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bottom_dracoTitle: Bad Hair Moment
Summary: Harry gets drunk and gets a haircut.
Rating: PG
Author: minerva alistor
Where: Under the cut or at Here or at my website
“God save the Queen! Duhhnn, dunna, dun, dunta! We mean it, man!”
Draco’s head jerked up from the book he was looking at and towards the door. His mouth dropped open in surprise. That was Harry’s voice. Singing some horrible Muggle shite that Draco could not recall the name of.
“We love our Queen! God Saves!”
Harry’s voice was at the door now, and the sound of him fumbling around with keys was accompanied by his voice doing an absolutely horrible imitation of a guitar solo. He had to be piss drunk to forget that there were no keys to Draco’s front door. It had to be opened with an approved wand. Which Harry’s was. But apparently his night out with Ron had rendered him to remember any of this.
Draco threw his revision materials to the floor and sprinted to the door, hoping to keep the neighbors from waking. They wouldn’t be upset, they adored Harry. His constant presence made them feel safe, the idiots. Most people wouldn’t want the one person that Voldemort was intent on killing in their neighborhood, but these Ministry stooges were so sure that Harry would beat Voldemort that they actually loved him being around.
Draco believed all that too. Though he’d never say it.
He wrenched open the door. Harry’s eyes went blank behind his glasses. A loud gasp came from Draco’s mouth.
“Potter! What in heavens name have you done to your hair?”
Harry fell forward, arms around Draco’s waist, his drunken momentum pushing them both to the floor in a heap.
“It’s called a mohawk. Like it?”
“No, I don’t. Where the fuck is your hair?”
Harry kissed him. He slobbered over half of Draco’s face and tasted like ale and Firewhiskey.
“You don’t think it makes me look sort of tough?” Harry asked.
Draco wiped his face with the back of his hand.
“No. I think it makes you look like a complete prat.” Draco ran his hand over what was left of Harry’s messy hair. “Maybe without the glasses,” he muttered.
Harry threw his glasses aside and glared down at Draco, trying his best to look intimidating.
Draco arched an eyebrow and tried his best not to laugh. He pushed Harry off him with a heave.
“Alright there, my little punk music wizard. Time for bed, I think,” Draco said, hauling Harry up by his armpits.
“It’s punk rock, Draco, punk rock,. How many times do I have to tell you?”
“A few more, apparently. Come on. Help me out, will you,” Draco said, pushing Harry’s feet forward with his own. The soon to be Auror with the bad hair fell against him once again. Draco was a bit more prepared this time and managed not to fall down.
“Can I shag you silly?” Harry murmured, hands tugging at Draco’s jeans.
“No, you may not. Anyone who can’t make it across a living room on his own volition is not sticking anything up my arse, thank you.”
Harry pushed away from him, pinwheeling his arms.
“I can make it! Watch!” he shouted. He took two steps, forgot about the step down into the living room, stumbled, then fell flat on his face. He weakly lifted his head and looked back at Draco.
“Room’s spinning. That’s why I fell.”
“Mmmm.”
Harry’s head dropped to the floor. He was out cold.
Draco walked to the table where he had been studying and retrieved his wand. He stood over Harry, sleeping peacefully on the hardwood floor of the living room.
“You are never, ever going out alone with the Weasel ever again. Mobilicorpus.”
Harry floated to the bedroom, Draco guiding him from behind.
**
“Harry? Are you awake?”
Harry opened one eye and groaned. The room was far too bright.
“Wake up, love. I’ve brought you a hangover potion.”
Harry flopped onto his back, eyes still screwed shut. He pushed himself into an upright position and squinted towards Draco, holding his hands out for the cup.
“Thanks,” he whispered.
Draco sat down next to him.
“So, tell me about your night last night.”
Harry took the final sips of his potion and leaned his head back against the wall, waiting for it to work.
“Well, we started out at the Leaky Cauldron. Everyone kept bugging the shite out of us, being that Ron’s famous and what not.”
“And you are too,” Draco pointed out.
“Yeah. Anyway, we decided to go into Muggle London so no one would recognize us.”
Draco glared at Harry.
“You idiot. Do you know how dangerous that is?”
Harry took Draco’s hand and kissed the back of it.
“I know. I’m sorry. We were a bit pissed already. We walked around for a while, went to a strip club somewhere-“
“You got Weasley to go to a strip club?”
