Rating:
R
House:
Astronomy Tower
Genres:
Humor Slash
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire
Stats:
Published: 09/22/2001
Updated: 09/22/2001
Words: 2,701
Chapters: 1
Hits: 4,310

The Dog And Drainpipe

Al

Story Summary:
A Snitch! ficlet, set one year after the main action of

Chapter Summary:
A Snitch! ficlet, set one year after the main action of Snitch!
Posted:
09/22/2001
Hits:
4,310
Author's Note:
This ficlet is set the year after Snitch! takes place, so assume Harry and Draco are indeed in a ... um ... relationship.

THE DOG AND DRAINPIPE.

September is a funny old month.

Sometimes, it can be wet, windy, drizzly, cold. Sometimes it can be the start of winter ... three months too early. Sometimes, however, just sometimes, you'll get an Indian summer.

For a couple of days, the sun will shine brightly, it'll be warm, the sky will be blue, birds will sing, and lots of interesting shit will happen.

Draco had been moaning for some time that the weather was 'all crap' and 'fucking rubbish' and that this was going to be 'the worst birthday ever' in that petulant, God-forsaken way that he had when he was pissed off.

Turns out he and Seamus had had a massive falling out again.

When Harry found him, he was sitting in the saloon bar of the Dog and Drainpipe, a little riverside pub on the South Bank, a few hundred yards from his plush flat. This surprised him, for a start. Although Harry had been there a few times - it's an arty, popular pub, catering mostly for the theatre crowd - Draco would sooner take hemlock than set foot in a 'straight' drinking establishment.

Turned out he was trying to drink himself under the table.

Harry had never seen Draco with a pint before. Come to that, he'd never seen Draco in old, battered clothes, frayed jeans, elderly trainers that probably should have been decommissioned some time ago, and a sweatshirt with 'I Can't Even Think Straight' written on it. He'd never seen Draco looking anything less than perfect, whether he was in his sharpest Saville Row suit for a 'business meeting,' or in something tight and sparkly, or something tight and leather, all ready for a night on the town with his boyfriends.

This Draco had the look of a bricklayer about him. His hair was all unkempt and straggly, and there were the beginnings of a very impressive zit, smack bang in the middle of his chin.

Harry walked over to his table, elbowing his way through the crowd, conscious that his gun was digging into him in a very uncomfortable place.

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked, looking up as Harry gave a slight cough.

"There was no sign of you at the flat," Harry said, sliding into a vacant chair. "I was wondering exactly where you'd got to."

"Figured I'd come to this hole, did you?" he asked, running a finger around the lip of his pint glass.

"No, actually, I asked the doorman," Harry said.

Draco scowled.

"What's the matter, then?" Harry asked. "Want another drink?"

"Any more of these and I think I'll be sick," said Draco. "This is only my second."

There was a pause.

"Four more, please."

The bar was crowded. It took Harry a good ten minutes to ferry all their drinks back to the table. As he paid, he noticed at least five other people looking at him hopefully.

"Keep the change," Harry said.

"From a twenty? Thank you very much, sir."

Draco was still toying with his drink when Harry got back. He set down the drinks, carefully, only spilling a little bit, and tossed several packets of crisps over to him.

"Don't say I never treat you," Harry said.

"I won't," said Draco, raising a flicker of a smile.

"Now. Tell Uncle Harry all about it," Harry said.

"Julian said I was too possessive," said Draco, miserably. "He said I never let him have any fun. He said I was going to work myself into an early grave, and he called me a slut."

Harry pondered this. He might just be right, too. You fuck me around and then come crawling back.

Draco put voice to Harry's feelings. "And I think he's right."

"So now you're becoming White Van Man Draco, are you?"

"This sweatshirt?" asked Draco. "Nice, isn't it?"

It was horrible. "Lovely," Harry said. "It goes with your eyes."

"Bollocks," snapped Draco. He raised the glass to his mouth, and drained the rest of the pint in one go. For a boy who usually restricts himself to very petite, sophisticated sips of something sweet with vodka in it, he sure can put it away when he wants to, Harry thought.

