Solace in Firewhisky

After the war, Draco had found solace in Firewhisky... Little did he know, he may also find it somewhere else... Solace: something that gives comfort, consolation, or relief.

Draco/Harry with Draco POV. Mention Ron/Hermione and implied Harry/Ginny Draco/Astoria.

Warning: Sex! And swearing. But mainly sex.

Note: My first Draco POV story, so please be kind. I've always loved Draco and the darkness around his life. This story is - I hope - a good combination of smut and agnst and could be (somewhat) epilogue compliant... Enjoy!

After the war, Draco had found solace in Firewhisky. His father, of course, had been thrown in Azkaban and his mother, despite her physical presence in the Manor was one of countless mental casualties of the war. Although she tried to will Draco into life, with murmurings or marriages and careers to save their family name, she lacked the conviction she had to persuade in previous years. Finally, then, Draco was free. Free from the expectations of his parents; the dark, twisted expectations of his father and the crippling expectations of his mother that Draco would - as she had - follow numbly in his fathers dark footsteps to survive. Free to make his own choices.

It had started with the decision not to return to Hogwarts - not that he'd be welcomed back with a smile, anyway. Although he was acquitted by the Ministry, his name, his face, the ever present mark on his forearm gave most of the wizarding world the sense to stay away. Sometimes, he wondered if life would have been better if Potter hadn't shown up with his insufferable nobility to testify for Draco's innocence. Sometimes, he wondered - no, he was sure, he knew that life would indeed be better if Potter had cast him away as the rest of the wizarding world had, leaving him to rot alongside his father. It would be better, he knew, because then he wouldn't have to think of Potter. He wouldn't have to wonder why - apart from his insufferable Golden Boy, hero complex - that he'd saved Draco. It was a question that had kept Draco up at night and the same question that driven him from Butterbeer to the Firewhisky he know cradled in his hand.

Not that he'd admit it - Merlin, he'd hex anyone who even suggested it so they couldn't sit down for a week - but he'd been following Potter. Not like stalking him, no, he wasn't that crazy. The Prophet in their post-war, Golden Boy daze gave him everything he needed to know without leaving his chair. Potter hadn't returned to Hogwarts either, although not for the same reasons as Draco. He and Wealsey had been offered assisted places into Auror training without completing their NEWTs based on their "immeasurable, honourable, remarkable sacrifice to the Wizarding world". The memory of the quote made Malfoy snort into his drink. The Prophet rarely published an issue these days without an article devoted entirely to licking Potter's arse. From fundraising balls to meetings at the Ministry, Potter's status as the Golden Boy was well and truly marked. But there was one thing Malfoy knew that the Prophet and the idiots reading it didn't. After years of mercilessly torturing Potter at Hogwart's, he knew the smiles on Potter's face were always a little to set. There were a few tell tale signs, Malfoy knew them well. Most importantly, the smile never quite reached his eyes. When Potter smiled - really smiled - the edge of his eyes would crinkle slightly. Not that Malfoy had looked, or anything. Just a mere observation. Knowing the enemy inside out was the only way to truly defeat them, at least that's what Malfoy had told himself during those long years at Hogwarts as he watched Potter across the Great Hall.

Not allowing his thoughts to wander back to such memories, Draco downed the rest of his Firewhisky in a gulp. With one eye on the clock, he saw it was ten past midnight. Focusing his attention back on his potions book, he returned to his current chapter on blood healing. Not that he wanted to be a healer, or a potions master, or anything really. Draco Malfoy, healing people? The thought made him snort with laughter. Even after the war, the Malfoy's had enough money to keep him in Firewhisky for the rest of his life, thank you very much. He was just interested... Or at least that's what he told himself. As the chapter came to a close, the clock struck one, with a low, drawn-out dong. Time for bed then, he reasoned, standing to stretch as he threw the book down onto the desk in his study, it's hard cover obscuring the front page image of Potter attending yet another ball to raise money for a new Wizarding orphanage. When he had read the article, Malfoy had noted with some interest that this had been the first time Potter had looked remotely close to truly interested in his cause in all the times his face had adorned the Prophet's cover. That wasn't why he still had the issue, of course not. There had been a particularly interesting article on a wizard who was undergoing a new potion trial and keeping the original article would help him track the case. Not that he was interested in potions healing. Or Potter. Or anything.

