Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

You Set Fire to the Rain	By : icicle33 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 11826 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter characters or any part of the HP fandom or universe. This story is written purely for pleasure and no money is be made from it. None at all.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
Warnings: extremely drunk!Draco, jealous!harry, annoying OCs, and smoking of cigarettes

Author's note: Hello everyone! Thanks so much to everyone who has read and reviewed so far. *hugs you all* Since I'm on break, I decided to update early. Yay!

Thanks again to my betas: Ashiiblack and sonnyisforlovers. Also, a lot of you were curious as to how Draco feels about Harry. You'll find out in this chapter. ; )

Enjoy.

: :Fourteen: :

"How easy I was. Like a limpet, I attached myself to anything, anyone who showed me the least bit of attention."

~JF [14]

: : :

When we got to the bar, the same bar we had gone to last time, I was already sweating through my shirt or rather your shirt.

Even with the Cooling Charm I had placed on it, I still felt like I was drowning in a pool of my own sweat. Besides, I felt utterly ridiculous in the outfit you had picked out for me. While you looked stunning in your sheer silver shirt, Gucci, of course, and low rise denims, I just looked like your fat friend. Okay, I knew I wasn't actually fat, but you had started to get me paranoid about my weight with all your comments about my unhealthy eating habits. It didn't help that you had to expand another one of your shirts just to fit me properly. This one didn't even button before you enlarged it.

As we walked into bar, everyone was staring at us. I desperately hoped that it was because you looked like a walking wet dream in your outfit and not because I looked absurd in that purple shirt you had forced me to wear.

Yes, purple! Supposedly, the shirt was part of the Atelier Versace Collection, whatever the hell that means, and incredibly expensive. Well, Versace or not, I just found it ugly. It was a light purple with paisley prints in complementing shades of red, darker purple, and white. I felt like a walking floral garden and wanted nothing more than to drown myself in the toilet or at least in a couple of pints.

You had assured me that I looked fantastic and that the girls would be impressed with my impeccable fashion sense, but secretly I thought you were lying to me, just wanting to keep all attention on you.

As we sat down at the same table we had been seated the last time, although now it had been magically expanded, I noticed that there were already two beautiful girls sitting at our table. You had not been lying when you said they were quite fit, and even though I might not want to shag them, I could still appreciate their natural beauty.

One of the girls was a redhead with dark red hair that was so deep in colour it resembled the plum coloured wine she held in-between her fingers. She had a pale complexion that was almost as pale as yours and bright blue eyes. I smiled at her fiercely when I noticed that her skin was freckle free. Even after all these years, you still hated freckles. The other girl was just as beautiful if not more so than her friend, but they couldn't have been more opposite. She had dark tanned skin that appeared golden under the low candlelight of the bar and short black hair, which was dark and almost as messy as mine was; hers, however, was intentionally messy and was supposed to be that sexy, just shagged look. Mine, was just a mop no matter what I did to it.

I tried my best to smile at the two ladies in that charming manner I had seen you do so often, but I'm sure I was nowhere near as successful, especially in that hideous purple shirt.

"Hello, ladies," I said, trying to keep my voice deep and casual, perhaps even cool. I grabbed the redhead's hand and brought it to my lips. "I'm Harry and it's a pleasure to meet you, my dear." Then I did the same with the dark haired girl. They both blushed at my warm smile and charm, particularly the redhead to whom I took a seat directly across from.

You seemed somewhat impressed when you took a seat next to me and across from the brunette, whose name was Iris or Ivy or some other ridiculous flower name, and her friend Myrtle. Yes, you heard me correctly, Myrtle. Of course, you gave me Myrtle and swooned in on Iris or Ingrid or whatever her name was immediately.

After a few minutes of barely stomaching your shameless flirting with Ivy as I decided I was going to call the offensive creature—yes, Poison Ivy—I called out loudly that I needed a drink.

Finally, you peeled your gaze away from Poison Ivy and smiled at me.

"Brilliant idea, Potter. There's the waitress. You order first."

