Touching the Untouchable

Touching the Untouchable by Graballz Chapter 2 Near-violation


The next thing she knew, she was wrenched in a violent half circle and nearly pulled head first off the bed, backwards! Her stomach muscles clenched wildly as she frantically fought to regain purchase, and then flung herself forward, off the bed and towards a corner, anywhere that was away from Harry. Hermione crouched against the wall, trembling from head to toe, arms crossed over her exposed chest, and she turned around to survey the room. Tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks, but she watched in horror as a blurry Harry raised his fist and punched a blurry, but very red-faced Ron in the jaw! Her shoulders began shaking as loud sobs escaped her, despite her best efforts to quiet them. That had shattered the tension between the two boys and stopped Ron from retaliating. They both had looked her direction, and Ron had gathered his weeping and very nearly-violated girlfriend in his arms, ignoring Harry and focusing completely on Hermione. Even through his alcoholic haze, Harry felt the horror at what he had just done, and he did the first thing his panicking mind thought of. He turned and ran, slamming the door shut behind him.

* * * * * *

Ron had watched Harry down bottle after bottle of Butterbeer. Then his dark-haired friend had gone for shots of the Firewhiskey. Ron, as a prefect, was responsible for the safety of all Gryffindor students, and so he generally only drank up to three bottles of Butterbeer at any given party. It was enough to relax him and give him a happy buzz, but not enough to incapacitate him in his role as prefect. Hermione, on the other hand, didn’t even touch one Butterbeer. Ron knew that she didn’t want to accidentally get drunk, especially in public—she was a lightweight, after all—so he didn’t press her to drink when she didn’t want to. After the ugly confrontation at dinner, Ron was feeling the tension between his two best friends, and he talked Harry out of being upset, like he always could. ‘Mione had come over and apologized, and everything seemed okay again. The two of them had coaxed Harry to come out of the corner, but even though their tiff was over, he staunchly refused, only budging to trade an empty bottle for a full one, and then only to pour himself another shot. Ron absolutely loved the fact that he could finally kiss his true love anytime and any place he felt like it; he was free to show his feelings after hiding them for years.

As a Weasley, he was happy-go-lucky by nature and a cheerful drunk, but he DID have a rather short fuse that went along with his fiery red hair. The only person who could send Ron into a spiraling fit of temper with just a look was Draco Malfoy. Malfoy had made Ron’s life hell with all of the taunting of his family’s lack of wealth and the stupid nicknames. They were both purebloods, but they had been raised to have two completely different sets of values. It was true that Malfoy had mellowed considerably lately, but that didn’t stop Ron from disliking the bastard. After tonight, though, Ron would find out that, as much as he loathed Malfoy, the most unlikely person of all would take the blonde’s place of honor as “Most Despised” in Ron’s book.

After happily snogging Hermione for a few precious minutes, he had quickly become aware of a potential commotion taking place across the room. He had whispered a quick request in Hermione’s ear: Keep on eye on Harry, love. He’s had an awful lot to drink, and we need to make sure he’s okay. Hermione had looked at him with such love in her eyes at his concern for his best mate; Ron thought his heart might burst right then and there. Reluctantly, he had torn himself away from her to help Neville subdue a couple of third-years who had gotten into a shouting match, sounding slightly like Harry and Malfoy at that age. By the time he had sorted everything out, made one more lap around the room to check on everyone else, and helped himself to a third Butterbeer, Hermione and Harry were gone. Ron had wrinkled his brow in concern and checked the toilets. Harry had certainly had enough to drink that he would probably pass out or puke if he moved too much, but there was no sign of his friend. Ron wasn’t very worried; he trusted the two of them completely. Besides, Harry had confided in Ron after the second party that he thought he might be gay. He had also sworn his friend to secrecy, even from Hermione, just until Harry figured it out. Not that Ron really cared, but in the deepest part of his heart, he had sighed with relief. One secret that he would never, ever tell either of them was a lingering insecurity that Hermione might wake up one day and realize that she could be with the Boy Who Lived, instead of his unknown red-headed sidekick who was clumsy and inelegant and poor to boot. After Harry had confessed his potential disinterest for girls, and reassured a suddenly nervous Ron that red-heads weren’t his ‘type’, Ron had finally let go of that last bit of insecurity and allowed himself to become fully engrossed in Hermione.

More time had passed than he realized, after chatting happily with a few sixth years about Gryffindor’s chances for the Quidditch Cup that year. Ron decided that something definitely wasn’t right. Maybe Harry was confessing to Hermione about his sexual preferences, or perhaps they had gotten into another argument. Harry did have a tendency to be more stubborn than usual when he had been drinking, except that, sober, his stubbornness was smoothed over by a polite smile and earnest green eyes. When he was drunk, his eyes lost some of their sparkle, and his stubbornness often descended into pigheadedness and tenacity, even bordering on rudeness.