"Give me another one."

Harry pushed one of the glasses across the tabletop towards him. The fattest woman in Britain waltzed past on her way somewhere else. Outside, it was beginning to rain.

Draco sipped his new pint.

"Tastes of nothing," he said. "It's just vaguely alcoholic water."

Harry nodded. "Whatever you say."

"At least Aftershock has some taste to it."

Aftershock, for the uninitiated, is a particularly violent, particularly strong cinnamon flavoured liquor. Draco guzzled it.

"I'm failing, Harry. I'm barely into my twenties and I'm fucking failing. And Seamus is right. I'm a complete slut. I get so much sex I ache in bits I didn't know I had ..."

"Yeah, no need to remind me," Harry said. "Look, what's bothering you? I'd kill to have your sex life."

"No you wouldn't," said Draco. "Sex should be fun. It should be a treat. It shouldn't be something you do when you feel like it, or because there's nothing good on the telly."

"You don't watch ..."

"I was speaking metaphorically. I think," said Draco. "And I don't watch telly because I'm having sex ... and I have sex because I'm not watching telly. It's a vicious circle ... and I'm a boring, miserable fucker. I shall be Victor Meldrew by the time I'm thirty ... I've decided."

"You lead a full and active life," Harry began, "and that sounded like an advert for incontinence pads, didn't it, and I so do not want to know where I am going with this train of thought."

"I'm not possessive, am I, Harry?"

He looked suddenly very childlike ... like he had done all those years ago. Back at that first moment, that first kiss. He looked like a small boy, desperate for his Father's approval ... something that Draco, to the best of Harry's own knowledge, had been consistently denied throughout his childhood. It was painful to see him like this. Indeed, Harry didn't believe he ever had seen him like this before. It was strange. It was like he felt that day Princess Diana died ... like it wasn't real ... like he was in a movie. It was just ... unexpected.

"Am I?"

"In the sense that you always want to have people?" Harry asked.

"No, not like that," he said. "If you just came here to take the piss out of me, I can go away. It's fine ... look."

He got slowly to his feet, his eyes rolled upwards in his head, and he toppled gracefully to the floor.

Harry took him home, removed the horrid trainers and threw them in the bin. Then he put him to bed. This was quite difficult. It was a struggle to remove his jumper, although quite nice, too, Harry thought. Draco had had a nipple ring put in which he hadn't seen before. It was a struggle to remove his nasty jeans, which Harry screwed up, and tossed in with the laundry. He was wearing very tight blue boxer shorts, which Harry didn't bother to remove. Then he covered Draco up with the duvet, and left him to sleep it off. He wasn't sure just how much Draco had drunk, but just in case, he rooted around in one of the kitchen cupboards, found an unused, plastic washing-up bowl, and set it next to the bed. As a further precaution, he filled a tumbler with tap water to the brim, and left it on the bedside table.

And he stayed there all night, kipping on the sofa in hour long bursts, with News 24 going in the background. The hours dripped off the leaky faucet of eternity, and before he knew it, the sun was rising in the east, and it was Draco's birthday.

And, oh fuck, I left his fucking present in Islington.

Never mind, never mind, Harry thought. He could hear depressed groans coming from the bedroom as he made a special breakfast for Draco. Coffee, toast, cut into little soldiers ... the way he liked it. And a big bowl of scrambled egg.

The morning rays of the sun were just slanting through the tightly drawn curtains as Harry slipped, silently into Draco's bedroom. There was a small, curled up, insignificant mound underneath the covers. It was moaning softly to itself.

"Draco."

Harry approached the bed, and set the breakfast tray down on the table. Draco had, he saw, drunk all the water. He hadn't been sick though, which was good.

"I feel like shit."

Tousled blond hair emerged from underneath the duvet. Draco had been lying awkwardly, and there were little red lines on his cheeks from where he'd been lying down amongst the pillows.

"You don't look it," said Harry. He bent down, and kissed Draco lightly on the forehead. "You look like you always do."

