Bar Crash: A Blinding Flash of Light (Off Hair)



Harry ran into Malfoy in a blinding flash of light off hair, so of course he screamed and stumbled a bit. It was a very dignified scream, though he would admit the stumble lacked finesse.

"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" he asked once he had gained his balance. Again, he could have been smoother, possibly.

"Aren't you supposed to be straight?" Malfoy countered, and Harry looked around wildly until the blond gestured at the gay bar he had just walked out of. The bulky bouncer at the door stared at them blankly.

"I came with a friend!" he exclaimed with flailing arms, and it was true, Seamus had dragged him here under the impression that it was a normal club with girls.

"Are you drunk?" Malfoy asked.

"I'm not, I'm just... lost." he replied.

"You're completely smashed," he said, "here..." and he grabbed Harry's wrist and-

- apparated them and Harry landed in a heap on the carpet.

"What - where are we?" he cried, trying to peel himself from the floor. His nose had rug burn and his disastrous evening was spinning out of control. Malfoy was dead, and dead people did not side-along apparate other people when they were tipsy and slightly distressed.

"We're at my flat," Malfoy replied, as though he were alive and had just done something perfectly reasonable.

"I'm straight!" Harry cried again, and Malfoy snorted. Harry wasn't sure if the snort was at Harry's claim of heterosexuality or at the implication that he would try to pick Harry up. "I am straight and perfectly capable of catching a cab home. What is wrong with you?"

"Harry, you can't even stand up."

"I'm on the floor because it is comfortable and you appar- wait, what?" Harry pulled himself up to kneeling so Malfoy could see the bewildered look on his face.

"I said, 'you can't even stand'. My carpet will probably smell like whatever pure-alcoholic sludge you've been drinking, tomorrow."

"No, before that. You called me Harry."

Malfoy blinked, uncomprehending. "That's your name, unless you've changed it recently."

Harry stared up at him, not sure what to say, because it was his name.

"Do you think you can crawl to the couch, or will I have to carry you over myself?" Malfoy asked, and suddenly Harry was glad he hadn't asked if he could walk because at some point all the alcohol in his body had drained into his legs.

"Where is it?" Harry asked, and Malfoy pointed to a very comfortable but far away looking couch on the other side of the room. He thought hard for a second, and then replied, "I'll make it on my own."

Draco nodded and walked away, apparently taking Harry's word for his abilities. Harry wondered if he could get away with sleeping where he was; the couch was so far. With great effort he stretched his arms out and pulled himself a little closer. It wasn't so hard. He tried again, and again. His trousers were catching on the rug and pulling down a little, but he kept moving, pulling his exhaustion and disorientation along with him.

By the time he was able to reach the couch, the top of his jeans was around his thighs. He threw his arms over the seat cushions and threw himself onto the couch in a disorganized pile. For a moment, he thought about straightening himself out, but he was afraid that would tip him back to the floor, and that would just lead to more rug burn. He let his eyes fall shut and said a silent prayer that when he woke up Malfoy would be dead like he was supposed to be, or at least sane and embarrassing shrieks would not have happened and maybe the room wouldn't spin quite so much.

***

Harry opened his eyes and blinked twice at a blurry looking stick in front of his face. A wand. Someone had a wand pointed at his head. Summoning all the energy he had (which wasn't much, to be honest) he flipped himself backwards while his right hand reached for his wand (always kept under his pillow) and his left flew out to keep balance and - and he crashed into the back of the couch, flipping it over. He wasn't camping out on a battlefield; he was on maybe-dead Malfoy's couch with a massive hangover.

"Stop moving, or else you can deal with your headache yourself," Malfoy said, and then cast a spell. The light was fairly blinding, if anyone asked Harry, but his head felt much lighter. He rubbed his eyes a bit and the room around him coalesced from a fuzzy mess into actual forms of furniture and walls and Malfoy.

"Loo?" Harry asked, and hurried in the direction Draco pointed. He found the right door on his third try, and fairly well ran to the toilet, muttering to himself about poncy gits with too many closets to be healthy. Once his bladder was empty he peered at himself in the mirror. His eyes were a bit shadowed, and of course his hair looked a disaster, but considering the number of drinks he'd downed the night before it wasn't bad. He washed his hands and splashed some water on his face, which didn't change his appearance much but made him feel a bit more awake. Hopefully he would recognise a wand on sight, at least.