With a sigh as he cracked his neck, Malfoy swept from the room and to bed, pushing all thoughts of anything except his awaiting silken pillow from his mind.

Draco rarely ventured outside to drink, Merlin, he rarely ventured out of the Manor to do anything these days, saving himself from the glares and mutters of those to whom the war was still to recent, those who's wounds were still to fresh. Not that he cared what people thought of him, it was just... Easier.

However, on this night in particular, risking a trip to the Gnarled Goblin was was worth it. The pub, probably from its name alone, was the sort that attracted few customers and those it did kept themselves to themselves and asked few questions. Propped up at the bar, his thoughts returned to just why he was here, paying money for Firewhisky when he had a perfectly fine selection at was early Feburary, nine months since the end of the war and his mother was, it seemed, returning somewhat to her old self. It wasn't that Draco didn't wish his mother happiness again, that certainly wasn't it, it was the expectations she had that came with it. It had started small... Why don't you find a job, Draco? Why don't you see some friends, what about Pansy, she was always a lovely girl... But now - now his mother had secured him a betrothal. She'd practically burst when shed received the owl from Astoria Greengrass's family who had agreed, upon her leaving of Hogwarts in the summer, to give her hand in marriage to Malfoy. Malfoy, too, had almost burst, although in an entirely different way to that of his mother. To avoid argument, he had left at the first opportunity and found himself here, on his fourth glass of Firewhisky, once again seeking solace.

The door opened with a heavy creak, noticeable in the silence of the almost empty pub. Malfoy did a double take. Harry fucking Potter. Here. Of all people. He cast his gaze down as quickly as he had lifted it, but it was too late.

"Malfoy?"

Lifting his gaze again in response, he saw Potter taking a stool at the bar not far from his, leaving a few empty places between them. Mastering his composure, his face settled into its calm, cool sneer he prided himself on being able to so confidently produce no matter what the scenario.

"Well, aren't we blessed, the Boy Who Lived, slumming it in a place like this" he sneered, curling his lip for good measure "No charity balls tonight? No glamorous events to attend?"

"No need to be such an arse, Malfoy" Potter replied, although the anger that would have accompanied such words in Hogwarts was missing, he seemed... Defeated. He watched as Potter signalled for a drink, receiving the same amber liquid Malfoy nursed himself. Unlike Malfoy, however, Potter knocked his back in single take, his shoulders shuddering with the taste. Merlin, something must have riled him. Malfoy wondered what it could be, before reminding himself that he didn't care.

In time, Potter finished a second glass and Malfoy's was also empty. Signalling to the bartender, he ordered a bottle and slapped it down between them. At first, Potter simply stared and Malfoy felt stung - he was suddenly once again the eleven year old boy who's hand had been rejected. Before he spit an insult and remove the offering, Potter moved closer, leaving just one stool between them and poured them both a drink.

"I'm settling a debt" Malfoy stated cooly, the excuse was for himself as much as it was for Potter "Malfoy's do not have debts they do not repay."

Potter merely stared at him for a moment, then shook his head "I didn't save you from Azkaban for a drink, Malfoy. I saved you because you, and your mother, both saved my life. It was I who was repaying a debt."

"Well, now we're even." Malfoy stated, ignoring the radiating tension between them and returning to his glass. For some time, the pair drank in silence, filling each other's glasses in turn, until Potter broke the silence.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" He asked, in a most Gryffindor way.

Attack, Malfoy had always known, was the best form of defence. "Despite the tone this place may set I am not - nor have I been - involved with any Dark Wizards, or any wizards at all for that matter, since my trial. So if you're here sticking your ugly Auror nose in you can sign off early, nothing to report here."

Rather than biting back to Malfoy's comments, which he admittedly found rather disappointing, Potter merely replied "I'm not working. Week off."