"I had a bloody nightmare," said Draco. "I dreamed you'd left me."

"Ha!"

"It's true," he said indignantly, sounding once more six years old.

"Chance would be a fine thing."

But Draco seemed to have forgotten what he was talking about. He had spotted the breakfast tray.

"Ooh, is that for me?"

Harry nodded.

"Did you bring coffee? Did you bring a stripper? Are you the stripper?"

Harry grinned slyly at Draco, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I could be," he said. "Happy birthday."

Draco grinned bashfully. "Look, I'm awfully sorry about yesterday ... made a bit of a scene ..."

"It's okay."

"No, really ... bloody sorry, bit ashamed, in fact," he admitted, in a low voice.

"Consider it forgotten," Harry said. "Besides, you were pissed out of your skull."

"I was right though," said Draco. "I'm sorry. I mess you around something terrible, don't I?"

"Nah, not as such," Harry lied.

"I'm stupid," said Draco.

Harry began to undo the buttons on the front of his shirt.

"Harry?"

Harry winked at him, and slid his shirt off, letting it fall to the floor.

"Are you going to let me in or aren't you?" he asked.

Draco looked at him, wide-eyed, and slowly lifted the duvet, allowing Harry to crawl into the little burrow he had made.

"Your belt is catching me on the hip," Draco said.

"I'll take it off, then," said Harry, reaching below the duvet, one hand fiddling with the buckle, the other doing something completely different.

"Oh," said Draco. "I see."

He dipped one of the soldiers into the scrambled egg, scooping up a generous lump of the yellow, gelatinous mass. Then he attempted to feed Harry with it.

Harry bit the end off, and chewed thoughtfully.

"I don't think we ever used to do anything like this," he said, eating the rest of the soldier. Draco's fingers followed it into his mouth, and Harry licked and sucked upon them.

"No," said Draco. He removed the tray from his lap, and set it down on the floor. "No, we didn't."

"In fact," said Harry. "I think this is the first time we've ever ..."

"Do shut up, little one," Draco said, taking Harry's mouth in a kiss. With his free hand, he removed Harry's glasses, and set them down on the bedside table. Harry was too surprised to react to the feel of his lover's lips and tongue against his own ... he leant backwards amongst the pillows, allowing Draco to sit astride him.

**

They lay together, basking in that safe, warm, post-coital afterglow, Draco rolling a joint from the stash of cannabis he kept underneath the bed. The coffee pot lay on its side, still leaking all over the carpet. It had been kicked over during an enthusiastic moment, but neither of them had noticed it.

Harry snuggled against his lover. He hadn't been planning on sex ... but ... after all, he reasoned, he had left Draco's real present at his flat in Islington. Although the real present probably wasn't quite as personal.

As Draco shifted his weight against him, so that they were lying side by side, staring up at the ceiling, Harry felt that something cathartic had just happened to them both. Something just that little bit more special than their normal, run of the mill, lovemaking. Something good.

A whole year ... more than that, actually ... nearly eighteen months, in a steady relationship. Well ... in Draco's terms, thought Harry, turning to look at his lover, who was staring at the smoking joint as if it held the secret of life itself, that was practically a lifetime's commitment anyway, and it was certainly true that, although there were other partners ... Harry knew about them ... but Draco had not been sleeping around quite so ... forcefully, as he had done before they got together.

That had to be a good thing, didn't it?

Draco turned to look at Harry, brushed a lock of hair affectionately out of his eyes, in a gesture Harry found almost - comforting ... affirming, in a way.

"Love you," he said.

"Will you buy me a drink later?"

Draco nodded. "We'll phone the others. Seamus and Justin will come, won't they?"

Harry nodded. He had already invited them. There was a surprise party planned for that very evening.

Draco nuzzled his head on Harry's breastbone. "Just promise me you won't bring Weasel boy?"

Harry nodded. "Promise," he said. "Where would you like to go?"

Draco looked up. "Dog and Drainpipe?"

THE END.