malfoy waited until they were out of earshot to lean on the table towards Harry.
“Have you told them?”
“About what?”
“You know about what!” Malfoy hissed. “The thing that happened during that night that we aren’t talking about, ever. You, moron!” He added those last two words as an afterthought. Harry’s brain clicked. It’s not that he hadn’t thought about it, repeatedly, ever since. Sometimes, he couldn’t avoid thinking about it, but it was usually when Malfoy was not around; mostly because he forced himself not to think about it to avoid the blush creeping up his face. Just as it was now.
“It’s not a big deal,” he muttered, hiding his face behind his glass.
“Potter.”
“I didn’t tell them, ok? I’ve kept my promise.” And Harry realised it stung somehow.
“Oi, what are you scheming?” Ron said approaching the table with three glasses held precariously between his hands. “Help me with this."
One glass and a half later (for everyone save Ron) Harry's bad mood hadn’t dissipated completely. On the bright side, Hermione was lecturing Malfoy and that was surprisingly entertaining.
Hermione leaned over the table, her hair as wild as ever, falling over her eyes. She shook it off with a practised move, meanwhile, Ron snatched her glass and sipped from it with a satisfied smirk.
"What I'm trying to say is that Quidditch has a component of luck, and while the Chudley Cannons may not be the best team in the league…"
"That's the understatement of the century," Malfoy stated.
"Oi!" Ron said instantly, Hermione's glass halfway to his lips.
"...they certainly can win the game against the Harpies just looking at the statistics of their matches and the times they have caught the snitch by chance."
"I don't know if I should be offended or buy you a ring right now." Hermione turned towards Ron at that, a faint blush evident in her cheeks.
"I dare say on Granger's behalf that you'll have to make it better than that."
"Shut up, Malfoy."
"He's right," Hermione said, lifting her chin, "and this glass is mine."
Harry laughed and took his own glass, finding it empty. It seemed Ron hadn't been the only one stealing someone else's drink. The git on his left was smirking.
"Prat," Harry muttered. "I'm going for another, anyone?"
Harry got a unanimous response and got a round for everyone, and a next one. When Malfoy offered to buy another, they were a tad sloshed so they decided to call it a night.
"You lot are lightweights," Ron teased, swaying a little on the spot.
Malfoy snorted. "Talk for yourself, Weasel," he uttered, even though his words were a bit slurred. He stuck out his tongue when Ron showed him two fingers.
“Ok, we’ll be heading home. Take care guys,” Hermione said, Ron leaning on her and looking smitten, his petty fight with Malfoy forgotten. Their flat was a few blocks down the street so they could walk back home without much problem. Harry, on the other hand, had a 40 minutes walk from there. He wrinkled his nose.
“Do you fancy a Knight bus ride?”
“Merlin, no,” Malfoy looked profoundly disgusted with the idea, “I may throw up in an instant.”
"Fair point. Walking it is then," Harry didn't want to risk splinching, the time it happened to Ron was enough to scare him for a lifetime. He looked around trying to figure out in which direction they should go. "In which way is your flat, again?"
"Dunno. I've never walked home." He added at Harry's raised eyebrows, shrugging and looking as if that was all that he needed to say in the matter.
"Mmm, ok, Grimmauld is that way. Let's see if you see something familiar on the way there."
Proof of his inebriated state was that Draco didn’t protest his plan.
They walked side by side in silence for a while. The night was nice, summer was at its best; it would have been enjoyable, hadn’t Harry felt so upset.
"What's the matter?" Draco asked.
"It's nothing."
"Right, so you are sulking because you're a spoilsport."
"I'm not."
"Ha! Brow furrowed, prominent pout,..."
"I'm not pouting."
"I know you, something is bothering you. Spill it, Potter."
"Why don't you want to talk about it?" Harry blurted, stopping abruptly. It wasn't his only concern but it was the first thing his brain provided. Actually, it had been his only concern the whole night, until he found himself extremely bothered by the use of his last name all of a sudden. Damn Ron and his ability to point out sensitive things.
