Arrested Development

- Arrested Development -

"You just don't understand, Ron!"

"What's there to understand, mate? I had to beg Dad for Muggle money without even knowing what you needed it for and then I get here and find-- well-- this, so what do you expect me to think?"

"Er... the usual?"

"Yeah, right! I'm really in trouble, you said! Bail me out of some bloody Muggle prison but don't tell anyone, I'll do anything, you said. Well, we're not leaving here until you tell me what the bloody hell has happened to you, because I know you'll be gone the second I give you your wand back, you prat! Hmph."

On top of everything else, his best friend was still not facing him. Ron sighed. He could tell it was going to take a while to get to the bottom of this incident. The familiar messy black hair was even messier than usual, and Harry (or at least his back) looked dirty and defeated-- more defeated than Ron would imagine he'd look, considering he'd gotten here within three hours of Harry's call, which was pretty damned fast, all things considered.

Ron sighed. He supposed he should be more understanding. Harry had been having a rough time lately, what with his enforced leave of absence as an Auror. He'd been climbing the ceiling with boredom, and Ron could empathize, since he'd probably be doing the same thing if he were in Harry's position.

"My wand? You have it?" There was a new note of eagerness in Harry's voice.

"Yeah, I have it. You gave it to Ginny, don't you remember? So that you don't sit on it, you said. Just how drunk were you, anyway?" Ron felt a sort of academic curiosity on the subject. Harry had always stayed away from liquor after a certain point, but he'd apparently gotten quite smashed the previous night if he gave his wand to Ginny, of all people. Although truthfully, Ron hadn't gone since Hermione was boycotting the whole affair on some fancy `moral grounds' that Ron didn't want to get into an argument about.

Harry groaned. "Oh God. Ginny." His shoulders slumped yet further, until it looked like Harry was trying to curl into a human tennis ball right there on the hard wooden bench in his cell.

"Yes, Ginny. You know, your date? Or were you too drunk to remember that, too?" In spite of his words, Ron's tone was quite amused. If Ginny had really been with Harry he'd be much more peeved of course, but he didn't even have the heart to tease Harry much about it since Ginny had spent those hours earnestly trying to convince him it was `just a date'.

"Oh God," Harry moaned pitifully, running a hand through his hair. "I don't remember-- did I-- I didn't, did I... that would just be too much, but I just--"

"You didn't do anything that I'm aware of, Harry, calm down! It looks like I'll just have to take my chances that you won't scram the second we get out of here. How 'bout a drink and you tell me what's up, yeah?"

"No... not... not more liquor, I don't think I can--"

"Harry. Get a grip! I mean butterbeer, you git. Come on!"

He dragged Harry out of the dingy precinct by his elbow, nodding at the desk officer on duty when the thickset old man smirked at him. Ron figured they got a lot of this sort of thing down here. Harry started to resist as they got to the double-doors that led outside, grumbling incoherently and digging his heels in (as much as he could wearing only socks, at least).

"Hey wait, I can't go out like this, just--"

"Oh fine, just a second. Here," Ron said, making a little twirl with his wand as he muttered a simple conjuring spell. Harry now had decent trousers (nothing fancy of course, there were limits to these things), as well as a pair of nondescript shoes. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, apparently overcome.

"I really thought I'd never wear trousers again, Ron! You have no idea! I know it sounds stupid, but I can't help it, I was really...."

"You can tell me all about it once we get to Diagon Alley and the nearest pub, mate," Ron said quickly. "Deal?" He wasted no time ushering Harry out the door before that smirky Muggle guard came looking for them.

Once they were seated at the Frisky Lion (Seamus's new establishment), Harry broke down completely, much to Ron's dismay.

Still, he supposed something was really wrong, so Ron patted Harry on the back awkwardly while looking pained and somewhat constipated. He sat still, only wincing a bit when Harry looked away into his butterbeer.

"It all started when Malfoy winked at me from across the room," Harry said in a surprisingly normal voice.

