Oh, Bollocks

Harry trudged dejectedly towards Hogsmeade. He knew he wasn't supposed to be out, and if he got caught, he'd be in serious trouble, but at the moment, he didn't particularly care. He was rather preoccupied with Gryffindors' spectacular loss to Hufflepuff, earlier on in the night.

The score had been two hundred and ten to twenty, so not even Harry's capture of the snitch had been able to secure their victory. Harry cursed the virus that was going around, knocking people out left right and center. It had taken two of his chasers, which he'd had to replace with Ginny and Dean, and also his keeper, so Harry was forced to play Neville instead. The beaters were still on, adamant to play even though they were sick, so they weren't much use. All in all, it was a pretty pathetic match.

He saw some fellow sixth years stumbling past him, back in the direction of Hogwarts. They were Slytherins, and evidently had just finished celebrating Hufflepuff's victory.

He scowled at them, but they didn't seem to notice. They continued chatting loudly and pushed passed him, letting him continue on his way to the Hogs Head, clearly too drunk to realize who he was, or just not able to see him well in the semi-darkness.

He muttered mutinously as he pushed open the swinging door into the dingy bar, hoping against hope that there would be no Slytherins to bother him. Naturally, according to Murphy's Law, upon looking over to the bar, Harry saw several. One of which had annoyingly blonde hair and a superior drawl (even if it was slurred somewhat by the effects of whatever he'd been drinking).

Scowling again, Harry took a seat at the other side of the bar and ordered a firewhiskey.

"Oh how crass, Potter," a voice came from behind him.

Closing his eyes, Harry counted to ten, hoping that when he opened them, his rival of five and a half years would have disappeared. No such luck.

"Order one of their cocktails. A fuzzy navel, or a purple nurple, whatever the Hell it's called. Something to do with foreplay..." he murmured, looking at the bar.

"Malfoy, what are you on about?" Harry asked.

"A better drink, Potter! You can't go around drinking this crap forever..." he said, picking up the bottle of firewhiskey and examining it.

Harry snatched it back irritably. "Malfoy, don't go picking up my drinks. I don't know what you might be putting in it."

"Oh please, Potter, you actually think I'm in a coherent enough state to try and poison you tonight? You severely over-estimate me," Malfoy laughed.

Harry stared at him for a few seconds, wondering how, if he wasn't able to tell what drink he was putting things in, he could still speak like this.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, in that annoying way Harry couldn't seem to perfect.

"Staring at me Potter? How's the saying go? 'Take a picture, it'll last longer'?" he said, lightly.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry growled, the firewhiskey he had already consumed stunting his ability to come up with a good comeback.

"Ouch, Potter, that was a scathing comeback," he drawled, amused. Harry mumbled something into the bottle. Malfoy regarded him in amusement for a minute, before waving down the bartender.

"Two fuzzy navels, please," he said.

"Buying me a drink, Malfoy?" Harry asked, looking up at him darkly.

"Yes, Potter, got a problem with that?"

"And what makes you think I'll accept any drink you give me?"

"Ah, is it so hard to believe I a merely expressing my condolences for your horrible loss, and my remorse at having treated you so horribly for the past five years?" Malfoy asked, an innocent expression on his face.

"Yes."

"Hm. How about, I'm merely trying to get you drunk enough to tell me what those secret lessons you've been having with Dumbledore are all about?" he suggested.

"Now that's more believable," Harry conceded.

"Shall we drink to honesty then, Potter?" Malfoy suggested, holding out the drink he bought.

"You're not going to let up, are you?" Harry asked, staring at him in disbelief.

Malfoy shook his head pleasantly.

"Well, fine, but if I turn up dead tomorrow, just remember, there were witnesses. People will know it was you."

"I swear, there's nothing in it, Malfoy's honor," Malfoy smirked.

"Oh, now I know I should be worried..." Harry muttered, drinking the proffered glass anyway. "Hmm... this is alright, Malfoy," Harry said, signaling for another.

"Well, of course. I do know my drinks, Potter," Malfoy said, appearing affronted.

Several drinks and unintelligent arguments later, Harry had quite forgotten his enmity with Malfoy from the start of the night, and, for that matter, the last five years.

