Eighth Year (Drarry Fanfic)

Firewhiskies and Cocktails

Harry was only too grateful of the fact that the common room was dark, the flashing lights a welcome distraction, and that most of his peers were too preoccupied with their own business to care about Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy eye-fucking each other.

Harry was suddenly very aware of a warm, pliant softness pressing up and sliding against him, sending shivers through his already painfully aroused body. Taken aback, Harry reluctantly broke eye contact and gazed down to find Ginny dancing against him.

Shit. Shit. Fuck.

He'd forgotten about her again. As though doused with cold water, Harry's arousal evaporated. Filled with guilt, Harry closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. She paused, seemingly surprised by the sudden show of affection, but just as quickly threw her arms around him, pulling him closer. Awkwardly at first, they began to slowly move together, eventually finding their rhythm amidst the addictive throb of the music.

Harry swallowed thickly, mind racing, thoughts filled with Draco Malfoy while his arms held Ginny Weasley.

Its too bloody fucked up. Harry wanted to laugh. Or maybe cry.

* * *

Draco was drunk --- atrociously sloshed more like --- and miserable. His fucking chest felt like he'd been Crucio'd.

He'd lost count on how many he'd had to drink. Pansy was only too happy in enabling him by feeding him a number of her original concoctions. The evil woman. Draco knew she would smugly tease him when he came crawling for a hangover potion the following day.

Nonetheless, Draco was grateful for it. It helped to numb the ache at having to watch Harry and the Weasley bint snuggle on the couch across the common room. He'd stayed far enough away, keeping close to the bar. He'd pretended to be thoroughly interested in whatever Pansy was saying, when, in reality, his attention had been focused solely on Harry, painfully aware of the Gryffindor's every move.

That was how Draco noticed right away when the Weaselette stood up and pulled Harry towards the makeshift dance-floor.

It started innocently enough. He'd turned slightly, bringing his drink to his lips, furtively watching as Harry paused and peeled off his Muggle jumper. The bloody tease had accidentally snagged his t-shirt along, causing it to ride up past his toned midriff. Draco had nearly choked on his very alcoholic beverage, eyes immediately drawn to Harry's washboard abs. Draco had to momentarily close his eyes when they drifted further down and he saw how low Harry's jeans hung on his hips. It was positively criminal. He was sure he saw the Weaselette drooling. Draco wanted to throttle her right then and there. Azkaban be damned.

Then to Draco's surprise, Harry had looked up and they simply stared at one another. It was surreal. Everything seemed to fade. There was only Harry, wearing a green t-shirt of all things and staring at him so intently that it left Draco's mouth dry. Draco had slowly licked his lips, nervous yet excited at having been caught staring. He'd watched as Harry's gaze shifted to his mouth, following his tongue as it swept slowly across his lips. Draco's breath caught in his throat when Harry's eyes had darkened, smoldered, as they held each other's gazes. Then... Harry smirked --- slow, deliberate, and dangerous; inviting yet challenging Draco at the same time.

Come get it.

Draco had shuddered, a surge of liquid heat pooling in his gut like lava, setting him aflame. His trousers suddenly felt far too snug. He was sure he'd whimpered but it had been drowned out by the pulsing music.

But all too quickly, the magic had been broken. The ginger bint began to gyrate shamelessly against Harry, wrenching his attention away. It was as though the floor gave out beneath Draco as he watched Harry wrap the Weaselette in his arms, pulling her into a sensuous slow dance, his face affectionately buried in her flaming red hair.

Draco suddenly felt sick.

He rose unsteadily to his feet, grasping the bar for balance. Pansy cast him a questioning look, concern on her face.

"I..." Draco licked his lips. "I'm going out for a bit." he grimaced, swallowing down the bile that threatened to come up. "Need some fresh air."

Pansy sighed, leaning close. "I know you're going out to smoke those Muggle death-sticks you've taken a liking to." She cast him a knowing look. "Fresh air, my arse."

"Language, Pansy!" Draco tutted, winking at her. He then leaned over, planting an affectionate kiss on her cheek. "I'll be right back. We've no curfew anyway."

He pulled back, patting his pockets for his cigarettes, and grinned like a child at a candy shop when he located them. He turned around to leave but was surprised when Pansy caught his arm.

"Where are you going exactly? It's cold out. You need your coat. Besides, you're too drunk, Draco."

"I'm fine, Pans. This shirts warm enough." He fidgeted with his thick, long-sleeved cashmere shirt. "And I'm not that drunk." He grinned, slurring just a bit.

"Draco..." Pansy frowned, her voice taking on a disapproving tone that would've made Hermione proud.

Draco chuckled, dancing out of Pansy's grasp, bumping into a few of his equally inebriated housemates. "Sorry~!" He sang, pushing through the crowd on the dance-floor, ignoring Pansy as she called for him.

Even in his intoxicated state, Draco knew he needed to get out of there before he lost his head and broke down.

Someone suddenly grabbed his arm and dragged him close, a hot breath, smelling strongly of alcohol warm against his ear. "Where are you going, Draco?"

Sighing in frustration, Draco pushed against his captor and glared. "Hands off, Blaise. Remove them now or I'll remove them for you."

"Hmm..." Blaise hummed, ducking his head, and began trailing open-mouthed kisses along Draco's jaw. "I've missed you, Draco. We haven't had fun in a---"

"Let me go, you fucking drunk." Draco snarled, cutting him off, wand suddenly in hand digging into the underside of Blaise's jaw.

Blaise looked up, eyes glazed over, searching Draco's face. "It's because I don't have a lightning bolt scar and vivid green eyes, isn't it?" He chuckled softly. "I'm no Golden Boy after all. I'm just good ol' Blaise Zabini!" He let Draco go but not before he gave the blond a chaste kiss on the lips. "When it comes to you, I'm nothing but patient, Draco." He then pointedly looked over Draco's shoulder.

Reluctantly, Draco turned his head and zeroed in on what Blaise was watching.

Harry was snogging the Weaselette.

Whirling around, Draco nailed Blaise with an icy glare that could've frozen the Sahara, before he turned on his heel, and stalked out of the common room.

***AN: Minor edit! Spelling, if anything.