Harry walked back to the living room, grabbing his glasses from the floor on his way. Malfoy wasn't anywhere visible, but Harry wandered in the direction of what smelled like a kitchen and found him standing over a pan of frying eggs and, most surprising of all, talking on the phone.

"Yes, I know I should at least come in at lunch. I realise it's a busy day, but something's come up, and you have Perkins to help. He's not completely incomp- well, yes I suppose you have a point." Draco absently flipped the eggs as he talked, completely oblivious to Harry. He seemed completely comfortable in the kitchen, pulling out plates and grabbing the toast as it popped up, and it would be completely ordinary if it were anyone but Draco Malfoy. Harry peered at the corners, looking for a stray house elf; there were none to be seen.

"You cook?" Harry asked. He could have slapped himself for the obvious question, and Draco's blank stare meant he was thinking the same thing, and so he stumbled on, "I mean, that smells good. I wouldn't expect you to cook so well." He cleared his throat and set to helping with the meal.

***

It wasn't until they sat down to breakfast together that Harry quite remembered this wasn't normal. He ignored the fact that it was because he was so used to meals alone - he could worry about his entirely lacking social life at another time - and decided to interrogate Draco over food.

"So, how are you alive, then?" Harry asked, and then shoved a piece of toast into his mouth so that Draco had to talk. Well, he realised as he chewed that the other alternative was silence, but if he knew anything about Malfoy manners (which he didn't, to tell the truth) then Draco would talk to avoid awkward silences, as a good host ought.

"Well, would you rather the alternative?" Draco asked, and one of his eyebrows hinted at lifting up amusedly but didn't quite.

"Well, well no. That would be horrible, wouldn't it? To wish someone dead." Harry paused in his eating to think for a minute. "Except, I wished Voldemort dead, didn't I? We all did. Until he actually was dead, I mean. But that's different, he meant to kill us. And you don't mean to kill me, or else I would be dead already, I mean I was passed out on your couch." Harry took another large bite of his toast to halt his rambling.

"Yes. Yes, we all wished him dead, and I don't mean to kill you, you're right. And I'm not dead because I haven't died, yet. And that's all I'm going to tell you." Draco gave Harry a very pointed look which he was probably supposed to interpret somehow, and went back to cutting his eggs into neat little squares.

"How do you manage that?" Harry pointed to the precisely cut eggs. A change of topic was always a good choice, when he didn't understand a look someone gave him.

Draco glanced at the eggs and smirked. "Well, I am still a Malfoy."

***

After breakfast Harry helped Draco with the dishes. It felt a bit bizarre, but he knew it was the polite thing to do. It reminded him a little bit of living with the Dursleys, and then he realised they weren't using magic. In fact, Draco had cooked breakfast entirely without magic. Harry stared at him for a second.

"Have you... you haven't given up magic, have you?"

"I cured your hangover this morning, didn't I? Or have you forgotten toppling my couch. Stop dripping suds on the floor." Draco pushed Harry's arms (and the plate he was holding) over the sink.

"Well, right. But, you made breakfast without it," Harry replied, as he returned to drying.

"Have you ever made food with magic?" Draco asked, passing him the frying pan and lifting his eyebrow and starting to wash another plate and what was he, a multi-tasking robot? Harry shook his head no. "It tastes like magic. Imagine eating a barbecued wand."

Harry did not giggle in the least. If he did, though, it would have been because he imagined a very woodchuck-like Hermione eating her rather phallic wand. Draco smiled at him, and he considered the fact that Draco had a very nice smile.

It wasn't like he'd never seen Draco smile before - it's just that smiling cruelly at the pain of one's lessers sucks the appeal out of any smile. Now, though, standing in Draco's kitchen and dripping suds everywhere, with Draco laughing at him, Harry realised that despite being a bit pointy, Draco was sort of fit. No, not really fit - cute was the word.

He tried to imagine telling Draco that he was something so undignified as cute, and laughed so hard he had to sit down for a while.

***

"Check," Harry grinned, as he moved his queen swiftly across the board.

Draco stared at the chess pieces for a bit and then sat back in his chair, groaning. "Mate. It's mate. Who taught you to play like this?"

"Ron, of course. Lord of the Board, up in Gryffindor tower. I bet you didn't know that!" He waved his index finger in Draco's direction to emphasise his point.

