Las Vegas Love

"Good evening, Las Vegas, and how are you all?" asked the man from the stage. The man looked very odd. The man was wearing a bra. The man was in fact, a cross-dressing woman. This only proved the well-known fact that anything could happen in Las Vegas.

Loud screams sounded throughout the building--nothing that anybody could quite understand, but no one actually cared. They were all drunk, anyway.

"Well, tonight folks, we are gonna have a funkadelic time!"

Once again, the man--woman--it--yelled to the happy and drunk crowd. They responded by screaming in delight once more, throwing up some of their mugs of beer.

Tonight was going to be a very, very long night.

Music blared throughout the crowded room as the speakers blazed. Hardly anybody was still sober--two of these sober ones happened to be a sixteen-year-old blonde boy, and a sixteen-year-old brunette, both English, both wizards. Both whom detested each other.

Both of whom meet at this place right about... now.

"Potter! What the blazes d'you think you're doing here?"

Harry gave Draco a withering look, sipping his drink slowly.

Draco shivered.

"Answer me! I am a Malfoy, and as you know, Malfoys demand respect!"

Harry nodded. "You demand respect?" he asked, at which Draco nodded. "Right. So you demand respect?"

"Yes, Potter, we demand respect. Is it that hard to understand?" Draco asked, giving Harry a look that suggested that he, Harry, was simply just a nincompoop.

Harry let a look of surprise grace his features. "Oh, no, perfectly understandable."

"Then why aren't you giving me the respect that I've demanded and that you've admitted that you understand?" Draco asked conversationally.

"Because I simply don't want to," Harry replied, grinning smugly, bringing his mug back up to his lips, before walking away, leaving Draco to gape at the place he had been with a dumbfounded look over his face.

"But--I--what?" he asked, followed the bespectacled boy with an annoying sneer over his pale face.

"You heard me loud and clear," Harry answered him matter-of-factly. "Just because you demand something doesn't mean that I have to answer you. It's a right."

"Yes, in America it is a right. In the United Kingdom we--"

Harry cut him off. "The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland."

Draco glared.

"Yes, whatever--"

"No, not 'whatever.' You live there, you better get it right."

"Fine!" Draco snapped. "In the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland--"

"Better."

"Will you let me finish?" Draco asked in a huff.

"Certainly."

"In the United--" Draco looked at Harry, who just gave him a knowing look. "In the U.K., we have a queen. This queen, according to my father, has a lot of people with power. These people with power have more friends with power. These people, however, apparently don't care that much about human rights or that sort of riff-raff, just as long as nothing terribly expensive or rare is broken. They'll do just about anything as long as there is money involved. As you should know, we Malfoys have an amazingly large sum of money. We, the Malfoys, know a lot of people--really, quite a few address books--and some of those people happen to be those people with power. These same people also have access to a rather large vault full of swords. Are you getting where I'm coming from?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now, give me respect."

"No."

"No? Just why the bats not?" Draco asked, becoming frustrated.

"Because we're both in America, and we're both getting very, very drunk."

Draco looked down at the mug full of beer that was suddenly in his hands.

"You've got a point there, Potter."

"Of course I do--I'm the man in this conversation."

Draco raised his right eyebrow.

"Potter, you will never--never--be the man in any conversation. Never."

Harry nodded happily, sipping more of his beer. "I'm only agreeing to this because I'm not as sober as you, you know that, right?"

"Of course I do, that's how I knew that this would be so easy."

Harry drank more beer.

"HEY MALFOY!" Harry yelled over the music.

Draco fell off of his chair, where he was happily drinking his sixth mug of beer.

"WHAT!" he yelled, getting back up, making sure that his mug and his beer were still in contact.

"IT'S BORING HERE!"

Draco considered this.

"THEN WHAT DO YOU PROPOSE WE DO?"

Harry considered this. He then brightened up, before raising his fist in success.

"I PROPOSE!"

Draco raised his right eyebrow again.

"YES, I SAID THIS, BUT WHAT DO YOU PROPOSE THAT WE BOTH DO!"

"I TOLD YOU ALREADY! I PROPOSE!"

Draco stared at him in drunken annoyance, before jumping up.

"BRILLIANT!"

"What's the name of this place, again?"

"Las Vegas Chapel O' Love for Drunken Englishmen," Harry answered him, looking up from the brochure.

They were both at a small, dingy, flat-sized building. The building had a gigantic pink red heart on the door, and a sign accompanied it that read, "We accept POUNDS because we aren't AMERICAN, we're ENGLISH and we marry ENGLISHMEN."

They both walked in and looked around.

"Smells good," Draco muttered.

"Pardon?" Harry asked chirpily, apparently still very awake due to the massive amounts of liquor that he had consumed.

"This place smells good," Draco told him again, walking up to the clerk.

"Excuse me," Draco said, poking the golden ringer.

A tall, frail, pimply boy appeared from under the desk, holding a bag of crackers.

"Stan!" Harry asked bewilderedly, coming up to the clerk.

Stan blinked confusedly, before he looked at Harry.

"Neville!"

Harry grinned deviously.

Draco laughed.

"Neville? Is that your name?"

Stan looked at Draco with a humorless expression on his face. "'One'a them, archya?"

Draco raised both of his eyebrows.

"Sure, sure."

"Stan, what are you doing here?"

Stan pointed behind him, to the back window, to the back alley.

"Bus broke down, 'o I'm 'ere 'elping out the 'orker while 'Ern 'ixes the bus!" he replied cheerfully.

Harry grinned cheerfully, once again.

"Well, here we are, drunk, hoping to get married!"

Stan grinned again.

"'Ou've come 'o 'he right place! 'Ollow me!"

And they did.

Next Morning

Birds were chipping! People were happy! The sun was shining!

"In the name of sober Firewhiskey, what the heck happened?" Draco asked himself, getting up from his spot in the bed, before stretching his arms, and somehow revealing his ripped abs.

"Five more minutes, Professor McGonagall," a slightly muffled mumble sounded from under the covers to his left.

Draco moved the covers.

Draco screamed.

Harry's eyes shot open, and he too then screamed.

They both stopped screaming when they realized that they were sharing a characteristic.

"Potter, what the daisies are you doing in my bed?"

Harry looked around, seemingly not knowing himself.

"Well, I was sleeping, but obviously, that's not going to be happening any time soon,"

"Don't get fresh with me."

"Shaddup."

They sat there in silence.

"We got married last night."

This settled in.

"I know."

"Really? Because I was kind of hoping that I was wrong."

"Well, you're not."

"Oh, dear."

"Yes, oh, dear indeed."

They both sat there in silence, before...

"Well!" Draco said, clapping his hands together. "If we're going to be married, I have a set of rules."

Harry raised his left eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah? And what's that?"

"Well, in this relationship, I wear the trousers, and you are the wench, therefore, no matter whether we are in America or the United Kingdom, you--" Harry looked as if he was going to correct Draco on something or another, but Draco silenced him with a pillow to the mouth. "--will give me some respect."

The End.