Ron choked on a fish bone, prompting a fit of coughing and a concerned look from Harry. He pounded his own chest a few times, his eyes watering. "Fine, I'm fine, go on, then...."

"I didn't really think much of it, you know. We were both drunk by that point, and I wouldn't have been surprised to see one of the Creevys cozying up to Bulstrode, if either of them had been there, anyway. Which they hadn't been, in case you're wondering. Oh, quit it Ron, you're not that easy, are you?"

"Eurgh, Harry, the mental images! Do you want to scar my poor brain forever?"

"At least no one can see scars on someone's brain, eh?"

Ron grimaced. "Don't be morbid."

"Can't help it. We're in a bar, I'm telling you about Malfoy winking at me and soon enough we'll have to get into the sordid details before you'll even give me my wand back. Morbid seems just about right to me."

"I don't want any sordid details, if it's all the same you, thanks. Just bloody tell me already, my God! How bad can it possibly be, anyway?"

Harry cringed, ducking his head to study the splattered remains of ketchup on his plate with apparent fascination.

"You don't want to know, trust me. Hell, I don't want to know, and I have no choice in the matter. Oh fuck," Harry moaned, as if remembering something particularly disturbing. "I really can't believe this," Harry muttered.

Ron gaped. "You can't believe this? What about me, Harry? I don't know 'bout you, but I've never actually been in a Muggle London prison before! Not that-- you know-- it hasn't been educational. I think that beefy bloke down the corridor was trying to slit his throat with a fork."

Harry snorted wetly and Ron cringed, because clearly a spot of gallows humor wasn't going to be the answer to all their ills, but he had to try.

"Do you really want to know, then?"

"That is what I've been telling you for the last two hours, yeah," Ron said, rolling his eyes.

"Well. To make a long story short-- and I don't really remember a good bit, thank God-- they found me running madly down some deserted street. You know. Without my pants on."

"But," Ron tried delicately. "You did have your boxers on, like when I saw you, right? Right...?"

"Er." Harry blushed heavily, running his hand through the thick tangled mop he called hair in a nervous gesture. "Well... they kind of... gave me those."

"They gave them to you? Hold on. Let's start over from the beginning, okay?" Harry just opened his mouth, still looking highly uncomfortable, but Ron forged on. He simply had to know now that he'd made such a big deal about it. "So from the top: what, exactly, does Malfoy winking at you at the stupid Ministry party have to do with-- you know-- the running. And the naked. And the... well... the police?"

Harry blushed even harder. Or maybe it was just that he'd sat up suddenly, no longer slouching dejectedly in the shadows on the other side of their table.

"There's really no good way to put this, I think, so I'll just say it. Try not to blow up, okay?"

"What kind of thing is that to say?"

"You'll see. Well?"

"What do you want me to say, Harry? I'm waiting. Just-- just spit it out before I have triplets or something, mate. We'll both feel better."

"Er. Okay then. I-- er-- I...." Harry swallowed. Ron tried not to twitch. He'd thought Harry wouldn't have this many problems admitting to using Crucio on a baby. Ron was starting to feel nervous now.

"Wait a sec," Ron said, inspiration striking just when he needed it most. He really was a genius, even if he thought so himself. He ducked out and made straight for the bar, thinking for a moment before ordering some mead and some more butterbeer for himself. If Hermione smelled alcohol on his breath she'd really kill him this time. Nothing too strong, but guarranteed to make things much go smoother.

He handed Harry the drink with a wide grin, feeling well pleased with himself. "You were saying?" he said when Harry had taken a few swallows and began to look visibly more relaxed. Ahh yes, that was the spirit.

"I fucked Malfoy."

Somewhat predictably, Ron choked on his butterbeer, spitting liquid everywhere as his eyes widened to about twice their size. He tried to say something, but all that came out were various grunts and squeaks. He kept trying to swallow and failing miserably, and eventually settled for just breathing and not doing anything else, which would be much too stressful at that point.

