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22 November 2004 @ 07:32 pm
...I'll do it. Death is not required on his part!  

Harry woke to the faint smell of the sea and the incredibly strong feeling that he’d been sleeping in wet blankets. Five seconds later, all the covers were wrenched from his bed from the bottom, and an unfairly bright-eyed Seamus was bouncing on Harry’s bed and clearly not caring very much if he bounced on Harry too.

‘Did you go skinny-dipping last night?’ Seamus wanted to know, at the top of his voice.

‘No,’ Harry said. His mouth tasted like something had died in it, leaving all its fur on the top of his tongue at the same time. The sunlight was poison.

‘Bill missed you,’ Seamus said.

‘He can keep on missing me then,’ Harry muttered, groaning.

‘And the twins have arrived.’

‘Oh sweet Jesus. Seamus, here’s a tip - go away before I get sick on you, hey?’

Seamus bounced off the bed, backing off with an exaggerated look of apprehension on his face. Harry rolled onto the floor, noting that he’d had the sense to take off his wet clothes last night. However, his boxers had not exactly escaped a drenching, and leaving his shirt and trousers onto the bed pane accounted for the dampness that now pervaded them. Ignoring the fact that Seamus’ eyes had widened in appreciation, Harry crawled to the bathroom and opened the door without getting to his feet.

‘Uh, Harry,’ Seamus said warningly, but it was too late. Harry was greeted by an almost full-frontal view of Bill answering the call of nature, utterly naked. At the sound of the door opening, Bill turned his head, but on seeing Harry his angry expression melted into a far more suggestive one. Harry winced and hurriedly pulled the door closed again.

Staggering to his feet, he lurched over to Seamus, who looked torn between sympathy and raging amusement.

‘Hide me,’ Harry said hoarsely, grabbing one of Seamus’ shoulders before he overbalanced. Laughing, Seamus put his arms around Harry’s waist to hold him upright, just as the room door burst open to reveal Fred and George, in matching Hawaiian shirts and shorts. They would have looked utterly ridiculous but for their toned chests, which the unbuttoned shirts did nothing to hide. Harry gulped.

‘Ooh, Harry,’ Fred said in mock horror, fluttering his eyelashes in a way that recalled the Bride of Chucky. ‘Is there something you and Seamus want to tell us?’

‘Yeah,’ Seamus said, chuckling. ‘Harry’s hung over and hiding from your brother who has designs on his virtue.’

‘Who, Ron?’ George said, sounding genuinely dismayed.

Seamus laughed even harder. ‘No, Bill. I think poor Harry’s traumatised.’

‘I am not,’ Harry said, trying to retain his dignity while dressed in nothing but check boxers. He stood clear of Seamus’ support, despite the way the room seemed to be turning into a merry-go-round.

‘Right,’ George said, not sounding reassured.

‘I guess that explains the earring,’ Fred said thoughtfully.

‘Where are Dad and Ron?’ George asked.

‘The lump over there currently answers to the name of Ron, or Oh-God-I-Want-To-Die,’ Seamus said, pointing. ‘And Arthur went for a walk, to clear his head.’

‘You let him out unsupervised?’ Harry accused.

‘He’s forty-eight, Harry,’ Seamus said, frowning. ‘I don’t think he needs a walker.’

‘Seamus, this is an island! An island of Muggles!’

‘So’s Britain,’ Seamus pointed out, refusing to contemplate the seriousness of the situation.

Harry sighed, and grabbed his head. He wanted nothing more than to have a drink, but he couldn’t leave Mr Weasley wandering around Ibiza, and he had to meet up with Draco too, although he couldn’t recall setting an actual time for that. The twins watched in amusement as he wandered towards the bathroom again, halted and recoiled in horror. The sounds of flushing could be heard from within.

‘Shit!’ Harry said, glancing around wildly. Grabbing up a shirt and shorts and stuffing his feet into what looked like Mr Weasley’s loafers, he dashed out of the room just as the bathroom door opened.

