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Someone had convinced Draco it would be a good idea to drink six Firewhiskeys. It might have been Blaise. It might have been Pansy. It might have even been Ginevra Weasley. How he'd found himself mixed up with the flock of Gryffindors at the Three Broomsticks, he didn't know. But they had been shockingly amenable to his presence (after alcohol had loosened the tension quite a good deal, anyways).
Potter had been making a strange effort to be civil with Draco since the start of the eighth year term. Draco suspected this was the foremost reason for his presence at the table full of Potter's friends being tolerated. Potter hadn't been there himself. This fact had been glaringly obvious to Draco. He had tried very hard not to pout about it. Pansy had noticed anyway, and he may have asked Granger where the bloody prat was more than once. Her sharp gaze was all too knowing and that was around the time he'd downed the fourth firewhiskey.
Now he was stumbling back into the eighth year common room, ahead of the rest of them, citing that he was too tired to stay out any longer. And this wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. Someone had started talking about the war. And while the conversation had quickly been taken in another direction, it had pierced through the warm, hesitant haze in Draco's head like a blade. Pansy had tried to follow him out of the bar, but he'd insisted that she leave him alone.
There was a constricting tension in his chest that felt far too similar to his nights of panic in the dark of the manor. Air was not coming easily to his lungs, and his heart was beginning to thump a little too hard against his ribs. He swallowed against a lump in his throat a put a hand on the wall as the room swam around him.
"Malfoy?"
It wasn't his name that narrowed his awareness back to his immediate surroundings, but the voice that said it. Though his vision was blurred, Draco could clearly see Potter sitting on a sofa next to the fire. He had a book open in his lap and a red blanket over his legs. He was looking at Draco through his ridiculous, adorable round glasses. The heavy dread curling in his gut suddenly lessened, leaving him with an odd floaty sensation, and Draco could only blink stupidly at the other boy.
"You alright?" Potter asked.
Draco scowled gently. Clearly, he was not. It seemed pointless to lie.
Potter set the book aside and lifted the blanket as he moved to stand up, but Draco was loathe to interrupt this nice scene.
"No," he said, lifting his hand off the wall only to pitch to the side with the loss of support.
"Jus', stay there," he slurred, trying to right himself as Potter watched him with an expression between skepticism and concern.
He found some kind of footing and made his way unsteadily over to the sofa. Potter watched with baffled surprise as Draco flopped down onto it beside him. His shoulder bumped against Potter's, though he was slumped a few inches lower than him.
"Can I sit here?" he asked, blinking up at him.
"Erm, you already are, so I 'spose," Potter answered.
Draco absently noted the pink flush spreading across Potter's tan skin. It was pretty. Potter was pretty. Draco examined his unruly black hair as Potter ran a nervous hand through it. It looked soft. He was so close that he could smell whatever woodsy-scented soap Potter used, which mixed quite nicely with the smell of the fire.
The skin of Potter's bare wrist brushed against Draco's hand and the Gryffindor flinched away. Draco's heart plummeted, his drunken mind interpreting it as a reaction of disgust at touching the Death Eater.
"Merlin, you're cold!" Potter exclaimed.
Draco squinted at him. "Snowing out there," he grumbled after a moment.
"Did you walk back alone?" Potter asked.
Draco hummed an affirmative, his tired eyes drifting to the flickering fire in the hearth. It cast a warm orange glow around the room, the only other sources of light a few candles scattered around. No wonder Potter had bad eyes, trying to read in the dim like this. The heat of the common room was beginning to seep into Draco's body, and he felt himself sinking further against Potter.
"Draco, take your cloak off," Potter said.
The encroaching sleepiness immediately retreated. He tilted his head and looked up at Potter, gray eyes wide. Potter stared back down at him, face flushed and eyebrows drawn together slightly.
"What?" he breathed, though he clearly knew what.
"You called me Draco," Draco responded.
Potter swallowed visibly and played with the edge of his blanket.
"It is your name, isn't it?" he finally said, his voice slightly tight.
Draco stared at him, his gaze sliding over his face and trying to focus on the details through the alcoholic blur. The green eyes behind his round glasses and the dark lashes framing them, the pale scar and it's jagged lines, the soft part of his lips.
"Is it… okay? That I called you that?" Potter asked.
Draco watched his mouth move as he spoke, and then found his eyes again. He considered the question for a moment. He did quite like the fluttering warmth in his chest that it had caused.
"Yes," he decided.
"Can you-" Potter started, but cut off with a cough. "No, just take your cloak off. Come on, you're wet."
Draco grumbled in irritation but conceded to his request. He straightened up and fumbled with his sleeves until his arms finally came free, and then he flung it onto a neighboring armchair. He pushed at the heel of one boot with his toes until it slipped off his foot, and then the other.