Of course, you had to put me on the spot and make me look bad like you always do. I knew that I couldn't order a scotch or whisky because it would probably end up all over the table again. And I had no idea what wine to order, so I just smiled sheepishly at the waitress (thank Merlin it wasn't Francesca) and ordered a pint.

You laughed and made a joke about my manly drink that the girls thought was hilarious, and then ordered a bottle of Bordeaux wine and a bottle of Champagne for the table. I glared at you furiously and really wanted to smack you upside the head.

As we quickly went through bottles of wine and expensive Champagne, I was starting to feel a little more relaxed but dreadfully bored. You were being your magnificent, charming self, or at least the alluring version of yourself that you pretended to be when you had a few too many drinks. I couldn't help but stare at you like a besotted schoolgirl. But you ignored me almost the entire night. Your cheeks were flushing red and your eyes wide and dazed. I had never seen you that pissed before and was starting to worry.

"Malfoy," I said loudly, trying to break your attention away from Poison Ivy, who was now leaning on your shoulder—that cheap slag.

"Where are your manners? We've gotten these lovely ladies positively intoxicated...but haven't offered them anything to eat. Perhaps they want something to nibble on?"

I smirked at you and nodded at Myrtle hoping that she would understand my point.

"Oh," you said, frowning your forehead and looking like you were thinking much too hard, "I did skip dinner today, so I am a bit peckish."

You turned to the evil She Demon and asked her what she wanted; naturally, she said she was quite satisfied with the wine and not hungry for any food. I had to bite my tongue not to lash out on her; she didn't look like the type of girl that ate much anyway, and I started to dislike her even more. Luckily, Myrtle came to the rescue and said that she could go for a light snack.

You turned to me with your eyes still shining much too brightly and a pouted bottom lip. "So, Potter, you do the honours then. What should we have?"

"Some chips would be nice," I said evenly, knowing that you would probably deny my request, but greasy chips were just what you needed in your state of obvious intoxication.

You laughed at me, an almost chortle, and patted me on the back.

"You would want chips, Potter." You scoffed, but then turned and smiled at me, looking much too amused. You told the waitress to bring us a large order of chips and malt vinegar because your friend, Potter, couldn't handle the elegant cuisine of pomme frites and mayo. All the girls, including the waitress, started laughing hysterically at your little joke that I didn't find funny in the least. The only reason I grinned back was because you had called me your friend, causing a warm sensation to spread across my chest. It might have been because you finally regarded me as a friend after all those years as bitter enemies, or it might have been the alcohol catching up with me, but either way, I was happier than I had been in a long time.

When the chips came, I was pleased to see that you actually nibbled on a couple of them, rather than just shuffling them around your plate as you usually did. The chips were quite delicious, but unfortunately, most of them wound up on the floor. You must always leave the staff a stellar tip because I couldn't believe we didn't get kicked out after the mess you made—okay, that we made.

After eating only a handful of chips, you started throwing them; first at that bitch Ivy, but since she complained and was obviously no fun, you aimed them at me instead. I pretended to protest too, but your eyes were gleaming so mischievously and carefree that you looked like a little boy again wrapped up in the everyday joy of life's little things.

There was no way that I was going to deny you this pleasure, especially since you had such a horrid summer before these last few weeks. Instead, I joined in and started chucking the chips back at you. Either your seeker reflexes were out of practise, or you really were that sloshed, because you had an immense difficulty in avoiding the chips I threw. In fact, most of them wound up hitting you square in the head. Honestly, it was one of the funniest things I had ever seen, so I didn't even care that I smelt like malt vinegar for the next couple of days. Seeing that delightful smile on your face was worth it.

Besides, you had appalling aim and missed me quite frequently, so finally, I just started opening up my mouth and attempting to catch the chips you flung at me. Myrtle found this hilarious and was cheering us on, but of course, the She Demon did not. She moved over to the far end of the table and just sat there, with her arms crossed against what was obviously a botched boob job, glaring at our stupidity and childish antics.

Luckily, you were too far gone to notice her outrage, so you kept flashing her a radiant smile every time you managed to hit me with a chip.