‘What are you all looking at?’ Bill said, disgruntled and clad modestly in a towel. ‘Where’s Harry? Didn’t he need to use the bathroom?’

‘I think he, um, had an urgent appointment,’ Fred said brightly.

‘Right,’ Bill said, going to his suitcase and rummaging. ‘Hey, has anyone seen my loafers?’

Outside the room, Harry quickly pulled on the shorts, assured that he was now decent. He buttoned up the shirt as he walked down the stairs, not noticing the rather shocked looks he was generating in fellow residents as they passed him.

He met Mr Weasley in the foyer. He was wearing a necklace of conch shells, and in the short time he’d been let loose on the Muggles he had got his ears pierced. Both of them. They now sported large, plastic pink hoops, of which he was inordinately proud. Harry forbore saying anything, wishing his wife the joy of that. At least Seamus would see what he’d been talking about.

For lack of anything else to do, as he’d left all his money in his bag, he wandered back down to the beach where he’d met Draco the night before. As it was the time of morning when most people were sleeping off their hangovers - something Harry should have been doing too - it was virtually deserted. Thinking Draco mustn’t have even arrived, Harry shrugged mentally and took off the hideous loafers, planning to bathe his feet again.

‘Going for a swim, Potter?’

‘I can’t,’ Harry said automatically, looking around for Draco, but not seeing him.

‘Don’t let me stop you,’ Draco said sardonically.

‘No, I mean I can’t - I don’t know how. Where are you?’

‘Down here.’ Following the sound of the voice, Harry peered over the top of a large dune. Draco was nestled in its lee, wearing only a pair of khaki shorts. They made his pale skin look even sicklier. A cigarette was dangling limply from his mouth as he scowled up at Harry.

‘You smoke?’ Harry said, surprised.

‘No, I just have a cigarette for the look of the thing,’ Draco said sarcastically. Harry rolled his eyes, reached out and plucked it out. He looked at it considering for a moment, before tossing it over his shoulder.

‘Hey!’ Draco said in an injured voice. ‘There was a load left in that!’

Harry just looked at him, and for once Draco took the hint. Harry seated himself on a rock close to Draco, and clasped his hands around his knees.

‘Those are truly horrific shoes, Potter,’ Draco said conversationally. ‘Did you find them on a rubbish tip?’

‘No, but I could hit you with them,’ Harry suggested.

‘Really Potter, do you get off on violence or something?’ Harry raised one loafer, and Draco said hastily, ‘But point taken.’

‘So, let’s go back to the day our NEWTs finished,’ Harry suggested. ‘I have a salacious interest in your dirty deeds, but I don’t actually want to spend any more time in your presence than I have to, see?’ Draco made a face. ‘You and Zabini left, just like that.’

‘We went to Blaise’s stag party,’ Draco said quietly.

‘Oh, so he was telling the truth,’ Harry said, in immeasurable astonishment. ‘He was getting married then? To whom?’

‘Pansy Parkinson. As per his father’s orders.’


‘Stuff it, Potter. In the middle of the night Blaise and I slipped out. Took a plane to Mexico.’

‘You had it planned, then?’

‘No. We just took all the money out of our personal vaults at Christmas. We knew we’d have to go, but we didn’t know when or where. So we caught the first flight available to as far away as possible.’

‘Why not Portkey?’ Harry asked.

‘Too easily traceable.’

‘So, did your father catch up with you? Was he telling the truth when he told Voldemort he’d killed you?’

‘Take a wild guess, there, Potter,’ Draco said dryly.

‘He’s back in Azkaban.’

‘I know. We came back a month ago to sort out our affairs, get the rest of the money, et cetera.’

‘And the Ministry let you?’

‘Yes. Why wouldn’t they? We haven’t done anything wrong, unless cowardice is suddenly against the law. Mind you,’ and he chuckled, ‘Blaise ran into some rather persistent creditors from the Department of Magical Games and Sports…gambling seems to be in the job description.’

‘So that’s it?’ Harry asked disbelievingly. ‘You just ran away, because you were scared.’