"There," he said. "Happy?"
"Mm," Potter hummed.
He was watching Draco with such intensity that it surely would've been unnerving if he was sober.
"Can I what?" Draco said.
"What?" Potter asked.
"You said 'can you'. Can I what?"
"Oh," Potter said. He'd clearly hoped Draco had missed that. "Can you… call me Harry?"
"Oh," Draco said.
He curled his lip at the thought. He'd spent years training himself not to slip. To keep 'Potter' at a safe distance. But Potter was his enemy. Potter was hard and dangerous with anger in his eyes. And now they were inches away and Potter looked very warm and comfortably ruffled. He was wearing a soft green jumper and his glasses were just slightly crooked on his nose. His expression was open and nervous. Maybe it wasn't the worst thing, for him to become 'Harry.'
"Alright," he said, tipping back against the other boy's side and pulling one of his socked feet up on the sofa. "Harry."
Harry audibly swallowed. He was sitting stiffly upright, his hands clenched in his lap as if he was afraid to move them.
"Alright," he echoed.
"Why didn't you come out tonight?" Draco asked.
Harry shrugged and looked away. "Don't know," he said. Then he sighed and seemed to think better of it. "I'm tired of them all tiptoeing around me like I'm breakable. I just wanted to be alone."
"Oh," Draco said, unable to keep the dejection out of the single syllable.
"No, you're fine," Harry corrected hurriedly. "I don't mind."
They were quiet for a few moments, the only sound the crackling of the fire.
"Ginevra is a terrible influence, did you know that?" Draco asked.
Harry snorted a laugh and turned his head to look down at Draco. "Yes, I am very aware," he said. "You were with Ginny?"
"I was with the whole bloody lot of them," Draco replied. "Despite my better judgement."
"Really," Harry said, raising an eyebrow. "How did you manage that?"
"Pansy."
"Ah."
"And where is she now?"
There was a tinge of irritation in Harry's tone, and Draco wasn't quite sure what to make of it.
"Still at the Broomsticks," Draco said, letting his head fall a little heavier against Harry's arm.
"Why didn't she walk back with you?" Harry asked.
"Might have something to do with the fact that I told her to fuck off," Draco yawned.
Harry sighed. Draco closed his eyes. An uncomfortable spinning sensation overtook him and he groaned and lurched back up.
"What?" Harry asked.
"Dizzy," Draco replied.
"You've clearly had some fun tonight," Harry said.
Draco growled and planted his feet on the floor so he could drop his head into his hands. He tried to breathe through the swooping sensation, hoping it would ease up. After a few seconds, he felt a warm hand on his back. He didn't move, not wanting to spook Harry into stopping. Possibly sensing that Draco wasn't about to snap at him for touching him, Harry started slowly moving his hand up and down Draco's back. Tension eased out of him. The world gradually became a little more stable. And then Harry pressed his fingers up the base of Draco's skull and into his hair. Draco exhaled through his nose, desperately willing himself not to make an embarrassing sound. He didn't know if he succeeded. He was suddenly reminded how tired he was as he tipped forward slightly.
"Draco," Harry said. Draco's heart stuttered. "Why don't you go to bed."
The thought of getting into his cold bed, where Harry was not, was not very inviting.
"Mm, no," Draco mumbled.
He sat up and a touch of unsteadiness returned. He blinked heavily, trying to open his eyes all the way, but couldn't manage it. Harry put a hand on his shoulder. He was looking at him so intently, his expression wide open. Draco almost felt like he'd been seeing Harry Potter for the first time, these past few weeks. Ever since that day in the manor really, when he'd lied. Something seemed to break open inside of Draco. He tilted his head, took a shuddering breath, and then said 'fuck it'. He managed to maneuver himself onto his knees on the sofa cushion and Harry reared back like he wasn’t sure if Draco was going to hit him or not. Draco pressed his fingertips into Harry's chest and pushed him down against the arm of the sofa.
"Malfoy, what the hell-" Harry said.
"Draco," Draco corrected, planting a hand on either side of Harry's waist.
"Draco, I- What are you-? Erm," Harry stuttered, staring up at the blond with wide, very green eyes.
Firelight glinted off his glasses, and he looked down at Draco's mouth. Same wavelength. Good. Draco tipped forward clumsily and pressed his mouth against Harry's. Harry pushed back up into him for several wonderful seconds, his hand on Draco's chest, before he firmly nudged him away.
"You're drunk, Draco," Harry said. "This isn't right."
Draco's stomach dropped. This isn't right. No, of course not. Potter was the hero, and Draco was the villain. Bugger him to think it could ever be any other way.
