Author name: samandriel
Author email: email@example.com
Sub Category: slash
Keywords: draco/harry, harry/draco, humor, drama
Rating: R(for language and some content)
Spoilers: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP
Summary: Harry is a bartender. Draco is a drunk (with exceptionally bad language!). Tell me where you want it to go, cuz I have NO idea.
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author’s Note: There’s a few (very) bad words in here. I’ve beeped them out, but if you want an unbeeped version, please tell me. The other bad words are just Harry being Harry and Draco being Draco. Also, I don’t know England. So, the locations are very random. Sorry. Also the drinks: I don’t drink. If anyone does and would like to correct it, please tell me.
A very drunk man walked into the bar. I studied him out of the corner of my eye. He had amazing cheekbones, great hips. He was wearing a dark green turtleneck that seemed like a second skin. It was nearly the color of my eyes, that green so dark it might be black if not for the highlights that played along it. My eyes slid down his body, again admiring the very nice hips, and encountered silver pants so tight they looked poured on.
I could tell he was drunk because he walked sideways, and very unintentionally. He bumped into Moira, Rick and Jack before settling into an empty space at the bar. His unfocused eyes glanced, then glared at my name tag, before saying: “Hey, Mr. Barman. A drink, please.”
He suddenly slumped down, and as his head slid into the light I noticed that his hair was that extraordinary blond color that is nearly white. The halogen lights played amid his mane as children on a swing set.
“Sir? Sir, please, there is a place to crash against that wall over there.”
He glared blearily up at me. “A DRINK, IF YOU DON’T MIND!!!”
“I’m sorry. But I’m not allowed to serve those that are drunk already. But I can offer you some nice orange juice, or coffee—˝
“I don’t want DAMN coffee, I want—˝
He slumped over the bar again. Damn, I muttered.
Moira swung over. (She never walked, she danced or swayed or waltzed. Always the drama queen, our Moira.) “Hey. It’s my shift. OUT!”
The only reason Moira liked working here was because she got free drinks, as much as she could keep down. And that was a lot.
“What am I supposed to do with--˝ I gestured at the drunk.
“Take him home.” Her eyes looked at me with animal ferocity. “But if you can’t…” Her voice held the promise of what he and she would do.
“I’ll take him… I guess.”
She sighed. “Fine. See you mañana, padré.”
“Yeah, whatever, see you tomorrow too. Don’t get too hungover, you hear me?”
“Yes, padré, yes. Now go with the delicious one.” She gestured at the drunk.
I shuffled back to the break room wear I exchanged my apron and name tag for street clothes, then went back out the crowded and noisy bar.
I hoisted the man over my shoulders and went to the parking garage. On the way there, the man seemed as though he was about to wake up. He instead just—well, snuggled closer.
As got within beaping range, I fired the keyless entry button, and the car sprung to life.
“Hey, Morgan. Calm down, you’re gonna have to share with this—guy. Sorry.”
Morgan was a Nissan 350Z, silver and very, very fast. Yum. She had what was referred to as a ghost, a spirit. And a feisty one it was, too.
“Eh, whatever. So long as he doesn’t mess up the leather. The one last week barfed all over…I still stink.”
“No, you don’t. Now, please open up?”
The doors slid back, revealing the black leather on the inside. I rearranged the drunk and moved my bass to the trunk. I then settled him into the front seat, seat belt and all, then moved to the other side.
“Morgan? If you don’t mind.”
“Sure thing, Harry.”
We rolled out of the garage and down the multiple ramps to street level.
“Naw, I think I have enough at home.”
We zoomed off to my flat, in northern Oxford.
Pulling into the garage, I pulled out my double bass and the drunk and ambled into the apartment.
“Close the door, please?”
“Sure thing. Uno momento, por favor.”
The door clanged close.
I rearranged the blond in my spare bed and went into the kitchen. Time to talk to someone who would know who the hell he was.
I quickly dialed the number, memorized already after only a week.
“Hello? Weasley-Granger residence. This is Ron.”
“Hey Ron, it’s Harry.”
“Hey—Mione, right? Just a sec.”
I heard a muffled “Mione!! Phone!!” before she was put on.
“Harry? What now? PLEASE, not another UFP!” (UFP was Mione speak for Unidentifed Flying (as in drunk) Person.)
“Sorry, Mione, yeah it is.”
“Did you check his pockets yet?”
“Pockets? What pockets?”