‘Exactly, Potter,’ Draco sneered. ‘I know when discretion is the better part of valour.’

‘Whatever,’ Harry said impatiently. ‘So is it true that Blaise killed two Aurors the week after you disappeared?’

‘Unless they were in Torreon, I doubt it.’ Draco paused, watching Harry’s stunned face with interest. ‘So is it true you’re married?’

‘What? No!’ Harry laughed. He was aware that it sounded a little shaken, but the news that the Ministry or some high-ranking association had been spreading lies about how Kingsley Shacklebolt had died was rather shocking. He’d always wondered, though. He knew how difficult it was to cast the curses that a post-mortem had revealed, and Blaise had only scraped bottom of all his classes through his charm. He hadn’t even taken Defence Against the Dark Arts to NEWT level.

‘You’re not?’ Draco said, his face turning so white it was almost blue.

‘No, Malfoy, not that it matters, but I am not married,’ Harry said patiently. ‘I think I would know.’

‘I have to go,’ Draco said, in a clipped tone. He stood up, brushing sand off his shorts onto Harry, mostly.

‘What about your payment?’ Harry demanded. Draco frowned, looking almost confused.

His expression cleared abruptly. ‘I’ll catch up with you about that,’ he said peremptorily.

‘Cheers,’ Harry told the empty sand.

And because he was starving, headed back to the hotel to be fed.


In a totally original move, Seamus had decided to take Ron and the lads out to celebrate one of his last nights of freedom.

To a bar.

Not the same bar, of course.

That would be boring.

It had all the same essentials, though - alcohol (lots of), drunks, strippers (happily, for the drunks) and even ordinary girls who were out for the same thing only for free.

Seamus was having the greatest fun of his life coaxing Ron to stuff Muggle money into the stripper’s bra. As Ron had even less acquaintance with it than his father he was dispensing fifties like candy and thus even the stripper was getting some enjoyment out of the whole episode. Harry spent quite a lot of time trying to panhandle Ron fives instead, and to wrestle the camera out of Seamus’ hands.

By eleven everyone was plastered. Mr Weasley was getting a lot of attention due to his suspicious choice of ear jewellery, and had been propositioned more than once, mostly by burly men in leather and studs. Mr Weasley thought they were trying to buy his earrings, and he kept smiling widely and saying apologetically, ‘Not for sale!’ So the message was got across, even if he didn‘t realise it wasn‘t the one he intended.

Seamus had decreed that everyone should dress in blue, except for Ron, who was to wear black (symbolic of the death of his bachelorhood. Harry wasn’t sure this was the greatest idea, but three vodkas up and Ron was prepared to acquiesce even to the mantilla). Harry didn’t actually own anything blue, excepting jeans, all of which he had left at home.

Fred had consented to lend him something.

With the fifty-fifty vision of hindsight, Harry realised there had been no need to wear blue at all, much less fall in with anything Fred, of all people, proposed.

He was dressed in cut-off denim hot pants, and a navy string vest, and was tired of being mistaken for a hooker. Once Seamus discarded his shirt to show off his biceps, Harry stole it without a qualm. Seamus was too drunk to notice, although he did remark that it was definitely getting cooler.

Harry was rather hacked off. He was on pins and needles trying to keep everyone in check, and avoid Bill’s advances. He was afraid that if he got drunk, everyone would get out of check and he’d wake up in Bill’s bed, possibly (and this was the scary part) with Bill in it.

One thing he was thankful for was that there was no sign of Draco or Blaise.

When they walked in the door of the bar, he had one thing less.

Blaise’s face brightened when he spotted the shirtless Seamus, and made a beeline for him. Harry thought about warning him, remembered the bagful of condoms, and decided Seamus could bloody well take care of himself. Within minutes, Seamus and Blaise were performing an impromptu table-top dance for a circle of female admirers.

Draco propped himself up at the bar.

Harry glanced around. Fred and George were making Ron the centre of attention in at least a quarter of the pub, while Mr Weasley nodded along amiably. Bill had disappeared.