Ron had been shocked beyond belief when he opened the door to Harry’s bedroom and found his best friend half on top of his girlfriend, WITH HIS HAND IN HER SHIRT, and kissing her ferociously. Ron, who was shy himself, despite the fact that they slept in the same bed, had only ‘rounded second base’, as the Muggles would say. Harry’s room was just off the stairs, and Ron threw his practically full bottle of Butterbeer down the stairway in rage, paying no attention to the shattering of glass and angry cries of the drenched and unsuspecting partygoers who had the misfortune of standing near the stairs. He charged into the room and viciously jerked Potter off of the bed and off of his girlfriend. Unfortunately, Potter’s hand was still clenched in Hermione’s hair, so that when Ron lifted him, Hermione got yanked around by her hair, nearly falling off the edge of the bed onto her neck. Ron was sputtering and shaking with a rage that Harry had never seen before, not even when Malfoy angered Ron beyond reasoning. The red-headed boy’s face was more crimson than he had ever seen, and he was duly indecisive about what to do, so he ended up just standing in front of the backstabbing, traitorous prat, hands clenched brutally on Harry’s muscular shoulders, shaking him. Before he could make any such decision, Potter had had the gall to punch him in the jaw! Ron would have lost it and beaten his now ex-friend to a pulp if Hermione had not started sobbing. The sound of his beloved in tears broke his focus away from his former, ex-best friend and new number one worst enemy, and he practically flew across the room to pull her into the safety that his embrace provided. It was then that the stupid git made the first smart move he had all night: he turned and ran.

* * * * * *

Harry had fled, still wearing only his pajama pants, down the stairs, not feeling the broken glass he stepped on, and out of Gryffindor completely. He was still completely drunk, and while his movements were off-balance, he was fueled by fear, and he ran aimlessly through the castle until he finally lost his wind and sank against a wall. That was when the memories of what just happened resurfaced, the alcohol factor kicked back in, and Harry lost it, crying openly. When he was sober, it was hard enough to regain his composure, but drunk, it was impossible. He quickly came to the realization that the more he cried, the more he felt like he needed to throw up.

“You’re quite a long way from Gryffindor, Potter,” a sarcastic voice distracted him for a moment from his grief, but his nausea level increased dramatically. “What’s the matter? Couldn’t handle your little ‘tea party’?” Draco Malfoy hadn’t expected to stumble upon a half-naked, blubbering Potter on his way back to Slytherin after making his last late-night rounds. Potter was just a few feet from the entrance to his rival’s dorms, and Draco winced, his voice sounding more caustically mean than he meant it to. Potter didn’t favor him with a glance; he just kept his hands pressed over his eyes while tears streamed down his face anyway.

“Fu-fuck off, Malf-foy,” Harry retorted, the combination of being drunk and wrought with emotion making his voice shaky. Suddenly he flung himself to his knees and proceeded to vomit all over the hallway. Draco was more than a little surprised, jumping away, his face curled into a sympathetic-but-disgusted look. Potter was coughing and choking; the poor thing obviously had never drank before, and Draco felt a faint wave of pity. Before he knew what he was doing, he had crouched beside Potter, pulling his wand and casting Cleaning Charms to get rid of the noxious smell and foul stomach contents. He stroked the boy’s back in a gesture of comfort with one hand while he chain-casted with the other. Harry, having vomited up the entirety of his insides, still dry-heaved and began to cry again. He was a horrible, evil, wicked person, and he should have died as an infant, or when he faced Voldemort. As much as Harry had hated himself when he was younger, for being a freak of nature among thick-headed and unkind Muggles, he reached a new depth of self-loathing.

He was being lifted from behind as Draco gently took hold of him under his arms and pulled him to a standing position, quickly steadying him by wrapping one of Harry’s tanned arms around his shoulders. Draco, as the undisputed Slytherin Prince, had been drunk more than his fair share of times, and he knew that if Harry was at the point of vomiting, he was about to pass out. Draco couldn’t bring himself to just leave the boy in the cold hallway. He was already shaking like a leaf, but the blonde knew that they’d never make it all the way back to Gryffindor before Harry passed out. Cursing Potter under his breath, Draco hauled him to the Slytherin entrance, relieved that at least Potter was too sick to remember the password to the commons room. The room was empty, as all of Slytherin was sleeping soundly in their beds. Shaking his head, he and Harry stumbled awkwardly up the stairs and into Draco’s room. He helped Harry sit carefully on the bed as the dark-haired boy looked around the room, completely disoriented.

“Thisssss is you? I m-mean, yours?” His voice had come out like a croak; Draco just nodded. “Nice. Lots of black. T-Too much black.” Draco rolled his eyes at receiving home décor advice from a drunk Harry Potter, but his eyes bugged out at Harry’s last statement just before the boy slumped over onto his side. “I like blondes better.”

Draco threw up his hands in frustration. Well, if his rival was going to be spending the night in Draco’s bed, he might as well get to a first-name basis. Harry had slumped towards the head of the bed, at least, and Draco set about arranging his body into a comfortable position. He pulled Harry’s feet up and tucked them under the sheet, turning the unconscious boy onto his back, with his arms at his sides, and Draco tucked his softest pillow under Harry’s head gently. He pulled the sheet halfway up Harry’s chest and removed Harry’s glasses, setting them gently on the nightstand. On impulse, Draco reached out and smoothed his hand over the unruly black hair, brushing his knuckles over Harry’s forehead and down his cheek. As he became aware of the effect Potter was having on his physiology—he was fucking passed out, for Merlin’s sake!—Draco snatched his hand back and fled to his private bathroom.
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Author’s note: Okay, that’s all I have written so far. I warned you…now I need to get some sleep so that I can figure out what happens next. As I said before, if you have any suggestions, I’m all ears. Thanks for reading.