Queer & There

Chapter Two
Hangovers, Headaches And A Horrible Day

Draco didn't wake up the next day until about 2 o'clock in the afternoon, having finally stumbled in the door to his apartment at about 3.30a.m, with Harry practically asleep and clinging onto his arm. Draco hadn't bothered to note where the drunken fool had collapsed, but now that he was awake, he wished he had at least had a glance around before going to his bed.

He wasn't at all sure where Harry was, and this was making him very nervous. The best news had been that Harry wasn't in his bed with him, this had been quite settling, but then it led to the possibilities of where else he might be. It would be quite ironic if the Boy Who Lived had died a graceless death falling over the side of a balcony, after all, and Draco wasn't a big fan of irony.

Draco walked carefully into the living room, stumbling over a few recklessly strewn pairs of trousers and something that felt like a plug under his feet (it hurt like a plug, more like, and made Draco scream and swear loudly). The radio in his bedroom was playing Muggle music in the background that Draco vaguely recognised, and the mirror was telling him he looked a state, also from the bedroom.

"Potter?" he called out uselessly, having decided he had no idea where he was after checking his bedroom (achieved by simply waking up and putting on boxers - a job well done if you asked Draco), and looking vaguely onto the balcony for a matter of seconds. It didn't really occur to Draco to check the kitchen, because he had a very bad headache that could be the beginnings of a hangover despite not having been very drunk at all last night, and also because mornings were not something that Draco relished. In fact, he hated mornings. He especially hated mornings where he had to hunt for the body of Harry Potter somewhere in his apartment.

It took a few moments before a mumbled reply that sounded like 'wah' came from the floor of the living room. Next to Draco's sofa was a pile of blanket shaped like a person, and after that blanket had been successfully moved by the person shape, Harry's head emerged from under it.

He looked truly awful, was Draco's first thought, which pleased him greatly and he couldn't help but grin. "Sleep well?"

"Mmhm - I think so." Harry seemed to be very confused, and it was another minute or two before he actually attempted to stand to his feet, which turned out to be a failure and he instead slumped against the front of the sofa, his head lolling back slightly onto the soft seats behind him. "I don't really remember."

"Well, I wouldn't expect you to. You were pissed as a newt last night, it would have been funny if you hadn't thrown up on my shoes."

Appearing guilty now, Harry gave a little sigh and managed to maneuver himself onto the sofa, closing his eyes for a long moment and then suddenly opening them as a shocked expression overcame him. "Oh fuck, we didn't have sex, did we?"

This was awarded with a snort from Draco, and a roll of his eyes as he said quite determinedly, "I'm not gay, Potter. So no. There was no sex, and I can say for once I'm actually very bloody relieved about that." Pausing now, Draco took in Harry's appearance for a long moment as though trying to work out how Harry Potter of all people could have got like this, and so he had to ask. "Potter, where on Earth did the Queer Is Here, Lets Get Drunk And Party side of you come from? Because it's a bit of an upgrade from the Doom And Gloom, Lets Go And Commit Suicide Potter that we used to all know and love to take the piss out of."

Harry groaned a bit now in annoyance, shooting Draco with his best glare and was then once again seemingly defeated. "I don't know. I got bored with being the doom and gloom guy, I suppose. After Voldemort died, there wasn't really much reason to be gloomy, was there?"

"So you went out turned into a homosexual?" Draco raised his eyebrow, another smirk threatening at the corners of his mouth.

"No," Harry retorted quickly, defiantly. "I was always gay, you prat. I didn't just decide to be gay because it was once a word associated with happy times. The partying and drinking, that was me stopping the doom and gloom." Harry then groaned again, clearly not impressed with his headache, as he added as an afterthought, "Why do you have to be such an idiot?"

"Fuck off, Potter, I'm not the one nursing a hangover the size of Russia." Draco smirked again now, the Eyebrow of Disapproval still raised as he wandered over to the kitchen and looked at the tap, which took this as a cue to start running, a glass hopping over and filling itself before sliding over in Draco's direction. Draco retrieved the glass, swigged it back and then refilled it and took it out to Harry. "Drink some water, you might feel better. Although I really don't know why I care."