"Didn't know or expect. Liked to keep his brilliance hidden, did he?" Draco stood and stretched, and Harry carefully didn't watch as he methodically (and a bit childishly) knocked each of Draco's pieces over. Draco set a tall glass of brandy in front of him, and he downed it quickly.

"That's three. Ten galleons, please." Harry grinned and stood up. And then sat down again.

"The bet," Draco said, "was that you could beat me at chess with three glasses of brandy. You only had two while we played, though."

Harry frowned and thought hard. "You never gave them to me. Come on, pay up. Never knew you were so stingy."

"Even the rich can't stay rich throwing their money around," Draco said, but he handed Harry the bag of coins anyway. "It's after midnight, now. Do you want to sleep on the couch again, or do you want something more comfortable?"

Harry blinked. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to imagine something like that when Draco said comfortable. "It's that late? But... okay."

There was a pause. Draco looked expectant. "Okay to which?"

"Er. Okay to... comfortable?" Harry carefully examined one of his knights, until the horse tried to bite him.

"I'll make up the couch for me then - the bedroom's back through there. Can you walk, tonight?" Draco opened one of the (many, many) closets and started pulling out sheets.

Harry blinked again. "Right. Er." He tried to concentrate on the question. "I think so." He stood up again. And then sat down again. "Maybe not."

Draco offered him an arm, and Harry placed a hand on it lightly. Then he tried to stand up, and clung to Draco's side for his life. Slowly they made their way to the bedroom - or, Draco made his way and Harry attached himself to him. He tried very hard not to notice Draco's... all of him. Instead, he looked at every bit of Draco's flat. The carpet was a creamy white colour, and the walls were a deep colour that reminded him of water in pictures of the Caribbean. The door was creaking a little bit, but just enough to be comforting - silent doors always made Harry suspicious. Possibly that was the brandy talking.

Draco pushed Harry off his side and onto a very, very soft bed. The light from the hall was sort of framing him, through the doorway, and it made him look soft and glowy, and Harry wished he had meant the nicer version of comfortable.

"I didn't know it was a gay bar when I went," Harry said.

"Yes, you've said that." Draco started to turn away.

"Yes. But then I stayed for three hours."

Draco looked at Harry for a second. "Ah. Um. Night." He looked at Harry a second longer, and even with all the shadows on his face Harry could see (imagine) the heat in his gaze. And then he left, with a soft click of the door.

Harry lay still for a while, hoping Draco would come back. He didn't. "Damn," he said quietly.

***

With a great deal of frustration, Harry fell asleep to dream of Draco. Well, Draco combined with bodies of professional Quidditch players, from the magazines Harry kept under the bed. (He was very dedicated to his hobby, thank you very much.) Draco flew around, showing off a very nice arse, and landed and walked around for a bit with his broom over his shoulder, and grabbed Harry and kissed him - snogged him thoroughly, hands on either side of his face, knees on either side of his hips, pushing him down onto the bed. And suddenly it was morning and Draco was kissing Harry in Draco's bed, and Harry kissed him back, pulled him closer until he couldn't pull anymore and then tried to push himself up. And suddenly... suddenly all the brandy from last night sloshed into his head at once and he was about. to. throw. up. He pushed Draco away hastily, and Draco looked (cute and) disappointed.

"Just - just hang on a second. I've got a massive hangover and I'm pretty sure throwing up on you wouldn't be sexy." He looked at Draco critically for a second. "Well, I don't think you're into that."

Draco grinned at him a little. "I'm sorry, about last night. I thought you were just really drunk, but then I remembered you checking me out when we were doing dishes, and... all the rest of the day, really."

"Excellent. Where's the nearest toilet?" Draco pointed. "Stay where you are, I'll just be a second." Harry walked as quickly as he dared to the door Draco had pointed at, saying over his shoulder, "Really, glad to be snogging you and everything but I never drink brandy for a reason. Don't move."

Harry came back a few minutes later, after borrowing Draco's toothpaste, to find him lying face up on the bed. "You moved."

"Yes, well. It's my bed," Draco said, and then he stopped talking because Harry was snogging him.

***

Harry woke up for the second time with his face in the crook of Draco's neck. It was a much nicer way to wake up than flipping over a couch, or throwing up. He snuggled into the skin contentedly.

And then he realised he had been at Draco's for two days, with no owls to anyone.

And owls made him think of work.

And the fact that it was Monday.

And then... and then he snuggled further into Draco's neck, because he just didn't care, and Draco was rubbing his hair very nicely.

The End