Drarry Oneshots (𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆)

Untitled Part 13

Top!Harry

Bottom!Draco

Author: loveglowsinthedark ( on ao3)

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A fucking bar fight – that's how I choose to get reacquainted with Potter.

I could have just sat there in the corner table with my whiskey and stayed out of sight but nooo. My own obnoxious lack of prudence has never failed to cause me chagrin, after all – ever so reliable, that foible of mine.

So I'd sat there waiting for the perfect moment I could go announce my presence in front of Potter and his coterie, preferably with a crisp remark that would send Potter flying off the handle like only he could.

See Potter – provoke Potter. It's the natural order of life.

...Oh, because the rest of you are all so perfect?

Back to how I'm in my current predicament.

I'd eased myself out of my seat right as they all seemed on the very verge of what I could accurately predict would be a virtual explosion of obscenely loud gales of laughter.

I'd chosen to pause right beside Potter as they'd all hooted, looking not at him but at the ginger headed tumour on his hip whom he calls his best friend, as I'd chimed, "Nice to know you still sound like a Hippogriff in labour when you laugh, Weasley."

About seven pairs of eyes instantly swivelled onto me and I was quietly grateful for having worn my best shirt, I look fucking fabulous in this thing.

"Fuck you, ferret face." Weasley's ears still did that thing where they turned beet red and looked like they'd sizzle off his stupid head.

"Such a delight, aren't you?" I'd smiled sweetly, still not looking at the man sitting half a foot to my left, smelling like aftershave and worn leather, looking up at me with eyes that are greener than the Malfoy grounds in spring.

Ugh, now I'm speaking in poetry?

Well, I've had one too many whiskeys and my thoughts tend to atrophy into doggerel by this stage – you're not exactly the Bard of Avon yourself, let me see you come up with a decent verse or two when you're tiddly.

Do you want me to go on or not?

So then the other tumour on Potter's other hip, also red headed – though I'll admit Ginevra did come with a rather pleasant face, if slightly bespattered with an overmuch of freckles – piped up with a condescendingly sneered, "Well, if it isn't Draco Malfoy."

"Oh, well done, dear. Managed to put a name to the face, did you? Does your pretty little ginger head hurt after such a strain?"

At which point Potter had sprung to his feet and shoved a thick forearm into my neck, pinning me back into the dark wood panelled wall.

Which is where I still stand – propped up against the wall with Potter's furious expression inches away from me, his beer scented breath washing over my face warmly.

"Woah!" Longbottom is instantly on his feet. "Mate, he's not worth it."

Well fuck you too, you Slayer of Gigantic, Terrifying Snakes.

"Ah, Longbottom," I choke out. "What are you doing out of bed? Does your grandmother know you're out so late, you naughty boy?"

Potter's arm tightens across my throat. "Go on," he invites threateningly while I choke and try to sneak in a gulp of air. "Insult another one of my friends."