No reason to celebrate

Harry’s head swam as he tried to remember what had happened. All he could seem to recall was the early afternoon. They had sat in the dining room enjoying a spectacular brunch along with one or two bottles of Champagne. The thought alone made his insides tremor and his hands shake. After that it all went a bit blurry.

Fighting down a rising wave of nausea he tried to raise himself out of the tub but failed miserably. His whole body refused to cooperate and he slipped back into he warm water that was cocooning him like a lover’s embrace. Heaving a heavy sigh, Harry went back to recalling the past day. He remembered rhythmic movement and a certain kind of heat that had possessed his body, Draco’s firm torso underneath his hands and ….. oh, now he remembered. He had had the most satisfying sex in the living room. And then? What after that?

Had that, what he could not recall anything to do with what Draco had said when he had left the bathroom? Did they have a fight? But why was he feeling so miserable now? Enough! Harry thought, and abandoned this fruitless contemplation. He needed to do something about his weak and trembling condition. Maybe it had been something he had eaten. Or even the champagne. He wasn’t exactly used to drinking that stuff. Anyway, didn’t they say, it was best to continue with what you have ended? Maybe a small glass of Champagne or something else for that matter, would get his circulation going and stop his hands from trembling?


Draco didn’t close the door entirely after he had left Harry in the bath, and waited for a minute in silence outside the bathroom to see if Harry would call for him as he braced himself for the task at hand. While Harry had still been lying semi unconscious on his bed, Draco had gotten himself some information about alcoholics from the floo net information service. It hadn’t been much and he knew he would have to get many more details in order to help Harry, but it had been a start. At least he knew now, that addicted people tended to hide their empty, and full bottles for that matter, instead of throwing them away. Most illogical but obviously quite common. Also they would never ever admit that they actually had a drinking problem and, Merlin forbid, call themselves addicts. No, they would most surely tell whomever would want to hear it, that they could stop drinking any time they would like and they only drank because it tasted so good, or because they liked it and so on. When called an addict some could even get quite aggressive. Though there didn’t seem to be an absolutely reliable pattern.

As a first task, Draco had set his mind on going through Harry’s things and the entire house, determined to find any lingering empty or full bottles of any kind of alcohol. Even though he had fed that potion to the dark haired man he didn’t want to tempt him. He wasn’t sure if it was the best plan, but since he wasn’t an expert with these things it felt like a good start to him. Taking a deep breath, Draco mentally divided Harry’s room into six sections, so he wouldn’t miss any area and started with the corner that housed the large cupboard and window. Inside the wardrobe he found four empty bottles, mostly cheap stuff like Ouzo and some kind of whiskey, hidden behind clothes, inside a pair of boots and underneath a spare blanket. Throughout the room this pattern continued. In area three, as Draco called it, was Harry’s bed and on it the soiled bedclothes and the bags Harry had brought home from his shopping earlier on. It was a sad event for Draco and he searched through the contents of the bags and found one full bottle and three empty ones, one still lying on the covers. The receipt from the liquor store stated five bottles, one of them extremely expensive. That must have been the one Harry had bought as a replacement for the old bottle of whiskey Draco had owned.

What bothered Draco nearly as greatly as the bottles he had found were the clothes within the bags. They were atypical for Harry, not quite his style but more what Draco would have probably bought for himself. Had Harry wanted to impress him? Had he wanted to show him that he liked what he saw Draco wearing? The Slytherin sat down heavily on the soiled bed, suddenly not even bothering about the stains and smell anymore and drew a shuddering breath. What had he gotten himself into?

He felt like his whole life was slowly slipping through his fingers. He was loosing all the control, he was so used to having. Harry had barged into his world, had torn his walls down without even noticing that they were there and now had made him weak and vulnerable. Sure it had been Draco himself who had invited the Gryffindor to stay at his house, but for what reason exactly? Had it been the pity he had felt when he had seen the golden boy so lost and tired at the convention?