Harry took the glass, eyeing it suspiciously and muttering, "It's not vodka, is it?"

"Not unless vodka is water, you twat. Just drink it." Draco couldn't help but find himself amused again. Harry was better entertainment than nobody, after all. "Drink it, have a shower and then go home. I have things to do." This was a lie, of course. Draco had nothing to do, unless he decided to look for a job, which was nothing if not unappealing. Draco had never had to look for a job before, and he was quite honestly baffled as to where he would start anywhere.

Looking over at Harry from the doorway now, who was experimentally sipping his water as though Draco might have been lying to him about whether it was vodka, after all, Draco found himself supposing that if there had to be a guy to get you drunk and try and take advantage of you, you could do worse than Harry Potter. It would only have been a few years again when the thought of fumbling around with any member of the same sex was enough to cause Draco to want to inflict injuries on himself, let alone with Harry Potter, but now it was almost endearing that the other boy fancied him. Who could blame him, after all?

It definitely didn't hurt that Draco's head was feeling particularly squishy and delicate from the night before, and he knew that he would be bored all day if Harry didn't stay around. Maybe it had been a mistake to tell him to bugger off so soon, he might be good for something after all, even it was only to boost his own self esteem.

"On second thought," Draco announced now in his best I-Know-I'm-Sexy voice, "you can stick around for awhile if you want- if you have nothing better to do."

Harry eyed him carefully now, frowning and squinting a bit. "Are you sure you're not gay?"

"Definitely not, but you are, and you quite clearly fancy me still, so you know, it might be fun for you. Anyway, I have nothing else to do, I'll be bored otherwise." Draco grinned now, as though this was a fabulous compliment, and that Harry could thank him for his vast generosity later.

Harry didn't look particularly grateful, however; instead he just looked bewildered, with a hint of amusement that Draco didn't like the look of very much. Harry seemed to be on the verge of laughter, actually, if it wasn't for his hangover Draco was sure he would be keeled over on the floor. "Malfoy... for crying out loud, I don't fancy you. I don't fancy anything much at the moment, except the idea of my head not exploding."

Looking a bit put out, Draco couldn't help but ask, "Well, what if you weren't hung over? Would you fancy me then?"

"I never fancied you, Malfoy," Harry said now, clearly trying not to laugh, partly because it would hurt Draco's feelings, but mostly because it would hurt his head. "I was as drunk as you that night - I have no feelings for you whatsoever."

"You don't have to be so mean about it." Draco looked mortally offended now, a small pout forming on his face as he glanced down at Harry again, who was becoming more and more amused, and just as confused, by the minute. "I always thought I was very sexy."

This merited a roll of Harry's eyes, and a small laugh as the dark haired boy drank back the last of his water and settled the glass on a nearby coffee table. "Of course you are, Malfoy." Draco couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic, until he added, "It's a shame you're such an almighty bastard most of the time." Yes, Harry was being sarcastic, and not in a very nice way either.

Snatching the glass from the table now, so that there would be no watermark (Draco was very house proud, it seemed), Draco stalked into the kitchen, put the glass in the sink, which started to wash it up almost immediately, and then returned to his previous position by the door. "Just go home then. I'd rather be alone than be insulted."

"What about my shower?"

Apparently not having time for this now, being very prone to swift mood swings all his life, Draco shrugged, pushed off the door frame and muttered, "Oh, do what you bloody well want," before wandering into his bedroom and closing the door behind him without offering explanation.

* * *

In truth, Draco was quite disappointed to see that Harry had left the apartment by the time he decided to come out of his bedroom and his sulking session. He had rather hoped that he would have stuck around and apologised mercilessly, so when there was nobody around at 3.30pm, Draco found himself altogether very bored.

For the first fifteen minutes, he thought that being unemployed was much easier than some people made it out to be. He made himself a very late lunch (the apartment seemed disappointed, by Draco was sure it would get over it, and no sooner than he had thought this, it started sweeping up dust piles quite contentedly), sat down and flipped through a copy of the Daily Prophet and alphabetized all eight of his books.