"Y'know..." he slurred. "Yer not such a ba' guy af'er all..."

Malfoy laughed drunkenly.

"C'mon, this place...boring..." Harry mumbled, getting to his feet and pulling Malfoy up after him.

As it seemed like such a logical, clever idea, the two boys decided to go cow tipping. It didn't end well.

"...How did that happen," Malfoy asked from the ground, wide eyed.

"I don' thin' tha' 'ow wan'ed to be tipped..." Harry answered, staying at the angry bull across the fence.

"Ah. That would explain it then. Where's me shoe..."

Harry collapsed in laughter to see Malfoy creeping up on the paddock the bull was in to steal his shoe back.

"Don' worry 'bout it, you can has a pair o' mine..." Harry told him, after watching the Slytherin run away for the fifth time.

"Potter, I would not be seen dead in a pair of your shoes. Now how am I - of course!" Malfoy smacked himself in the head and pulled out his wand. "Accio shoe!" he announced, and was then hit in the head again, by his own flying shoe. Dangerous things, flying shoes.

"Ow..." the blonde whined. "That's it, I'm going to bed."

"Bu' we're in Hogsmeade..." Harry told him.

"Oh, right. Well we'll just have to get back, won't we? Do you have that handy invisibility cloak of yours?"

If anybody had been roaming the corridors tonight, they would have heard what seemed to be a very drunk, very schizophrenic ghost, as the two boys kept arguing with each other.

"Gryffindor!"

"Slytherin!"

"Gryffindor!"

"Slytherin!"

"Gryffin- mmmf..."

Harry was cut off by Draco's mouth on his. Draco tasted of the alcohol he had consumed earlier, and it wasn't a particularly pleasant taste, but Harry didn't pull away.

"Dunno why I did that, seemed logical," Draco said, matter-of-factly. Harry's head buzzed with alcohol.

"Fine, Slytherin," he agreed, looking around to find that while they'd been arguing, Draco had already led him into the dungeons.

"Clean lineage," Draco said importantly to the wall Harry knew concealed the Slytherin common room.

"Sure, clean. I bet all you Slytherin are inbred 'nyway..." Harry told him, following Draco to a couch. "This isn't a bed."

"No, it's not. Wonderful observation skills, Potter. This is merely the place I left the book I was reading, and planned to take upstairs with me," Draco said, looking at Harry condescendingly.

Harry frowned. "Gimme my cloak back, I shoul' get 'ack to my dorm."

"Yes, Potter, you probably should," Draco mused.

"So, I nee' my cloak."

"Potter, you're holding your cloak."

"...Oh," Harry looked down to find his invisibility cloak in his hands.

"Well, you should be off, then," Draco said, casually.

"Yeah...but..."

"Yes?" Draco said, turning around.

"Well, what the Hell happened earlier?" Harry asked, referring to the kiss.

"Potter, you'll need to be more clear, I've no idea what you're on about," Draco answered, in disdain.

"Well...uh...the uh...the k-...you kis-"

"The kiss? Potter, don't read into it too much, it just seemed the best way to shut you up," he said, sniggering.

"Oh...righ' then..." Harry answered, shuffling his feet.

"You didn't like it, did you Potter?"

"Of course not! I mean...you're a boy, and tha's wrong..." he muttered.

"Oh really, wrong? So, if I were to come over there, push you back onto the couch and give you the best snog you've ever had in your life, you'd push me off, and tell me it's 'wrong', would you?" Malfoy asked, slowly stepping towards Harry.

Harry backed away until his legs bumped into the couch. "Well...uh...I dunno...I mean, you migh' be stronger than me, an' well, I'm no' really in any state to ge' you away from me..." he stuttered, as the blonde prowled ever closer, a growing smirk on his face.

"Would you like to test that theory, Potter?" Draco said, quietly. Harry pushed back against the couch and collapsed onto it. "W-well, that depen's on what-" his stuttering protests were cut off as Draco grabbed his shirt front and crushed his lips against Harry's'. Harry gasped in surprise, eyes flying open, and Draco took this as an opportunity to let his tongue explore the mouth now open to him. Harry shuddered as Draco ran his tongue across the roof of his mouth, then realized that Draco had crawled on top of him, and, well, he was starting to have a bit of an embarrassing problem.