Harry looked back over at Draco.

He was wearing that morning’s shorts with a loose white cotton shirt and flip-flops.

His hair was wet and uncombed, twisting itself into ragged rats-tails.

The muscles in his arms and calves were impossibly sharply defined.

Harry gave up and went over to him.

‘I’m not gay,’ he announced.

Draco looked up, his thin face hard.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, scowling. ‘I think you mistake me for someone who gives a damn.’

Harry perched himself on a barstool next to Draco, and swivelled around so that his knees were knocking against Draco’s legs. Draco glowered at him.

Harry ignored him, and said thoughtfully, ‘For example, Seamus is gay.’ He looked over at where Seamus was enthusiastically snogging Blaise, to the associated whoops, jeers and catcalls of their gathered audience.

Draco dragged his gaze away with difficulty, and recomposed his face into its Harry speciality, blistering condescension.

‘I think Blaise probably is too,’ Harry continued. ‘And Bill. And you. So I was thinking -’

‘Difficult, was it?’ Draco enquired. Harry stared at him, and calmly picked up Draco’s drink - well, he assumed it was Draco’s, the bar was pretty crowded so it potentially could have been anyone’s - took a sip, and emptied the rest over Draco’s head. Draco spluttered at him through a dripping veil of lager, which made his hair look even dirtier and his eyelashes stick together.

‘I was saying,’ Harry said serenely, ‘that there are altogether more gay men around than there statistically should be.’

‘Potter,’ Draco spat, then his face took on an altogether more sinister cast. ‘Take a walk with me. I think I’m due my payment now.’

‘Okay,’ Harry said equably, a Gryffindor prepared to pay his debts, and moreover to hand the thinking over to someone else for a while.

Once they were outside, Draco grabbed Harry’s hand and dragged him along behind him. Harry couldn’t see the point of this, as he was prepared to walk quickly if need be, and would probably be quicker if left on his own; but he assumed being treated like a recaltricant pet was all part of the ‘payment’.

Eventually Draco came to a standstill on a deserted pier, so abruptly that Harry, his wrist still in a vice-like grip, cannoned into him. Draco shoved Harry up against a stone pillar and kissed him, hard. Harry stood motionless, frozen, as Draco clutched at his - Seamus’ - shirt and moulded his body closer to Harry’s.

After a minute, one of Draco’s hands gripped his chin as he pulled back.

‘Kiss me back, you bastard,’ he said, sounding breathless. ‘This is my payment, goddamnit.’

Without giving Harry time to reply, Draco’s mouth plundered his again. Harry opened his lips obediently to allow entry to Draco’s hot, agile tongue. Tentatively, he brushed it with his own, and was rewarded with a moan from Draco, and one of his cool hands which roughly pushed up his t-shirt and grazed his stomach.

By the time Draco finally retreated, Harry though he might have kissed his brains into mush. By contrast, Draco looked cool and collected and totally in control of the situation. This was fine by Harry. Someone had to be, and it sure as hell wasn’t him.

‘The way I see it, Potter,’ Draco said, ‘is that Seamus and Blaise are very alike, in that they are, essentially, voracious sexual animals. They are only in it -’

‘For the sex.’

‘And aren’t interested in -’

‘A real relationship.’

‘As that would require more maturity and brain cells than both of them together possess, although that doesn’t necessarily -’

‘Make them bad people.’

‘Bill is just experiencing one of those homosexual attractions that happen to everyone. Almost nobody is completely straight or completely gay. In this world, I think it’s enough if you find someone to love you and put up with you, no matter what their sex is.’

‘Malfoy,’ Harry said solemnly, ‘that was very deep.’

‘Harry, you’re as shallow as a puddle in a drought.’

‘But, you know what they say about puddles.’

‘They don’t say anything about puddles, Potter. Why would they? They’re puddles.’

‘But if they did,’ Harry said insistently. ‘They’d say: ‘They’ll be back’.’