“It was a straight club, Draco. Naked girls.”
“Oh. Good. I’m not sure I want you looking at naked boys. Continue.”
Harry screwed up his face.
“I’m not sure. Gets a bit fuzzy from there. Seems like we went a club where there was a Sex Pistols tribute band playing. Drank some more. Erm. Next thing I remember is you saying something about me never going out alone with Ron again.”
“Hmm. Do you remember this?” Draco asked, holding a mirror in front of Harry.
Harry let out a very girly scream and snatched the mirror from Draco.
“Oh my God,” he said.
“Yes.”
Harry ran his hand over the bald side of his head. He turned this way and that. He put on his glasses and did it all again.
“Once, when I was little, my aunt made me get my hair cut. I hated it so bad that it all grew back over night. Do you think…”
Draco gave him a scathing look. He snatched the mirror back and stood from the bed.
“You’d better hope it grows back, because until it does, I’m strictly off limits.”
Harry’s only response was two wide, unblinking eyes.
**
Several hours later, Harry strolled into the living room where Draco was once again hunched over the table, studying.
Harry stood behind him. He wrapped his arms around Draco’s middle and kissed him on the back.
One long pale hand flew up and into Harry’s hair. Harry’s regrown, thick, sticking up at all angles hair. With a smile, Draco turned in the chair and kissed Harry sweetly.
“Thank you,” he said when they were done.
“You’re welcome.”
“I would have let you touch me anyway, you know. If you hadn’t been able to grow it back.”
Harry threw up his hands.
“Now you tell me! I sort of like it really. Made me look sort of ….”
“Tough?” Draco mocked.
Harry shrugged and looked sheepish.
“Maybe without the glasses?”
Summary: Harry gets drunk and gets a haircut.
Rating: PG
Author: minerva alistor
Where: Under the cut or at Here or at my website
“God save the Queen! Duhhnn, dunna, dun, dunta! We mean it, man!”
Draco’s head jerked up from the book he was looking at and towards the door. His mouth dropped open in surprise. That was Harry’s voice. Singing some horrible Muggle shite that Draco could not recall the name of.
“We love our Queen! God Saves!”
Harry’s voice was at the door now, and the sound of him fumbling around with keys was accompanied by his voice doing an absolutely horrible imitation of a guitar solo. He had to be piss drunk to forget that there were no keys to Draco’s front door. It had to be opened with an approved wand. Which Harry’s was. But apparently his night out with Ron had rendered him to remember any of this.
Draco threw his revision materials to the floor and sprinted to the door, hoping to keep the neighbors from waking. They wouldn’t be upset, they adored Harry. His constant presence made them feel safe, the idiots. Most people wouldn’t want the one person that Voldemort was intent on killing in their neighborhood, but these Ministry stooges were so sure that Harry would beat Voldemort that they actually loved him being around.
Draco believed all that too. Though he’d never say it.
He wrenched open the door. Harry’s eyes went blank behind his glasses. A loud gasp came from Draco’s mouth.
“Potter! What in heavens name have you done to your hair?”
Harry fell forward, arms around Draco’s waist, his drunken momentum pushing them both to the floor in a heap.
“It’s called a mohawk. Like it?”
“No, I don’t. Where the fuck is your hair?”
Harry kissed him. He slobbered over half of Draco’s face and tasted like ale and Firewhiskey.
“You don’t think it makes me look sort of tough?” Harry asked.
Draco wiped his face with the back of his hand.
“No. I think it makes you look like a complete prat.” Draco ran his hand over what was left of Harry’s messy hair. “Maybe without the glasses,” he muttered.
Harry threw his glasses aside and glared down at Draco, trying his best to look intimidating.
Draco arched an eyebrow and tried his best not to laugh. He pushed Harry off him with a heave.
“Alright there, my little punk music wizard. Time for bed, I think,” Draco said, hauling Harry up by his armpits.
“It’s punk rock, Draco, punk rock,. How many times do I have to tell you?”
“A few more, apparently. Come on. Help me out, will you,” Draco said, pushing Harry’s feet forward with his own. The soon to be Auror with the bad hair fell against him once again. Draco was a bit more prepared this time and managed not to fall down.
“Can I shag you silly?” Harry murmured, hands tugging at Draco’s jeans.
“No, you may not. Anyone who can’t make it across a living room on his own volition is not sticking anything up my arse, thank you.”