"You know…Pott-potter," you mumbled after watching me catch three chips in a row in my mouth, "yur goin' to turn into a chip."

You were slurring your words now, and I should have been alarmed or offended rather than endeared by your cuteness.

"Another round?" Myrtle asked, lifting her empty glass until I turned around and glared at her.

"No!" I protested. "He's had enough. I mean, we've all had enough. It's last call soon anyway."

"Right," Myrtle said, her pale cheeks flushing. I hadn't meant to snap at her like that, but there was no way I could allow you to drink anymore, especially if I didn't want to have to carry you home. I tried to appease her with a smile, but then the She Demon had to go and ruin everything again.

"I need a cigarette," she said scowling. "Now!" She got up from the table and started pulling on your arm. "Dray-co," she whinged, "come with me."

I glared at her furiously and turned to you, noticing that you were having trouble standing.

"Malfoy...I didn't know you smoked."

"Potter," you said, leaning over much too close to me, "we're in France. Everyone smokes in France!" You chuckled at my absurd comment, and I couldn't help but smile back. Even when you were completely plastered, you still managed to make me feel like an idiot.

: : :

You and Poison Ivy were gone for much too long, and I was starting to worry. What if something had happened to you? What if you had passed out? Or worse yet, what if you and that creature were doing something far, far worse?

I felt quite badly for poor Myrtle, who had been stuck with me on this dreadful double date. I hoped that she didn't think she had a chance with me. But at the same time, she was a nice enough girl, polite and sweet, unlike her cow of a friend—so I tried to indulge her in polite conversation. That lasted all of ten minutes before I was beyond agitated and needed to find you.

"Harry," she said with a soft smile, resting her hand on top of mine. It was so small and delicate with bright pink nails—that it just felt wrong. No, it was nothing like that time I had laced our hands together.

"Harry," she said again, since I had ignored her the first time, "I'm sure they're fine. Iris will take care of Draco."

I protested vehemently explaining that you were plastered out of your mind, and I was more than a little concerned for both of you. Yeah right. She sighed and finally agreed that I should go check on the two of you.

: : :

What I found outside made the monster inside my chest, whom I had been getting better at controlling, finally snap. Fucking Ivy had you pinned up against a wall and was molesting you. She had her tongue down your throat, your expensive shirt half open, and worst of all, her filthy hands wrapped in your beautiful hair. Once I heard you whimper, that was the final straw. I stormed over there and cleared my throat loudly behind the two of you.

"Excuse me."

You pushed Ivy away and turned to greet me with a wide smile.

"Oi, it's Potter. Hi Potter!"

Clearly, you weren't embarrassed to be caught in such an intimate position, and I decided to blame that on the alcohol and not read in deeper to your exhibitionist tendencies.

"If you don't mind, Potter," the She Devil said darkly, "we're kind of busy here."

"Sorry," I said, in what I hoped was a bored tone. "Myrtle needs you right away. She said something about a Makeup Charm."

The She Devil glared at me and then attempted to adjust her clothing.

"Fine. I suppose I could do with some freshening up as well."

She turned to you again and wrapped you in a disgusting kiss, trying to claim her possession on you. "Drakey, don't worry, I'll be right back."

She stormed off strutting her too small arse and wide hips as she walked. I couldn't help but smirk when she tripped and almost lost one of her heels. I wonder if I subconsciously sent a Tripping Jinx her way.

When I turned back to you, I was surprised that you were in the process of lighting a cigarette rather than watching the She Devil walk away.

I had always thought that smoking was a particularly disgusting habit; I had only indulged in a cigarette a couple of times in my life, and the only people I knew that had smoked while growing up were Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. Certainly, I didn't equate anything favourable with them, so it wasn't a surprise that I disliked smoking. Watching you though, dragging on that cigarette with your pouty lips and silver eyes, I completely changed my mind. You were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen—an ethereal being wrapped in a cloud of smoke, and I was completely intoxicated.

"Malfoy," I croaked out, trying to hide the desire in my voice, "can I bum a fag?"

Flipping your fringe out of your face, you turned and smiled at me again. God, you really had to stop doing that.