He smiled triumphantly. Draco stared at him as if he had three heads.

‘That was so, so lame, Potter.’

‘What happened to Harry?’

‘I dunno. What happened to Harry?’

‘A second ago you called me Harry.’

‘I never did,’ Draco said assuredly, but Harry spotted a flicker of doubt in his flinty eyes.

‘Did too,’ Harry said smugly. ‘And I’m guessing there’s a reason you thought I was married.’

‘Yes,’ Draco said, rolling his eyes. ‘It was in the papers. You and Ginny.’

‘Oh god, I remember that,’ Harry groaned. ‘Poor girl. We got her counselling. She’s okay now. Dating someone else. Called Henry. With black hair.’

‘I can see she’s moved on.’

‘Why did you care?’

‘God, Potter, you are thick. I’m starting to wonder why I love you.’

Draco stopped speaking as a deep blush stained his cheeks. They stared at each other in silence for a while, Harry wishing that so much of his stomach wasn’t on display.

‘Why are you wearing hot pants?’ Draco said eventually. ‘I mean, not that you haven’t got the legs for them. Was it a dare?’

‘No, Fred,’ Harry sighed. ‘By the way, did you cook your hair or something? Ever heard of the invention of conditioner?’

‘I was out in the bush,’ Draco said impatiently. ‘I was more concerned about not dying of heatstroke.’

‘In Australia?’


‘I cannot picture you roughing it beyond the black stump.’

‘It was Blaise’s fault, of course. He had a crush on a trainee camping guide.’

‘Blame anyone but yourself, why don’t you.’

‘Who else would I blame?’

‘I see how insurmountable the obstacles in your path to love are. After all, you’re a coward, a coward, oh yeah; a coward, plus you don’t take responsibility for anything. No wonder your true love got married to someone else.’

‘You didn’t, Potter.’

Harry shuffled his feet uncomfortably. ‘I wish you wouldn’t keep insinuating that you love me. It’s rather worrying.’

‘I’d be worried too, if I were you and I loved you,’ Draco said meditatively. ‘But I don’t have to worry about that. I leave it all to you, you lucky person you.’

‘Hey, even if you hypothetically loved me, who said I’d hypothetically love you back?’ Harry retorted, once he’d figured out exactly what the hell Draco had just said.

Draco laughed.

It was annoying.

Harry wanted to shut him up, permanently. So he kissed him.

As soon as he stopped, Draco opened his mouth to speak, so Harry had to kiss him again. A little harder. A little deeper. With a little more exploration on the part of Harry’s hands. When he released Draco, he looked somewhat dazed, and didn’t attempt to talk. Just smiled.

That Harry could live with.

Once he married Draco, of course, he’d have to do it a lot more, because Draco tended to talk an awful lot.

Sometimes he seemed to do it on purpose.


‘Maybe ‘ideal’ was the wrong word,’ Hermione, the walking dictionary, mused a few months later. ‘Maybe I was thinking of just plain impossible. It sums up Malfoy, really.’

‘Harry doesn’t mind us calling him Malfoy, still?’ Ron asked worriedly.

‘I wouldn’t think so. All he calls him, generally, is Drmmmph.’

‘Okay, then.’


For some reason, Blaise and Seamus took all the credit for getting them together.


Current Mood: crushedcrushed
Current Music: As before
henbock on November 23rd, 2004 06:24 am (UTC)
Good but where is??
Its good but where is the one with Hermione and Draco or did you write that its the one where he cant have sex!! I want to read that one again
every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on November 23rd, 2004 01:38 pm (UTC)
Re: Good but where is??
No, I didn't. Thank goodness. Try this: http://www.schnoogle.com/authorLinks/Alice_In_Muggleland/Dracos_Delicate_Condition/ if you're really that desperate for shlock.
gabbysun on November 24th, 2004 10:49 pm (UTC)
Uh, Harry,’ Seamus said warningly, but it was too late. Harry was greeted by an almost full-frontal view of Bill answering the call of nature, utterly naked. At the sound of the door opening, Bill turned his head, but on seeing Harry his angry expression melted into a far more suggestive one. Harry winced and hurriedly pulled the door closed again.