"Ah, and no Weasley to follow you around, helping you lap up your liquor?" He enquired, trying his best to feign disinterest.

"He's spending his week at Hogwart's, visiting Hermione, this time of year… I'd rather not" Potter pulled a grimace with these words which caused Malfoy to smirk, for once he found himself actually agreeing with Potter – he couldn't imagine anything worse than watching Granger and Weasley in the loved-up throws of almost-Valentines passion. "Anyway, Ginny… She'd expect…" Potter trailed off, his grimace turning to a thin, closed mouth line which Malfoy found hard to read before he threw back another gulp of Firewhisky.

Ah, of course. Malfoy had not admitted to himself the reason he'd been in a foul mood even before his mother had brought him news of the betrothal. The Prophet, clearly running low on actual stories, had chosen today to publish a front page, blazing a picture of Potter, surrounded by various witches in tiny heart, pink tinted frames below the headline "Who will the Chosen One choose?" Trying to mask his unexpected muddle of emotions at this turn in subject, Malfoy chose now as an ideal time to refill both their glasses.

"… And… I don't think I can… Love her… I don't think… I don't think I can love anyone."

Malfoy tried to ignore the way his heart rose dangerously at Potter's first words and tried even harder to ignore the way it dropped at his last. Suddenly, he was very glad for the glass he had poured himself, downing it in a single gulp.

Seeing Potter's risen, questioning eyebrow, Malfoy knew he needed an answer other than the one he was so determinedly ignoring. Luckily, Malfoy's were always prepared in the art of self-preservation. "As strange as this may be, we may have something in common, Potter." This did little to quell Potter's questioning stare so with a sigh, he continued "My mother has betrothed me… She wants me to save the Malfoy name."

"Isn't it time you stopped living your life to make your mother happy?" Potter asked, unexpected venom seeming to drip from his tongue.

"That, is none of your business, Potter" Malfoy snapped, a more controlled, yet still as chilling venom lacing his own words. He didn't know what it was that refrained him from hexing Potter there and then – maybe it was the Firewhisky, maybe it was the debt he still felt he owed, maybe it was…. No, it certainly wasn't that. "Anyway, I wasn't making her happy back then I was keeping her alive, there's a difference." The conversation had turned dark. He did not need to be a Seer to know what Potter was thinking, especially with his gaze flickering to Malfoy's forearm. Yes, Malfoy would have never taken the Dark Mark if Voldermort hadn't threatened his mother, if he hadn't danced above her with a Crucio which made her screams ring through their dining hall – a room Malfoy had still, in the whole nine months after the war, not returned to.

Potter shrugged, his shoulders slumping and Malfoy knew the tension between them had passed. Once again, they took to drinking in silence but this time there was something different between them. Something fizzled in the air, all the thoughts that Malfoy had been denying – even to his own mind – seemed to linger between them. He wondered, did Potter….

The bell for last orders rung, sharply dragging Malfoy from his thoughts. He wasn't ready to go home. He wasn't ready to face his mother. He wasn't ready to leave Potter.

His face must have said it all. "I've plenty of bottles at mine" Potter stated, nodding toward the empty Firewhisky between them "I mean, if you don't want to go back… y'know… with your mother and everything and anyway, I can pay you back for what I've drunk here…" Potter trailed off awkwardly as if he wished he hadn't asked. Gripping to the offer, Malfoy didn't dare to speak, merely gave a curt nod which he hoped contained his… Merlin, he didn't know what this feeling was and he didn't like it but he didn't want to let it go just yet.

The left the pub into the bitter night air and Potter grabbed Malfoy's arm, causing him to jump from the sudden contact. "Sorry" Potter muttered and in the dark of the street he swore he saw Potter's ears reddening "Side-along" he explained, to which Malfoy once again nodded, this time prepared as his arm was taken and their bodies were pressed together with a woosh.

There he was, feet firmly on Potter's living room floor. For a moment, he didn't move and neither did Potter. They stayed, bodies pressed together from the force of the apparition. Malfoy was very aware of each line of Potter's body – thin, almost scrawny even, yet somehow hard and full against him.