This done, however, Draco realised he actually had very little to do in the apartment, after all. It was actually a considerably boring apartment, when he thought about it, and Draco suddenly couldn't even be bothered to read his magazines, of which there were many more than the books and they were much more frequently thumbed through. It was one of Draco's less well reputed habits.

Looking around carefully for something, anything, that wasn't what he was doing right now, Draco decided he could actually see how people became alcoholics. A drink didn't seem like such a bad idea now; at least if he were drunk, he would be able to see the funny side of being unemployed and sitting around in his boxer shorts and a white shirt in the middle of the afternoon. He actually always found himself quite surprised that he managed to remain toned, because Draco didn't believe in exercise beyond Quidditch and the occasional monthly work out, which didn't happen more often than it did.

It was at the moment that Draco was examining a particularly nice looking line on his abdomen that an owl shot through the window, too young to be definitively graceful but clearly trying its very best to give off this impression anyway. Draco recognised the owl immediately as Fabos, one of the young owls his mother had bred from two of the elder birds. He also recognised that the letter that Fabos was carrying was a Howler.

Draco suddenly felt very much like he was twelve years old again and had been in trouble for some sort of ghastly deed, which did nothing except worsen his temper further because it reminded him of Harry. The main ghastly deeds he had committed or been involved with when he was in school were usually to do with the Gryffindor boy, after all.

The Howler was starting to shake a bit, and Draco gave a short, heavy sigh. There were going to be complaints to the landlord again after this. Well, Draco supposed, now was as good a time as any to go and test the shower head was working properly, and this thought in mind, he opened the Howler with some discretion and then jogged to the shower and turned it on. Even the sound of the water couldn't hide the sound of his mother's voice, which wasn't actually shouted but just ridiculously increased in volume so that Draco was certain the whole apartment block would be able to hear his mother screaming at him.

"Draco Malfoy! I had a phone call this morning from Verity Shanwick's assistant! FIRED? FIRED, Draco? Why on EARTH were you fired? I am not impressed, and Ms Shanwick's assistant assures me this is all. Your. FAULT! You had better contact me, young man, or there will be even more trouble! I cannot believe you! Irresponsible! Reckless! Ludicrous!"

There was a huff, and then in her normal voice, "And for goodness sake, Draco, don't just sit around like an idiot all day. Get a job."

Draco hopped out of the bathroom just in time to hear the last comment, and pouted to himself. He supposed he would just have to go out and find a job, then.

* * *

Traipsing through Diagon Alley looking for a job was very boring, and Draco soon grew bored and decided to go shopping instead. He was aware that this wasn't exactly what he had told himself he would do today, but then again he was desperately in need of a new outfit. He had seen six other men wearing practically the same top as him last night, and hadn't taken very kindly to it. Draco didn't like to be seen in the same clothes as everybody else, because he was special.

This was how he found himself in the interestingly named "Shock Em!", a clothes store that sold some of the lesser promoted Muggle wears, and this was how Draco Malfoy discovered leather trousers.

At first, he thought they were just black trousers with some odd sort of varnishing to them, or that had had toad juice spilled all down them to give that sort of shiny effect, but on closer examination he found that the trousers were not just shiny looking, but shiny feeling.

"Er, excuse me?" The cashier in front of him looked up lazily as Draco held up the trousers in her eye line. She was a young witch, no older than about eighteen, and if she weren't so surly looking and chewing some sort of gum (Muggle again - Draco was finding this all too much) she might have been attractive. As it happened, she was displaying a facial expression that looked more like it belonged on a poisonous sort of snake, so Draco didn't find her even slightly appealing. "What are these, exactly?"

"Trousers."

"Right, I see that. What sort of trousers?" Draco was beginning to think she actually was a Muggle - after all, she seemed very stupid.

The Witch-Muggle shrugged a bit, sighed very blatantly and explained, "They're made of leather. They just came in."