“God, Harry. Did you not notice if he had pockets or not?”
“No, Mione. He had no pockets.”
“Oh. Nevermind…um, send me a picture, please?”
“Already sent it.”
“You assume….oh my, Harry, are you serious you don’t recognize him?”
“No, should I?”
“Um…it’s Draco. Malfoy.”
“Are you sure, Mione?”
“Well, thanks. I’ll keep you updated…bye. Love to both.”
“Bye, Harry. And use your head before doing anything too irrational.”
“Her-mione Granger! Do not speak dirty---˝ Dial tone. She hated when I did that.
The next morning, Draco (was it really him?) was sitting at my breakfast table when I got up. He had made eggs and toast. (Did he poison it?)
When he heard me come in, he stood up and turned around.
“I hope you didn’t…mind, but umm…oh, shit.”
“God, whyohwhy did he have to be Saint Potter?” Malfoy slipped back into his annoying drawl that was so reminiscent of the days at Hogwarts it was almost like being back in class again.
“I’m not going to do anything to you. Just feed you and send you on your way. Ok? Can you deal with that?”
“Potter not very awake…oh, poor baby.” This extremely sarcastic remark did nothing to me.
“Oh, come off it Malfoy. It’s way too early in the morning.”
“Well, well. Umm…so, how did I get—here, your flat, I presume?”
“Part of my job as bartender is to bring home anyone that can’t take themselves home, feed them, give them a place to sleep and set them out again in the morning. You were just another in the long stream of persons that I have had.”
“What, did you just see me and say to yourself, ‘Oh, yippee skippee, another charity project! Cleaning up a Malfoy!’?”
“Actually, no. I didn’t even recognize you.”
“Right, and pigs fly.”
“They do. Everyday. Sausage, pork and bacon, take your pick.”
“God. Well, gotta fly. Thanks….and I didn’t poison the food. It’s pretty good, if I do say so myself.”
“Thanks, Malfoy….oh, don’t even think about Disapparating. I’m proof.”
“Well, I was planning on walking anyway.”
“Where do you live?”
“Do you even know where you are? You don’t even have your wand, so no Knight Bus.”
“Um…where am I?”
“Damn Potter, live faraway much?”
“Yep. Live away from everyone. It’s just great.”
“Damn. Can I…get a ride?”
“I’ll call the Knight Bus for you, okay? Be right back…”
I shuffled into the bedroom and reached for my wand, which was safely in its box on my bookshelf.
Stepping out the front door, I stuck my wand out into the road.
A load –bang!- and there it was. The extremely purple Knight Bus.
“Hey Harry, where too?”
“Actually, can you take a friend?”
“I guess. Same price, though.”
I gave him the sickles.
“Be right back.”
I stepped up to the door.
“Malfoy! The bus is here!”
“Oh. Thanks. Bye….”
He stepped out the door and left my house, and my life. Or so I thought. I never had passed Divination….
*--Two Weeks Later
I was working at the bar, again, just like I was supposed to. It was my shift, after all. Then, he walked into the bar. Again. Not as drunk as before, but in a different outfit.
This time, it was silver sleeveless tank top, again very tight, very raver-esque. The pants were black this time, black leather that molded to all of his curves so much that I knew he was definitely not wearing anything underneath.
He turned around and gave me a smile. I felt the blood rise to my face and other…places.
He came over and sat down, same spot as last time.
“Hey, Mr. Barman. I no longer drunk, now give me drink, hear?”
“A Mai-Tai. And a scotch. And rum.”
I blinked. That was exactly what I liked.
“All together, or separate?”
“Separate, idiot. The scotch messes up the flavor of the rum, and the rum cancels out the flavor of the vodka in the Mai-Tai.”
Again, exactly what I said.
“Yes sir. One moment, please.”
I poured the scotch over ice, then the rum on the rocks as well. I then put a shot of vodka, then cranberry, then orange, then pineapple juice in the glass.
“Thanks Mr. Barman. Just the way I like it.”
He then proceeded to knock back the rum, then the scotch, then used the Mai-Tai as a chaser.
God, he didn’t take much to get drunk.
Moira sauntered over. “My shift. Oh, he’s back, eh? Is he one of yours??”
“No Moira, I think he just enjoys getting hungover. Some people collect rocks, others collect hangovers. G’night.”
I pulled him off of the stool, still giggling and headed to the parking lot.
“Back, is he?”
“Unfortunately. Open up.”