It didn’t really matter anymore , the problem was sitting right in his lap and he couldn’t just turn away from it. Draco knew himself well enough to know that it would be like dancing on a knife’s edge, keeping up his pretence as soon as he was with other people or at work and his softer self when he was at home with no one else but Harry. Maybe that was it; was this what friendship was like? Draco felt like he was standing in front of a very large mountain with no hope of ever being able to climb it. A weird kind of fear was making its way up his spine. Would he be able to master everything that was ahead of him? And what of his relationship with Potter? How normal was he supposed to act? Like nothing had happened? Was he to tell Harry upfront that he had a problem? What about sex?

With a shudder and a surge of shame Draco stopped himself from thinking any further and took the situation the only way he knew. One step at a time.


After the fifth try Harry had managed to sit up properly in the tub and with trembling fingers washed his hair and his torso. He felt somewhat better afterwards but not to a satisfying extent. Very carefully he climbed out of the tub, not willing to call for Draco to help him, and half-heartedly wrapped a towel around his upper body.

Draco had heard Harry getting out of the tub and suddenly realised that he was still sitting on Harry’s bad holding the plastic bag in which he had collected all the found bottles. in his hands He shot up and hastily left the room, not wanting Harry to see him and know that he had gone through his things.

Harry swayed slightly as he stepped into his bedroom and went straight to the bed taking a hold on the bags form his shopping. He would ease the trembling of his hands and legs now, then pull off the covers of his bed, wash them and then he would sit down with Draco in the living room and maybe enjoy a few more minutes with his friends in front of the fireside. After all it was only 10.30 p.m..

A wave of ice hit him in the middle when he noticed the full bottle of whiskey that should have been still rolled up in the new grey t-shirt, was gone. Hastily Harry searched the other shopping bags. Nothing. With confusion he scanned the bed. Nothing there either. He was sure, at least one empty bottle should have been lying around here somewhere. With his heart hammering and his adrenalin level rising quickly, Harry staggered over to his cupboard. Maybe he had put his stuff away before having a drink earlier in the afternoon?

His movements were becoming more and more aggressive. While at first he was carefully going through his things, he was now flinging his clothes, blankets or whatever came into his hands onto the ground, against the walls or through the open window. It didn’t matter where he looked he found nothing. Nothing to drink, nothing to take this increasing tremors and hollow feeling away. He needed a drink and he needed it now. Not later, not tomorrow; now!


Draco could hear Harry smashing things, cursing and screaming in anger. It was as though Harry’s anger was rolling in waves along the hallway, down the stairs and straight at him. His confident stance had long gone and all the blond man could do was sit in the living room and wait for whatever disaster was going to happen. For the first time in years Draco Malfoy felt his over self-confident demeanour becoming shaky, he was suddenly confronted with a situation that he could not in any form predict. Nor could he predict Harry’s behaviour. The Gryffindor had seemed so at ease, so gentle and … yes so unlike his former self. It was like a harmless version of the Harry he had come to know in Hogwarts, somehow spineless now that he came to think of it. Had it all to do with the life he had led and the resulting dissatisfaction?

Suddenly angry, heavy steps were coming towards the stairs and all too soon Draco could see Harry storming into the living room and right at him. He braced himself carefully putting the Malfoy sneer in place and waited.

“Have you been at my things?”

At least he asks first, Draco thought and pulled up one eyebrow. “Why?” he asked slowly.

“Because there are things missing!”

“Ah.”

Harry’s chest was heaving and his clenched his fists at his side. “Now, were you?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? You did go through my things. How dare you! How could you? I thought I was your friend.”

“You are my friend. That’s why I went through your things.”

“What are you getting at.”

“Harry.” Draco took a deep breath. He didn’t now if he was taking the right course now, revealing that he knew, telling Harry what he thought, but he had to take the risk. Feeling more insecure than he had all those years ago when he had betrayed his own family Draco summoned all his courage and continued. “You need help. I went through your things to take a few things away. Things that are a danger to you.”

“What kind of a nonsense is that?”

Draco could see Harry becoming more and more agitated and feared what was coming next. “You have a problem Harry. You are an alcoholic.”

A short and forced laugh came from Harry as he threw his arms out in an over acted gesture. “So, that’s what you think. Draco, you are nuts. Just because I drank too much today, it doesn’t mean that I am an addict.” Harry tried to smile at Draco reassuringly, but it looked twisted in a very ugly way.

t.b.c