Leather. Draco found this idea very, very interesting. The fact that they had just came in was also appealing, because it seemed Draco's hunt for something that not everybody else was wearing had come to an end. "Can I try them on?"

As though she had said this a million times, the young witch said in a monotone voice, "The changing rooms are over there-" She pointed over to the far left corner of the shop, where there were four small cubicles. "-and if you spill or sweat or die in them, you have to pay for them anyway. And we only take cash, nothing else."

Careful to avoid any sort of eye contact with the evil snake girl, Draco nodded a bit, and took the trousers over to the cubicles. Opening the door to one, he was pleased to see that the space had been magically increased, and inside each cubicle was a white sofa, a baby grand piano, a type of tropical bird, and of course, a mirror.

The trousers slipped on quite easily, and Draco spent about five minutes examining every curve of his legs in the mirror, admiring both himself and the trousers. It took another five minutes of looking before Draco decided he would be a fool not to buy them. They were expensive, but this wouldn't be a problem. Draco had plenty of money left from his inheritance, and his mother hadn't mentioned depriving him of it in the Howler, so he just as well spend it.

His mother had told him at first that it would be wise to invest it, and so Draco had put a quarter of into a new company that made Quidditch brooms out of ice. It had seemed like a very cool and modern idea at the time, positively ingenious, but the company had made no money and gone quite swiftly bankrupt. Draco had decided that investment wasn't for him, and so had vowed simply to save most of it, and spend as he needed.

The job at D.E.A.T.H had been very profitable since day one, however, and so Draco could brag to having a rather nice round sum of money in his vault at Gringotts. Buying leather trousers wouldn't put any sort of dent in it, and he still had another pay packet to come before there would be no more income. There was nothing to worry about.

So, Draco left "Shock Em" with two pairs of leather trousers (one pair black, one a gorgeous chocolaty coloured brown that Draco just couldn't resist), a new belt and four new shirts. This had been a very successful day, really, despite the shaky start with Harry disappearing and having a bit of a hangover. Then there had been the Howler, but now everything seemed shiny and happy again. Shopping was marvelous therapy.

Walking down Diagon Alley in the sun was relaxing, and the swing-swing of the bags in his hands made Draco feel like a young boy again, and only in a good way. The street had a lovely glow, children skipping around who weren't in school yet (the other, older students were in their last weeks at Hogwarts, Draco could only assume) that were really quite endearing, and vendors selling magical ice creams on the street.

After buying a chocolate-marshmallow-caramel-and-raisin super size ice cream, Draco decided to walk home instead of using Floo Powder. It wasn't very far to walk, it only took fifteen minutes, and it was such a lovely day that Draco thought he may as well make the most of it.

Unfortunately, he had changed his mind the second he turned the corner out of Diagon Alley, and it started to rain.

* * *

The rain was coming in torrents now, and Draco was soaked from head to toe by the time he got in. His ice cream was back in a street somewhere after he had abandoned it to run to his apartment block, and now he was finding it very hard to remember how to breathe steadily. Leaning against the door frame before actually bothering to close himself in the apartment, Draco then fell over something that was in the doorway.

Stumbling and very nearly hitting the floor, Draco just hoped that when he turned around he didn't see Harry. Instead, he saw a large pile of letters that all looked to be wrapped up together, a piece of paper attached to the top.

It was a petition, announcing "All the Residents In The Peaceful Block Who Want Draco Malfoy To Bugger Off Somewhere Else". There were sixty two signatures, which Draco found almost impossible, because there were only fourteen other apartments in the area. It was when Draco was considering this that the landlord appeared out of thin air.

Much to Draco's interest, the landlord was actually a landlady, and a very nice looking one at that. She reminded him somewhat of Verity, only a younger version. Even her sharp tone was the same as she spoke - "I see you've received the petition."

Draco nodded, certain of what he would have to do. He had to keep his apartment, and this meant he would have to sleep with her. "Oh yes, I saw it. It's very interesting."