. . . xDDDD

He met Mr Weasley in the foyer. He was wearing a necklace of conch shells, and in the short time he’d been let loose on the Muggles he had got his ears pierced. Both of them. They now sported large, plastic pink hoops, of which he was inordinately proud. Harry forbore saying anything, wishing his wife the joy of that. At least Seamus would see what he’d been talking about.

AHHHHH you're killing me here.

. . .

I don't think this puny little reply box can handle all the passages I want to pull out and lavish over, but let's just say that I really really loved this. It was just so fun to read.

I loved the bit about Ginny and Henry, and in the first part when Seamus left magazines about "Harry-catching" open. *LOVE*

And I think I'm repeating myself now, but . . . neh. xD

every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on November 25th, 2004 11:14 am (UTC)
Hahaha! Did I mention that I love you muchly in, say, the last five seconds?!!

You liked it enough to *quote* from it ... *diez repeatedly*.

As for more...not actually of this fic, but I have I think two more H/D one-shot fics that I set out to be humourous in, that will be up in the next few weeks. And, of course, everyone's Xmas and YOUR birthday fic (yes, well, they ARE the same thing...:|) is nearly done, and also made-for-the-funny.

*is happy for the day now*
gabbysun on November 28th, 2004 02:28 am (UTC)
xD Yeah, but go on. LOVE IS COOL.

Psh, that ain't nuthin'. One day I will seriously quote, which involves long analys . . . i? and lots of squeeing. 'Cos I'm good at that.

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE *is just about bursting with impatience*
Insufferable, man.cynicalpirate on November 27th, 2004 12:57 pm (UTC)
Ok, so this has taken me ages to complete and finish reading, and I do not really know why, but it is SO good. So very and extremely vivid and funny. I am really embarrassed about my fics now, because your writing is blatantly so much better than mine, and I cannot imagine why you would want to make inferior little me fanart. I have decided it was a cruel joke, a mockery of my inability to be as incredible as you.

Why must you mock me so? *sobs*

‘Did you go skinny-dipping last night?’ Seamus wanted to know, at the top of his voice.

‘No,’ Harry said. His mouth tasted like something had died in it, leaving all its fur on the top of his tongue at the same time. The sunlight was poison.

Just loved that. Great way to wake up.
every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on November 30th, 2004 11:48 am (UTC)
First off, I'm so glad you did. Read. I mean. Because, you know, people reading my stuff gives me a hive. No, shit. A hive. NO! A HIGH. *whimpers* Where is the cola?! As you know, of course.

So I can write funny. That's easy. You read enough Pterry, you learn the twick - NO the trick - of twisting metaphors and things. But your stuff is in the BONE and the BLOOD. You see underneath your characters' skins, you actually treat them all as different people...you make them love each other and make me believe in love too for that minute...me, I make them fit the gags. Tha's all. I hope you don't mind being number three on my list of authors, but that's it. (Maya, then the Shoebox, then you.) Trust me, I don't squee in that pathetic manner for just anyone! It's very rare that I find writing that makes pictures in my head like your's does, and Maya's and the Shoebox (and THEY have enough art, I reckon). So, don't be so daft, and also, I have more crappy drawings soon to be posted (I s'pose I could copy and paste into your comments?) which I drew when I was mean to be having smoko with Mary and when a strange stalker man came into the room...well, actually, that was only when I was drawing Remus' head in one, and I do it in bits and pieces, and see my latest post for exlpuling...explaining this incoherence and lack of editing, I'm officially dead. Tired, that is.

Which is wierd...though often drunk, I've not yet been hungover, so this was working straight from the whole head - imgaination. IMAGINATION. GAH.

Go away, silly child. I love your writing. Go do more.
every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on December 9th, 2004 12:34 pm (UTC)
I know why it took you so long...I started reading it, and it's GODDAMN HARD TO READ. Urg.