"I didn't mean to, either. It just sort of-- happened. I think. I don't quite remember, exactly, but I'm pretty sure about the generalities. And the visuals. Oh God! That's so-- so--" Harry's eyes began to cross as he cast about for a truly fitting adjective. Ron didn't think there was one, really. Not really. They didn't invent words strong enough for this, did they?

For a long moment, Ron had no words. He found he couldn't meet Harry's eye anymore. All that remained was the pure overpowering desire to be somewhere else, somewhere far far away, preferrably in an alternate universe where the name Malfoy had never been uttered by the tongues of God or Man or most especially Harry Potter.

"Fucking wrong?" Ron offered, his power of speech having returned, though on a bit of a probation.

"Um. Freaky. And um, hot. I mean, oh my God, freaky! Oh shit, I fucked Malfoy, shit!!" It seemed to be hitting Harry like a ton of bricks, all at once.

Ron could certainly empathize with that sentiment. "Are you sure this isn't a nightmare you'd had after that fish we had Friday? It tasted wrong to me. And Colin had started to choke on it, you know. That was some unlucky fish, mate." He didn't really believe it himself, but he had to say something.

Harry groaned. "Noooo. I only wish! Once you see Draco-fucking-Malfoy's naked arse up close and personal, you won't mistake it for a nightmare. It's just too... bloody... real." Harry buried his face in his hands, moaning miserably. At least Ron didn't have to meet his eye. He was afraid that would be it and he'd just make for the door right then and there.

"Harry... be reasonable. Try not to think about it. We'll tell Hermione, she's good in a crisis--"

"NO!" Harry yelped, staring at Ron with a scandalized look on his face. "Not Hermione! I can't have anyone know, don't you understand? I wish I didn't know! Do you have any idea how utterly awful this is? I'd thought it was some sort of... freak accident. I mean, why would I be doing any of those sorts of things, even drunk? I was just-- searching him-- for, you know-- his wand. I'd forgotten where I left mine, and--"

Ron coughed loudly. "Did you really need to say that, Harry?"

"No! But I didn't need to do it-- I mean, him-- either, did I?"

Ron's eyebrows climbed up to his hairline, and he squeaked a bit piteously but he remained in place because Harry needed him right now. He knew that.

"You're just... having a crisis, Harry. Maybe you should see Seamus about this... he'd know more about this sort of... thing." Ron cringed, swallowing a swig of butterbeer hastily. "You're twenty-three, Harry. You were probably so horny you jumped the first warm body that seemed available. Though how you've gone all this time without finding one before now is beyond me."

"Ron! You aren't helping!" Harry looked genuinely miserable, making Ron wish he was better at this sort of thing for just a moment, letting himself forget what sort of thing this was, exactly.

"Look, Harry... what do you want me to say? I mean, I'm not sure whether I'm supposed to believe you, run off to punch Malfoy's lights out or find you some bloody therapy ASAP, you know? Give me a break here! I didn't even know you were-- you know-- gay until half an hour ago!"

Harry winced, looking sheepish. "I don't think-- I mean, I'm not exactly-- well, gay-- I mean, I've never-- er-- you know. I've never...."

"Please. Spare me," Ron said quickly, and Harry looked at him pitifully.

"I... I don't know who else to tell this to. I wouldn't even have told you, except you asked and my God, it feels better not being the only one with visions of Malfoy's naked arse dancing in my head."

Ron's fingers clenched tighter around his mug, but he bore this insult to his well-being and sanity with admirable restraint. "Hold on. How did this all happen, again? It just... makes no bloody sense, mate. Are you absolutely sure it wasn't a hallucination at least?" He sounded painfully hopeful.

Looking at him, Harry wished he had the same capacity for wishfulness. No, it was all entirely too clear in his recollection. Admittedly, the thought processes that had led up to him trailing after Malfoy onto the lawn and away from the noisy party were less than crystalline, but he could never forget the spurt of laughter that led him to bump against the other's body, or the way his arms had automatically reached around Malfoy's torso to wrap around his stomach. They'd stopped laughing and started panting silently rather quickly.