Harry pushed away from him, pinwheeling his arms.
“I can make it! Watch!” he shouted. He took two steps, forgot about the step down into the living room, stumbled, then fell flat on his face. He weakly lifted his head and looked back at Draco.
“Room’s spinning. That’s why I fell.”
“Mmmm.”
Harry’s head dropped to the floor. He was out cold.
Draco walked to the table where he had been studying and retrieved his wand. He stood over Harry, sleeping peacefully on the hardwood floor of the living room.
“You are never, ever going out alone with the Weasel ever again. Mobilicorpus.”
Harry floated to the bedroom, Draco guiding him from behind.
**
“Harry? Are you awake?”
Harry opened one eye and groaned. The room was far too bright.
“Wake up, love. I’ve brought you a hangover potion.”
Harry flopped onto his back, eyes still screwed shut. He pushed himself into an upright position and squinted towards Draco, holding his hands out for the cup.
“Thanks,” he whispered.
Draco sat down next to him.
“So, tell me about your night last night.”
Harry took the final sips of his potion and leaned his head back against the wall, waiting for it to work.
“Well, we started out at the Leaky Cauldron. Everyone kept bugging the shite out of us, being that Ron’s famous and what not.”
“And you are too,” Draco pointed out.
“Yeah. Anyway, we decided to go into Muggle London so no one would recognize us.”
Draco glared at Harry.
“You idiot. Do you know how dangerous that is?”
Harry took Draco’s hand and kissed the back of it.
“I know. I’m sorry. We were a bit pissed already. We walked around for a while, went to a strip club somewhere-“
“You got Weasley to go to a strip club?”
“It was a straight club, Draco. Naked girls.”
“Oh. Good. I’m not sure I want you looking at naked boys. Continue.”
Harry screwed up his face.
“I’m not sure. Gets a bit fuzzy from there. Seems like we went a club where there was a Sex Pistols tribute band playing. Drank some more. Erm. Next thing I remember is you saying something about me never going out alone with Ron again.”
“Hmm. Do you remember this?” Draco asked, holding a mirror in front of Harry.
Harry let out a very girly scream and snatched the mirror from Draco.
“Oh my God,” he said.
“Yes.”
Harry ran his hand over the bald side of his head. He turned this way and that. He put on his glasses and did it all again.
“Once, when I was little, my aunt made me get my hair cut. I hated it so bad that it all grew back over night. Do you think…”
Draco gave him a scathing look. He snatched the mirror back and stood from the bed.
“You’d better hope it grows back, because until it does, I’m strictly off limits.”
Harry’s only response was two wide, unblinking eyes.
**
Several hours later, Harry strolled into the living room where Draco was once again hunched over the table, studying.
Harry stood behind him. He wrapped his arms around Draco’s middle and kissed him on the back.
One long pale hand flew up and into Harry’s hair. Harry’s regrown, thick, sticking up at all angles hair. With a smile, Draco turned in the chair and kissed Harry sweetly.
“Thank you,” he said when they were done.
“You’re welcome.”
“I would have let you touch me anyway, you know. If you hadn’t been able to grow it back.”
Harry threw up his hands.
“Now you tell me! I sort of like it really. Made me look sort of ….”
“Tough?” Draco mocked.
Harry shrugged and looked sheepish.
“Maybe without the glasses?”
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no subject
Date: 2005-06-30 04:54 am (UTC)^_____^
so cute! and yet so much more than just cute. and I'm not making any sense, sorry,
oh, and this:
Draco gave him a scathing look. He snatched the mirror back and stood from the bed.
“You’d better hope it grows back, because until it does, I’m strictly off limits.”
is _so_ canon and _so_ a draco thing to say I have no problem whatsoever picturing it in my mind, actually, I have no problem picturing everything in this fic, so, go you!^^
no subject
Date: 2005-06-30 04:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-30 08:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-30 03:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-30 08:58 am (UTC)I have this really strong urge for more mohawk!Harry, honest. I've never thought of the possibilities =D You are a genius.
no subject
Date: 2005-06-30 03:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-01 09:08 am (UTC)Oh hell. So hot. You've got me in a frenzy now, haha.
no subject
Date: 2005-06-30 02:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-30 03:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-30 03:13 pm (UTC)Great start to the morning.
no subject
Date: 2005-06-30 03:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-01 02:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-12 01:38 am (UTC)