"Sorry," you said, "this is my last one."

"That's okay."

You leaned in closer to me, our faces only inches apart, and I almost forgot to breathe.

"We can share mine," you insisted. I reached out to grab the cigarette from your hand, but you slapped it away.

"I know you, Potter. You're clumsy—and I can't have you wasting my last cigarette. Let me do it."

You leaned in even closer and brought the cigarette to my lips. I almost forgot to inhale as I saw your silver eyes so close to mine and glowing in the faint lamplight. You were such a sight with your half-buttoned shirt, mussed hair, and swollen lips. Thank Merlin, I had decided to wear a pair of my looser trousers that day, or I would have been embarrassed.

I couldn't say a word. I was completely mute, but we shared the rest of the cigarette—and each time you brought the small stick to my lips, I had to refrain myself from grabbing your face and kissing you deeply. As we stood there, leaning against the brick wall behind us and gazing into each other's eyes, I could have sworn that I saw a deep yearn and desire in your eyes as well. They were flashing at me and your bottom lip was just begging to be kissed.

You leaned in closer, barely an inch from my lips. "Damn, too bad the cigarette is done."

I wanted to kiss you then, ravage you so desperately, so deeply, but of course, I was too much of a coward and didn't.

Instead, I said, "Yeah, we should probably get back inside. Our dates are missing us."

You whirled away from me, making sure to put a much needed distance between us.

"Fine. Let's go."

As I stared into your eyes one last time, I noticed that they were sad, no longer shining as brightly as before. I could have kicked myself. No, I should have kicked myself.

God, I'm such an idiot. A real fucking idiot.

To be continued...

Author's note: Try not to kill Harry...he already knows he's an idiot. And what does everyone think of Draco? I'd love to hear you thoughts on this chapter and thank you so much for all the encouragement so far.

Have a great weekend everyone, and I've also added a PWP Harry/Draco Crazy, Beautiful Life. Hopefully, that will help you forgive Harry for how thick he's being in this chapter. There's some nice, hot H/D action in that one if you want to read some smut.

[14] The quote at the beginning of the chapter is by Janet Finch from White Oleander.

~Icicle

Review Responses:

unneeded: Haha a pudgy Harry is not a pretty mental image. You crack me up, dear. Let's just say that a lot of the teasing is good natured and Harry is his own worst enemy as sometimes your mind can exaggerate your imperfections. After all, as much as Draco teases him, he is also the one that keeps bringing Harry all the treats. = D

Also, I totally agree with you about facebook. When I was an undergrad in university, I had to delete my facebook account because I wasted so much time on it (hours and hours) rather than studying. Facebook really is an addiction. = P I'm glad to know there's another night owl out there. I actually based that little facet of Draco's personality off myself. I stay up all night when I don't have school or work. I just love the night so much more and am wide awake. Thanks again for your comments, love. They always entertain me. = D

Elemental witch: Aww..I love the tea thing. And you're right, there is nothing like a cuppa. It was my grandmother's solution to everything. You can't sleep...have tea, you're upset...have tea...you're sick...have tea. Lol.

Also, I'm so glad you identify with Harry because that's really what I was going for. I think no matter how much he has accomplished, part of him will always see himself as that scared little boy who Uncle Vernon locked in the cupboard. As much as I adore JK Rowling, I really feel like she didn't address any of the mental issues Harry would be dealing with as a result of all the abuse he suffered from the Dursleys. I feel like the poor lad would needs lots and lots of therapy. That is kind of my whole reason for writing this story. I wanted it to be an almost character study of Harry...of how he finally learns to accept himself and grow up. As for Draco, I tried to show a glimpse of his vulnerability with the Andie scene. It's just hard to show too much of Draco's insecurities because Harry almost sees him through rose coloured lenses. However, I'm actually considering writing a shorter companion piece to this story from Draco's pov when this one is finished. I think his story needs to be told too. I apologise for writing you a novel in this response. It's just it means a lot that you put so much thought into your comments. I would rather receive one or two well thought out reviews than 50 reviews that just say update, so thank you dear!
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You Set Fire to the Rain