"I'm Corinne Faithful," the landlady announced herself, and Draco realised that thinking this was a very girly name for a landlord all these years had been very perceptive of him. A little smile formed on his face, and Corinne didn't look in the slightest bit impressed or amused, but Draco was sure he would be able to change that in minutes. "Your landlady. I'm afraid we're going to have to give you twenty four hours to make a vast improvement, or you will receive an eviction letter."

In his best seduction voice, Draco purred, "Give me twenty four minutes... won't you come in?"

Corinne looked around a bit down the hall, before eyeing Draco carefully and deciding, "I suppose it couldn't hurt." She stepped cautiously into the apartment, and Draco closed the door smoothly behind her. This was going to be almost too easy, just like the time when he hadn't had enough money to pay for his takeaway and the delivery person had just happened to be a woman.

"So Corinne," Draco drawled effortlessly, walking into the apartment behind her and looking pointedly at a wine bottle, which immediately alerted two glasses and started filling them up the second they were in reach. "How long have you been a landlady? It must be a very interesting job."

Frowning a bit, Corinne didn't look like she was going to say it was an interesting job, at all. "It's a bit dull, actually. I was thinking about a career change."

"Ooh, you should be a model."

If the doorbell hadn't gone at that moment, Corinne would have looked thrilled. Unfortunately, the doorbell did go, and so she instead just looked a bit put off, before asking, "Shouldn't you answer that?"

Draco glared at the door for a moment, very annoyed to be interrupted mid-flow, and waved a hand. "Oh, they'll go away." The doorbell rang again, clearly disagreeing.

Three more rings later, Corinne said, "I don't think they're going to go away." And so Draco had no choice to go and answer the door, cursing quietly. When he saw Harry Potter in front of him, he cursed very loudly indeed.

"I left my watch here," Harry was saying, peering his head past Draco as though he would be able to spot it from the doorway. "Have you seen it?"

"No." Draco slammed the door.

He should have known this wouldn't work though, because he immediately heard the door bell ring again, a bit more impatiently, and Harry's voice announcing, "It was very expensive! It's Muggle and they stopped making them last year! Malfoy!"

Opening the door again with a deep, deep sigh, Draco glared at Harry and hissed, "Look, I'm trying very hard to convince this lovely lady to let me keep my apartment, so if you wouldn't mind - fuck off for an hour or so. You can come back later and look for your precious watch then."

"But I need it now, I'm going to be late to Hermione's."

"Well, you don't have your watch, how do you know that?"

Harry was growing impatient, and he raised his voice a bit as he retorted urgently, "Look, I never would have bothered to stay here last night if I'd known you were going to be this bloody difficult." And because life is very much like that, Corinne just happened to choose this moment to come to the door and explore what was going on.

The look on her face was one of utter disappointment as she surveyed Harry and Draco, and it took Draco a moment to realise that she had made a very, very wrong assumption. Shooting one last glare at Harry, Draco then looked to his landlady-slash-prospective shag and said very quickly, "He's just some twat I used to know in school. Don't worry about him."

"I didn't know you were gay," Corinne replied sadly, picking up the petition that was still sat by the door (giving Draco a nice view up her cream skirt that he would have enjoyed if he weren't so bewildered), and standing still for a moment. "Well, never mind. I'll come back tomorrow at the same time and we'll have a proper chat about your... behaviour. The neighbours are not happy, Mr Malfoy."

With that, she left, giving Harry a quick look as though she were very jealous before she walked away down the hall, disappearing from view. As soon as she was out of earshot, Draco announced loudly, "Well, you're a regular Joe Good Fucking Timing, aren't you?"

Harry looked confused. "What did I do?"

"Only what you've managed to do ever since I've known you - you showed your poncy stupid bloody face when I didn't want to see it. Just go away, alright, I'm in a bad mood now. And I'm all soaking wet too, which might have been a bit sexy before but now it's just annoying."

To his surprise, Harry gave a little nod and simply said, "Alright then. Can I come back a bit later? I do need my watch-"

Draco shrugged. "Oh, fine."

"Right then. See you later."

* * *