She grumbled, then the doors popped open.
I slid him into the front seat, where he promptly fell asleep.
Morgan drove us home, like last time.
“Close the door, love? Thanks.”
I carried him into the bedroom and settled him in.
I left a message with Ron and Mione telling them what I was up to, then crawled into bed myself.
I was awakened later that night by a silken head crawling into bed with me. I realized that it was only 2 AM and promptly fell back asleep, not caring.
When I woke up, with Draco still in bed, I pondered whether or not to wake him.
Shoving him lightly, he groaned then woke.
“Huh? Oh, hi Potter. Hope you don’t mind….”
“Why are you in bed with me?”
“Couldn’t sleep. I…”
He searched for a word, then finally settled on “Nightmares.”
“Ah. And does this mean…?”
“That….you don’t completely hate me anymore?”
“Of course not, Potter. You have a cute butt. How do you hate someone with a cute butt?”
I sputtered, then managed to ask: “Do you wanna talk about the nightmares?”
“As long as there is no poison of any kind, yes, I could spring for some breakfast.”
He winked (winked? Malfoy? No…) at me and sprang out of bed into the kitchen, where he promptly prepared to create one of the most delicious meals I have ever eaten in my life.
“Tasty?” He asked after my umpteenth serving of the fruit salad.
“Eurgh. Do not talk with your mouth full. It’s gross. It take it you like it then?”
I nodded emphatically.
“Good. Goodbye. Maybe again in 2 weeks….?”
He sauntered out the front door, where the Knight Bus rushed in purple frenzy to meet him. He turned before stepping on and gave me another wink…. If I didn’t know better, I would think Polyjuice.
*Two weeks after that
I was on my shift again, as usual, and me, being the silly person I was, expected him to stagger in again. At around the same time. When he didn’t show, I felt a little worried. And then I remembered who I was worried about.
“This is Malfoy, we’re talking about. Not a predictable bone in his body. Probably drunk over at Wasta’s on rice wine. Because Malfoy knows so much about rice wine. He probably had one sake shot and keeled over.” I was muttering to myself, and Moira came over and tapped me on the shoulder.
“Hon? It’s my shift. Scoot.”
“Hasta la vista” –yawn- “baby.”
“Yeah, see you later too. Kisses and smoochums.”
Suddenly feeling very tired, I gathered my stuff and wandered out to my car.
“He’s not back? I was beginning to think he was a regular.”
“So did I, love, so did I.”
Because my shift ran so late, there was never any traffic. This was a good thing. A very good thing. Because if there had been traffic…
Morgan deposited me at the front door and swung around back to park.
I trudged up the two flights of stairs to my flat, as the elevator was again out of order. I rounded the corner and, to my shock and horror, saw a dead body slumped at my door.
The dead body moaned a bit, so I knew he wasn’t…
“Shit, you look like someone took about a ton of bricks and dropped them on you. And then ran you over. And then used you for a punching bag! Jeez.”
I dragged him inside, shut and bolted the 12 bolts and somehow managed to maneuver him into the bathroom, where I kept my healing spells and more mundane supplies.
As I cleaned out a nasty gash across his forehead, Malfoy came to.
“Where…am…I? Who…oh, it’s just….Potter….”
“Malfoy! Wake up! If you have a concussion, you may not wake up again if you go to sleep!”
I grabbed his shoulders and shook him as hard as I could, until he glared up at me and questioned,
“Whadja do that for?”
“Stay. Awake. Or I WILL Splash Cold Water. On You.”
“Yes, Potter, I copy.” He grunted and his unfocused eyes seemed to track my movement.
After a while, he was sitting on the couch in and old sweatshirt and jeans of mine, sipping coffee. He had been wearing a stunning silver vinyl vest over a black fitted t-shirt. And black vinyl pants. And black vinyl combat boots. He literally shone, and I was betting it was like a sauna in those clothes.
I didn’t bother asking if he liked coffee, but seeing as it was the only thing in the house besides tea and chocolate—and he was not getting my tea, and chocolate was bad for sick people—he got coffee. But he liked it, said I brewed it just right. I just glared at him.
“Keep drinking. If I need to, I will brew 13 more pots to keep you awake. You will be jittery, but you’ll be awake.”
“Potter, why are you so worried about me staying awake?”
Apparently my earlier conversation with him hadn’t stayed with him.
“Because if you have a concussion—which I’m not sure if you do or not—you could die because you had fallen asleep. I will not tolerate any deaths in my household.”