"Talk about…? Oh, that." Draco sniffed, pointedly not looking at Harry. "We already talked."
"No, we didn't. After days of ignoring me while confined in the same space doing desk work, I asked; you said we shouldn’t bring the thing up again and that was it. It’s been weeks, and it’s been eating me alive.”
Draco’s nostrils flared. “Listen, Potter…”
“Harry.”
“What?”
“Call me Harry once and for all.”
“What does that have to do with anything! OK, then. We are partners, we owe respect to one another, we…!”
“We fight alongside one another, our lives depend on one another and even if you hadn’t had your tongue down my throat, which you did by the way,” Harry pointed out ignoring Draco’s groan, “I would like you to call me by my given name.”
“Fine! Fine, Harry , you utter stubborn prick, let’s talk about it. It happened, it’s not going to happen again, and no one is going to know, satisfied?”
“Why?”
“Why? Because if someone knows I’m dead: I could lose my job, I would be accosted by your hordes of fans, it would…”
“No, no, why is not going to happen again?”
Draco spluttered. “Haven’t you listened to a thing I’ve said?”
“You don’t know any of that for sure.”
“Potter,...”
“Harry.”
“I can’t risk…,” Draco hissed and paused. “Do you even want it to happen again?”
“I do,” Harry answered instantly.
“What?” They stared at one another for a beat. “No, you don’t.”
“I do!”
“You are drunk.”
“Barely tipsy.”
“Well, I’m drunk.”
“I tell you what,” Harry blurted, sensing it was now or never, “let’s walk to my place, it’s still a long walk, enough to clear our minds. If you are still unsure I won’t press.”
“Unsure of?”
“Me wanting you.”
Draco snorted. “Bold of you to assume I may be interested.”
Harry smiled broadly.
---
The light of the day was filtering through the curtains directly on Harry’s eyes. He groaned. The pain in his head was insistent, more so with the noise of the floo blaring.
“Harry! Harry!”
“Nnnngh.” He protested, not opening his eyes.
“Harry, she said yes!”
“Ron, it’s too early,” Harry mumbled on the pillow. He heard the footsteps intensifying as Ron presumably ran up the stairs. He soon got confirmation when his best friend… forget this. His ex-best friend barged in with an annoying smile plastered on his face.
“Would you be my best man?” Ron shouted, making Harry flinch in pain at the bang with which the door hit the wall.
Harry felt the mattress shift and a warm weight grow at his side as Draco leaned on him to glare at Ron.
“Weasel,” Harry heard and felt the low rumble on his back and smiled. He opened one eye to see Ron recoil in shock, “you have the worst timing for these questions.”
“Harry,” Ron muttered, “is he… do you…”
“Can we settle this before your friend here gets an aneurysm?”
Harry lifted his head and watched as Draco leaned back on the bed again, a hand dangling on Harry’s side. “Ron, it’s not…”
“I know, I know, it’s not what it seems.”
Harry felt Draco tense behind him and he reached for his bony hand. “Actually, it is what it seems. It’s not... a problem for you, right?”
“No! It’s not… It’s just… I’m a bit shocked, mate. But, it’s fine, great, I’m just… sorry, I’m just going now… I just wanted...”
“Ron.”
“Yeah?”
“I would be happy to be your best man.”
Ron beamed. “Oh Harry, you should have seen her face when I asked with an actual ring.”
“Weasel, timing!” Came the muffled voice behind Harry.
“Ok, right, I’ll leave you two alone. Congrats by the way,” he said running down the stairs. Soon the steps sounded coming up again and Ron’s head appeared on the threshold. “Ferret, you’re also invited to the wedding.”
Draco flipped him two fingers as Ron went running down the stairs laughing and muttering something that sounded suspiciously like ‘Hermione owes me ten Galleons’.
“Are you ok?” Harry asked as Draco snuggled to his back.
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Investigating Rock Art Through Archaeology Professional Development Workshop
Investigating Rock Art Through Archaeology Professional Development Workshop from Project Archaeology happening at the University of Alabama in Huntsville (UAH) from June 6-9, 2017. See the flyer below for registration details!
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