That was when he kissed him. Who kissed who, exactly, Malfoy wasn't sure. All he knew was his lips were on Potter's and they were moving firmly together. Within moments he darted his tongue out between his lips and Potter's mouth was all too willing to allow him entrance. Their tongues danced together and the kiss deepened, Potter giving a soft groan into the kiss which sent a shiver down Malfoy's spine like nothing he had felt before. This was Potter. He was kissing Harry fucking Potter. He knew he shouldn't think now, that would only be dangerous, he would pay for this weakness later but for now…

Before he had time to finish that thought, Potter's hands were moving up from his forearm where they had gripped for the apparition and over his shoulders, pulling Malfoy in as if there were any space between them. Malfoy returned the gesture, digging his hands into Potter's thick hair and grabbing a handful of the impossibly soft tufts at the nape of his neck. The kiss stretched for what felt like eternity, tongues battling as moans escaped both mouths. Malfoy was aware of his cock hardening against his trousers and he knew that it no time at all, with the way he was jammed against Potter, it would press through the material of his robes and into his hip. Before he could take a step back to remedy this, Potter broke the kiss, his green, dark – Merlin, fucking gorgeous - eyes smouldering as he glanced down, apparently already aware of Malfoy's state. Malfoy's breath hitched as his adrenaline soared, ready to run. Instead, Potter bucked his hips into Malfoy's showing that he too was just as interested as Malfoy.

A strangled sound, somewhere between a gasp and a moan escaped Malfoy's mouth which, if he had been thinking, he would have been ashamed of. Instead, he clasped his lips to Potter's once more and returned the motion, rocking his hips back against Harry's and allowing their cock's to rub together through the layers of woollen robes. He was aware he was stumbling backwards, Potter's arms still on his shoulders, guiding him with a thud against a cool, hard wall with no way to retreat from the pressure of their hips moving together to the point where Malfoy was almost painfully hard. Within moments, they were all fingers and thumbs, tugging at each other's robes with the elegance of a couple of horny sixth years, which, in any other state, Malfoy would have found utterly embarrassing. Only breaking their lips to take laboured, heavy breaths and remove items of clothing, the pair moved together as if their bodies were made to work as one until they stood naked before each other.

"I've… Never…" Potter started, and even in the dim light of the room Malfoy could not miss the scarlet flush covering his cheeks.

Merlin. Not only was he about to fuck Harry Potter, he was going to take his fucking virginity.

"We don't… have to…" Malfoy couldn't hide the hope in his voice and even if he could he felt that he was at this point way past the stage of self-preservation.

Answering Malfoy without words Potter closed the gap between them once more, his hand travelling down to Malfoy's cock with a firm squeeze which caused him to roll his head back against the wall, bucking his hips closer, asking for more. Potter picked up a rhythm and Malfoy moved his hands down, slowly trailing Potter's back with his perfectly manicured nails scraping the skin. This elicted a hiss of pleasure from Potter's lips, which Malfoy noticed with a satisfied smirk. So the Saviour liked it a bit rough, did he? Malfoy knew he could accommodate, and dug his nails deeper as he reached Potter's perfectly toned arse. He didn't imagine Potter had any lube so he broke the kiss, pulling a hand up to see Potter's questioning – worried – look and his hand still against Malfoy's cock. Bucking his hips, he requested the rhythm to continue and although a question still remained in Potter's eyes, the worry had faded. Merlin, Harry Potter, Golden Boy, Saviour of the Wizarding World, had thought he had found something he couldn't do? As much as Malfoy would have loved to delight in that, the fact was that Potter was indeed very good especially if this was, as he claimed, his first time. To answer his unspoken question, Malfoy sucked his own finger lightly before pushing it between Potter's lips. Understanding his request, Potter accepted the finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue around with a determination that made Malfoy forget his earlier intention and want nothing more than that tongue on his cock immediately. Withdrawing his finger sharply, he pushed Potter to his knees and thrust his now twitching cock against Potter's lips. Entrance was quickly granted and – sweet Merlin – it was one of the most delicious blow jobs Malfoy had ever had. It was amateurish, yes, his teeth sometimes snagged in places they shouldn't and at times it was far more sloppy than Malfoy would have preferred – but it was Harry Potter and as much as Malfoy would not admit this to anyone, it was something he'd yearned for so secretly he hadn't even known himself.