“Funny, Potter, it’s like you said I won’t tolerate alcohol in here, but instead you said deaths. Hehehehe….”
“Drink the coffee. Now, we put on loud music. Very loud. You will be wearing headphones. And drinking coffee. Got it?”
“Hey Potter, you could just –beep- me and that would keep me awake.”
I gave him a strange look.
“It was just an idea. Now, what kind of music do you have?”
“Loud music. That’s the ticket….Ah-HAH!”
“What, Potter, find a missing book?”
“No, idiot. You will be listening to the musical stylings of Metallica, Aerosmith, Linkin Park, Trapt, Green Day and….well, there’s a mixture of other stuff. It’s great.”
Malfoy stared at me.
“You listen to Metallica? And Green Day? And….oh, god.”
“You’re still awake, right??”
“Yes, still awake. Gimme the cd.”
I handed him the player, grabbed “The Golden Compass” off of the shelf of books behind me, and settled into my favorite chair.
“What, Potter, not going to bed?”
“Of course not. You need to stay awake. I will need to keep you awake. Thus, we are both going to be awake until morning.”
“I take you to the medic. That’s what. Put the headphones on and turn the volume up to around 20 or so.”
Malfoy did as directed and leaned back, smiling beatifically as if he was listening to church hymns.
Shaking my head, I settled in for a long night, punctuated by frequent coffee/tea/chocolate breaks (I relented on the chocolate bit and Malfoy was very grateful) and grunts as I threw pillows at Malfoy to keep him awake and he returned the favor.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Finally, morning came. Malfoy was still awake, a little ‘not here’, but awake.
“Malfoy. Let’s have some breakfast and then go to the medic.”
I didn’t tell him that the medic was Hermione. He didn’t need to know that.
“I guess. Need some more clothes?”
A grunt of assent.
I walked into my room to grab jeans and another t-shirt. I walked to the bathroom, where I could hear water running. I knocked on the door.
“Malfoy? I got the clothes.”
Still no answer.
I tried the door. Unlocked, I stepped inside. Malfoy was slumped over in the shower, naked as all get out, and asleep. Or unconscious. I couldn’t tell.
I decided that I really didn’t want Hermione to see him naked. So, I got into the shower. He had a really fine ass and was well proportioned in other areas as well.
I gently shook him, and he came to.
“Potter? Why am I naked and why are…shit, did I fall asleep?’
“Yes. You did. And, like I said, there is a rule against dying in my house. Now, out. Enough of a shower for you.”
“Ooh, Potter, I love it when you order me around. Makes me feel wanted.”
I rolled my eyes. Suddenly, he had turned around in my arms.
And, right then and there, Draco Malfoy kissed me.
And a good kiss it was.
“I’m sopping wet. So are you. Can we get out of the shower, please?”
“Well, since you asked so nicely…”
We both toweled off, and I excused myself to get some new clothes.
As I was taking my shirt off, I heard a purr of approval from behind me.
I turned around to see Malfoy, stark naked, again.
“Why aren’t you wearing any clothes?”
“I can see that despite your anxious tone of voice, you really do like to see me like this.” He grinned at me.
“I like watching you get undressed. Is that such a crime? You’ve seen me naked. I’m comfortable in it. Are you?”
“No, Malfoy, I’m not. Turn around, please?”
“Can we stop with the whole last name thing, already?”
“Fine, Draco.” Oh, ‘Draco’. It sounded weird on my tongue.
“It sounds so delicious when you say it.”
I grunted and proceeded to remove my jeans and boxers.
There were whistles of approval from behind me.
I turned to look at him.
“I thought I asked you to turn around.”
“Well, I didn’t. Whatcha gonna do about it?”
I just rolled my eyes again.
I reached into a drawer for some new boxers. A hand descended onto my arm, staying the impulse.
“You really shouldn’t cover up beauty like that, Harry.”
My name sounded like chocolate rolling off of his tongue.
“I can’t really take you to the medic without clothes on.”
“Who cares about the medic?”
“Draco, listen to yourself. Actually, look at yourself. In the mirror, over there.”
I pointed with my chin.
He walked over.
“My god. These bruises are awful.”
“Exactly. And, you could have internal bleeding. And you didn’t sleep. And you were practically on a caffeine drip the entire night. You need to see a medic.”
“Why Harry. I didn’t know you cared.”
His arm caressed my shoulder.