"Malfoy..." he started, as Draco trailed his mouth along Harry's jaw and down to his neck, his tongue working wonders on Harry's sensitized skin.

"Yes, Potter?" Draco practically growled, before biting down lightly on Harry's shoulder. Harry let out a small yelp of surprise and jerked forwards, alerting Draco to the effect he was having on Harry.

"So wrong, isn't it Potter?" Draco smirked, sitting back and looking at Harry's disheveled face.

"Fuck you, Malfoy," Harry said, though it lacked any venom.

Draco grabbed Harry by the hair and pulled his head backwards. "Language, Potter," he said, before capturing Harry in a rough kiss again. This time, Harry responded. When Draco forced his tongue into Harry's mouth, Harry ran his up the underside of the foreign invader, causing Draco to jerk atop him. "Well, Potter, getting into this, are we?" Draco smirked again, keeping Harry's head pulled back with one hand as he used his mouth to its full advantage on the other boy's collarbone. With his other hand, he clumsily un-tucked Harry's shirt. Harry jumped when he felt the blonde's hand on his skin, and unwillingly pressed himself closer to the Slytherin. He groaned when Draco pulled back.

"Now, Potter, let's say we take this upstairs, hmm?" he asked, with heavy-lidded eyes. Harry could merely nod, the coherent use of his voice box somehow forgotten.

* * * * *

Harry awoke next morning with a dull throbbing in the front of his head and slowly opened his eyes, preparing for the burst of sunlight. He blinked blearily for a few moments before realizing it was mostly dark, lit only by a few candles.

That's odd...somebody must be playing a joke... he thought, reaching over to his bedside table for his glasses. Thankfully, they were right where he usually put them. Slipping his glasses on, he looked at the rest of the items on the table.

Well...that's not usually there...must be Seamus'... he thought in amusement, noticing the small tube. He then, finally, noticed that he was rather...well, naked.

Dear lord, what did I do last night?! I hope there's not some poor girl running around with the wrong idea... his brain worked overtime, struggling to remember the night before, until he felt a stir of the covers, and realized with a jolt, that there was somebody else in the bed, beside him. With an even bigger shock, he recognized the white blonde hair and steely gray eyes, half closed though they were with sleep.

"M-Malfoy?!" he hissed. "What the Hell are you doing in my bed!?"

"This isn't your bed, it's my bed..." Draco answered, as if this was the most logical thing in the world. He then sat up and stared at Harry. "What the Hell are you doing in my bed?!"

"That's what I want to know!" Harry answered. "And...oh, Merlin, cover yourself up!" he closed his eyes noticing the sheets had fallen off Draco. His mind went at a thousand miles a minute trying to remember the events after he went into the Hogs Head.

"Dammit, Potter, what the Hell did you do to me? Ugh, I feel so dirty..." Malfoy groaned. "Get out, why are you even still here?!"

Harry stood up hastily, covering himself with the sheet.

"Don't contaminate my sheets! For Salazar's sake, I'm going to have to burn them..." he muttered.

Harry hastily picked up his trousers from the floor, thankful to find that his wand was still in the pocket. He hurriedly pulled them on, and shrugged his shirt and robes on top.

"I don't know what happened Malfoy, but I know it's all your fault," he accused, buttoning his robes.

"Not likely Potter. Stop taking so long, get the Hell out of here before somebody sees!" he ordered, shoving Harry out through his bed curtains and into the dormitory. Harry sucked in his breath, hoping nobody was awake. Thundering snores came from two beds to the right of him, and it appeared Blaise Zabini slept with his curtains open, but was still fast asleep and - oh, dear lord, did all the Slytherins have to sleep naked?! Averting his eyes, he picked up his invisibility cloak, relieved nobody had found it. He slipped it on before departing the dorm, closing the door as quiet as possible behind him.

Blaise snapped his eyes open. How very...interesting... he mused to himself.

"It's alright, you can come out now," he told somebody hiding on the other side of his bed.

His hidden partner sighed. "Thank God, I thought he was never going to leave. Imagine what people would say if they heard about this?"

"Imagine what people would say if they heard about this," Blaise countered, wrapping his arms around his companion and pulling the curtains shut once more.