Harry remembered his chin resting on Malfoy's shoulder just as clearly. He could hear the crickets chirping in the quiet July night and he could almost feel the dew gathering in the grass along with the rapid beat of his own heart against Malfoy's back. He'd been looking up into the sky, which was dark blue and sparkling with a frightening number of stars, way too many to keep track of. It was huge and brilliant and Harry felt lost and dizzy and very drunk indeed. And then he'd realized he was really really hard, and that Malfoy was pushing back against him in an unsubtle manner, moaning under his breath.

And before Harry knew it, his hand sneaked between Malfoy's legs and holy fuck, Malfoy's covered balls felt so hot and tight and just so alive when Harry squeezed them lightly; his cock felt so fucking hard (like his own) and Harry had to suck in a breath and bite down on his tongue not to come right then and there, even while inebriated to hell and back. He'd been rocking against the other's arse without even realizing it, his own moans joining Malfoy's and soon getting even louder. Harry's awareness of what he was doing had been utterly limited to the feel of the smooth wool of Malfoy's trousers rubbing against Harry's palm, and it was all wrong because it wasn't skin, and Harry wanted-- needed-- skin. More than anything. He had to have Malfoy under him and in him and in every single possible way he could.

He'd bitten Malfoy's ear, growling something to the effect of, "Yes?" and Malfoy hadn't needed to say it because he was already turning around in Harry's arms and his mouth was already seeking out his own and then all thought had gone as if it had never existed, gone up in flames under the assault of Malfoy's lips on his. It was just too hot and too real and Harry was too drunk to care but he wasn't too drunk to know who this was, to know this was Malfoy with every screaming wanting needing bit of his body.

"And then the next thing I knew, neither of us had any pants," Harry wailed, making Ron blanch even harder without seeming to notice. "And Malfoy has this huge...." Ron choked, turning an alarming shade of purple. "Uh, sorry, sorry...."

Ron coughed, wiping some sweat from his temple with the back of one hand. "Harry... could you... you know... lay off the bits about Malfoy's prick for now? Ease into it slowly if you have to, but please. I've just eaten. I've had a weak stomach ever since the slug incident, you know that."

His companion sighed brokenly, mouthing the rim of his mug without actually drinking. Then again, he'd probably recently got drunk enough for the next few lifetimes. "I could never drink enough for this, you realize. Never. I'm thinking I need a memory charm just to go on. But no, I'd need to do it to Malfoy too, and I don't know where he is and what's more don't want to know.... Ugh. I hate life."

There was a prolonged period of ponderous drinking during which Ron belched and Harry reached for some chips. At length, Ron scraped together some last dredges of wisdom for his needy friend. "You've brought this on yourself, Harry, and we both know it. You should've done this while we were at Hogwarts. There was a lot easier access to illegal memory spells and such like that back then."

"Too true," Harry said, and silence reigned once again. Eventually, he added, "But he really had a killer arse, you've got to hand it to him. All firm and smooth, and you just want to run your fingers over it and squeeze, just because it looks so bloody edible it could kill you! I didn't know you could get all that from looking at somebody's arse, but it's true." Harry had a far-away, misty look in his eyes, and he was cradling his mug gently, twisting it between his fingers.

Ron was goggling at him, his mouth hanging open and no sound coming out. "HARRY! Harry! Wake up, man! You're losing it! Wake up!" He thwapped Harry upside the head in a concerned fashion, watching for signs of intelligence slowly returning to Harry's face. "Did you even hear yourself," he wailed. "You're slipping! It's like he's put some sort of spell on you, and you just need to snap out of it, you hear? Before your mind is sucked out through your ears!"