"Stop" Malfoy breathed, unable to pull away because of the wall behind him. Potter did so immediately, standing to face Malfoy, his face once again flushed with the apprehension he'd done something wrong. Rather than responding with words, Malfoy simply wrapped his hand around Potter's cock, returning the earlier favour. As he did so, satisfied to hear the noises it stirred from Potter, he once again sucked his finger before moving behind him and teasing open his hole. This earned a gasp and Malfoy stilled, allowing him to settle to the feeling before he began to move his finger inside. He was going to take this arse if it killed him. As the effects of one finger turned from gasps to pleasure filled groans Malfoy slipped in a second, ensuring Potter was ready for him. When he was satisfied, he positioned his cock gently between the two glorious arse cheeks before him, bending Potter down over the nearest surface. His cock was still glistening with spit from the earlier blow job which provided enough lubrication to push inside. Malfoy let out a strangled moan at the feeling. Merlin, Potter was tight. After a moment, he began to rock, slamming his hips into Potter and after a moment more he Potter's rock hard length in his hand, matching the rhythm he created with his hip in firm, determined strokes with his fist. The trembling beneath him told him all he needed to know as Potter came undone. With the thought on his mind that Harry Potter, of all wizards, had just come in his hand with his cock up his arse left Malfoy little time before his own release. He slumped over Potter with a gasp, the thin layer of sweat on his chest sticking to his partner's back as they lay together, neither moving, neither making a sound.

For they both knew, the moment they did, it was over. This – whatever it was – couldn't work. They both knew it. The realisation hit Malfoy with a sinking to his stomach that he did not care to admit and with that bitter taste in his mouth he stood, peeling himself from Potter and swooping to collect his robes. In a second, Potter sprang up, his eyes shining with something Malfoy did not want to acknowledge, something he knew shone in his eyes too.

"What I said, earlier… about… Well… I could… Not her, I mean… But I think I could… I think I already –" Malfoy silenced Potter with what he hoped was a determined hand, but he knew his trembling gave him away. Trust Potter to go all Gryffindor after his first shag. It wasn't something Malfoy could bear to hear. It was going to be hard enough to move on from this moment, move on with his life, without having to actually admit the air between them had changed. If words were spoken, Malfoy wasn't sure either of them could go back.

"We can't." He snapped, the energy he devoted to trying to level his emotions, hide his feelings from Potter resulted in anger. Seeing, for only a second, hurt flash through those endearing green eyes, he softened. "It wouldn't work. People would never… And even then… Who even says that we could…?"

Potter nodded and Malfoy pressed his lips into a firm line, stopping him from splurging any more word garbage out that he would likely regret within seconds of returning to the Manor. Dressing in a matter of seconds, he took one more moment to gaze at Potter for what he knew would be the last time.

Eyeing a shelf behind Potter he strode over, collecting a half-drunk bottle of Firewhisky and shaking the contents. "Now your debt is repaid." With that, to avoid any further awkward words or longing looks he apparated away, directly into his room in the Manor. Gazing at the bottle which now, back in the solitude of his bedroom, weighed heavy in his hand he sighed, placing it down with a thud on his highest bookshelf. Dropping down onto his bedsheets he knew he would never drink it. He would allow himself that one memory, that one reminder that – if even only for one night – he had truly found his solace through Firewhisky.

As I said, this story could be considered somewhat epilogue compliant... If, as they were expected to, Draco married Astoria and Harry married Ginny... If people have enjoyed this fanfiction as much as I enjoyed writing it, please let me know, as I may consider writing a post-epilogue one-shot which fits with this. Even if people don't let me know, I might just write it anyway, just because I loved writing this! But, yes, I hope everyone enjoyed this and I'll stop babbling on!