"Right," he said, his voice incriminatingly wobbly. "Sorry."
He went to sit back up, but Harry had wrapped his fingers into the front of Draco's shirt.
"Wait, no," Harry said. "Draco, that's not what I mean. I mean- we can do… that." He cleared his throat, his eyes darting to the side. "We can. When you're sober."
Draco blinked at him, waiting for the pieces to click into place in his mind. "We can?" he asked.
Harry smiled crookedly, that beautiful flush creeping up his neck again. "Yes," he replied.
"Oh," Draco said.
A few moments passed, Draco still hovering unsteadily over Harry with the other boy gripping his shirt.
"Can I stay?" Draco asked.
"Yes, of course," Harry said, gazing up at him.
That was all the invitation Draco needed. He lowered himself down the few inches to Harry's chest and laid his cheek on his shoulder. Harry was tense for a moment, but then exhaled and slowly wrapped an arm around Draco's back.
"Merlin, you're still cold," Harry breathed.
"Snow," Draco mumbled.
He felt Harry's chest move under him as he laughed. "Right, snow, how could I forget?"
Harry twisted slightly as he reached for the blanket that had fallen to the ground. He tossed it up over them and fidgeted with it until it was straightened, tucking it around Draco's back. Draco sighed and pressed his face into the soft material, bumping his forehead against Harry's chin. He smelled like the edge of the forbidden forest after it rained, but also something warm, like the broom-shed. Draco inhaled deeply. His limbs felt heavy, and Harry's body heat was like a sleeping potion. Harry's fingers traced up his back again and into his hair. He heard the other boy sigh and mutter some quiet expletive, but he couldn't be bothered.
____________
Sometime later, he gained a faint awareness of hushed voices. He was far too tired to open his eyes, so he just listened drowsily.
"Harry? What in Merlin's name is going on?"
That was Weasley. Ronald, not Ginevra.
"Give me one good reason not to hex you right now, Potter."
Pansy.
"Be quiet, Parkinson," Harry's sleep-rough voice rumbled under Draco's cheek. Harry's hand was still at the base of his neck. "This was all his doing."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"Believe whatever you like, but leave us alone," Harry retorted. "You're the one that let him walk all the way back here alone and drunk off his arse."
Draco nearly smiled at that.
Pansy scoffed, clearly offended.
"Pansy, come on, are you really that surprised?" Granger now.
Draco heard Pansy sigh. "Well, I don't know… I guess not."
"Good, now go away," Harry grumbled.
He tilted his face against Draco's forehead and huffed a sigh that ruffled his hair. Draco heard a few baffled 'goodnights', and then receding footsteps.
"Wasn't all me," he muttered groggily.
Harry stiffened minutely under him.
"Mhm," he hummed placatingly. "Sure it wasn't. Go back to sleep."
Draco was way ahead of him there.
____________
Draco woke slowly. He was very warm, and very comfortable. And someone was playing with his hair, which really felt quite nice.
Wait.
The events of the previous night came slamming back to the forefront of his mind. He tensed, and Harry's motion stopped.
"Draco," Harry said quietly. "Don't freak out."
"Too late," Draco croaked.
Harry wound both arms around Draco's back and squeezed. Strangely, the pressure helped, and Draco's quickening breathing slowly returned to something resembling normal.
"It's okay," Harry said.
"Is it?" Draco whined.
"It is," Harry replied, laughter in his voice. "More than, really."
"How did this happen?" Draco asked, though he already knew.
"You drank six firewhiskeys, if Parkinson is to be believed."
"Unfortunately, she is," Draco grumbled.
Harry laughed gently, his chest shaking under Draco's head. Draco gathered his courage and lifted his head up to look up at Harry. He was softly rumpled by sleep, his glasses off and hair an even unrulier mess. Draco stared at him. His face was inches away from Harry Potter's face. He had kissed Harry Potter last night. He had to still be dreaming.
"How are you not freaking out?" Draco asked.
"Oh, I am," Harry said. "On the inside. I've had lot's of practice with that."
He smiled crookedly at that, but something about it didn't sit right with Draco. The Slytherin scowled gently. He would get a reaction out of him.
Without warning, he pressed forward and kissed Potter again. Harry made a muffled 'mmph' sound, but then responded quite enthusiastically. He wound his fingers into the longer hair at the back of Draco's skull and tightened his grip. Draco exhaled into his mouth and he felt a full body shiver travel through Harry.
"Oi, come on, not in the common room!"
They broke apart to see a disgruntled Weasley standing at the bottom of the dorm staircase.
"Sorry, mate," Harry called sheepishly.
"I'm not," Draco sneered.
He kissed Potter again.