"Mmm." Harry's head was lolling to the side and he was leaning against Ron's shoulder dangerously. "Sucking is-- bad.... Malfoy sucks really well, though. He just. Really sucks. A lot." He was obviously rapidly becoming incoherent. Ron really should've known better than to have ordered him that mead, but it sounded like such a good idea at the time. Who knew that Harry couldn't hold his liquor worth beans? He'd avoided it so studiously and for so long. There was just no way for any of them tell.

"Harry! Concentrate! Just tell me what happened, okay? Ignore Malfoy's arse if you can handle that sort of effort. But please. Handle it. I beg you. Please." That was as clear as Ron knew how to be. He hoped it was somehow percolating through Harry's happy buzz. On second thought, he realized (too late) that the double meaning was certainly present and accounted for if Harry wanted to make himself comfortable there in the gutter.

"Well, I figure at the end I grabbed my trousers and ran as fast as I could. I think I was screaming. Of course I was."

"Of course you were, Harry," Ron said in what he thought was a soothing tone.

"Why God, why?" he moaned. "I was screaming to God and of course he didn't answer. God never answers, does he. Everyone knows that. But-- why Malfoy? That's just too much, don't you think so, Ron?" Harry didn't pause for an answer, only dropped his head in his arms. "My life is ruined, isn't it?? I can never look myself in the mirror again. Malfoy? Ugh! MALFOY!"

Ron cringed, not for the first time that night. "Not so loud," he hissed. "There are people here, Harry. You don't want them to know, do you?"

Harry gasped. "Oh, no. You're right! I've been so stupid! Argh, God, it's all Malfoy's fault. Why? Why did I have to...."

"It's all right Harry, you've told me."

"Yeah. I.... Yeah. And now-- now. I don't know what to do. I mean... I want to... I think I'm still trapped in the nightmare because I just want to-- you know. Tear a bloke's pants off with my teeth, and that's just not right, is it. Not when that bloke is-- you know who. Why... I mean, why...."

"Because you're gay, Harry. Because you are gay," Ron said mournfully, taking a long swig of his sadly non-alcoholic drink.

Harry looked at him for a long moment, considering. "You know, you might be right there," he said finally.

Ron just groaned. "You're gay and you want Malfoy." Best to just say it like it is, Ron thought. Dancing around the issue only made Harry loopier, anyway.

"Augh. But... but... WHY?"

"Because it is wrong and disgusting and no one else wants you?"

"Well yes, there's that--"

"And also because you're gay. It all fits now, see? Hermione, nothing! I, my friend, am a genius." Ron was suitably smug.

"But the pants...."

"That's because you're gay, too, Harry." Ron breathed through his nose. "It's really not that hard to understand, is it? You're gay. If I can believe it, you can believe it; trust me on this."

They'd Apparated to Harry's tiny London flat and were currently continuing the conversation (such as it was) under the flickering light over Harry's kitchen table. Harry was swirling the tea-bag around his cup weakly, sighing intermittently. It was driving Ron batty, but this was his best friend. One probably had to make allowances for extremely late sexual crises. Even so, it was really uncanny the way Harry could just. Keep. Talking.

"...And the teeth...."

Ron snapped.

"Well, that's just because you're a perverted freak. You've got me there."

Harry looked up at him, face all earnest and startled and Ron's stomach gave a twinge of unwilling guilt. Harry probably didn't want to be doing this either. "You should really go home, Ron. Hermione's waiting for you, and...."

"And you need to wank over Malfoy now, is that what you're saying?" It was worth the bit of his squandered mental health to have said that, just seeing Harry's face turn a fascinating greenish color.

"You're my best friend, Ron. So I'm just going to say this once more before I hex you-- Go. Now."

"Don't need to tell me twice, you fucked-up little pervert."

"Pot, kettle."

"Yeah, yeah. Get some sleep, Harry. Maybe you'll feel-- uh-- saner in the morning." Ron disappeared with a pop.

"Why, God? Why??" Harry cried to no one in particular, heading towards the bedroom, the pants already off in his rush.

Unsurprisingly, God didn't answer, but Harry did have fun calling a few more times.

~~