Disclaimer: JKR owns. I only play. You do not sue.
Length: 1500 words
Summary: Blaise had always been strangely drawn to Malfoy -- not that he'd ever admit it.
Note: Originally written for a contest at hogsmeade_elite. The requirements for this challenge stipulated that the fic must include, in some fashion, a wig, the giant squid, a portrait of a fictional character, a drink of some sort, Peeves, and two students from the same house. I'm surprised it didn't turn out as crack.
Concrit: Always welcome and appreciated.
Sprout had set him detention for making fun of Hufflepuffs. Again.
Blaise was making his way back to the castle when he noticed Malfoy walking towards the Quidditch pitch. There was no mistaking the pale blond head, though old Malfoy wasn't exactly walking with his usual swagger. In fact, he looked like he was having trouble walking in a straight line. Blaise stared after him
All year, Malfoy hadn't been taking any interest in usual house pursuits like the bimonthly giant squid-baiting. Even Pansy got cross with him several times for not coming out to do the prefect rounds. Peeves the poltergeist had been hounding Malfoy in the past couple of weeks whenever he could get away with it. He would turn up behind Malfoy and scream, "MURDER!" at the top of his lungs, invariably causing Malfoy to go deathly pale.
Seeing Malfoy without Crabbe and Goyle was a surprise, too -- whenever he wasn't mysteriously disappearing, he was flanked by the pair of them, always looking preoccupied and impossibly tired. Blaise wanted to know what was going on. He decided to follow Malfoy. At first, he kept a good distance between them, but after ten minutes Blaise realised that an army of Hippogriffs could be following Malfoy and he still wouldn't notice.
Malfoy reached the Slytherin section of the Quidditch stands and disappeared behind it. Blaise paused. What if Malfoy was simply taking a piss, whatever his reason for not using the castle bathrooms?
After five minutes of strained waiting, Blaise shook his head and walked towards the stands. When he rounded the corner, he saw Malfoy sitting on the ground, cradling a bottle of Firewhisky. Blaise stopped in his tracks and stared down at Malfoy. Slowly, Malfoy lifted his head and looked at Blaise. His grey eyes looked empty and there was a curious look on his face, the kind only very drunk people can have.
"How low can you go, Malfoy?" asked Blaise, folding his arms across his chest. "You're out here getting pissed on Firewhisky like-- like some Hufflepuff!"
Malfoy waved him off. "Shut up. Want to be useful, come sit by me and help me finish this." He wasn't quite slurring his words but Blaise could tell he was having trouble talking normally.
One thing that had always infuriated Blaise about Draco Malfoy was that he could tell people what to do in a way that made them drop everything and do it. This time was no exception -- Blaise found himself sitting down beside Malfoy and yanking the bottle out of his outstretched hand. He took a deep swig of the Firewhisky and promptly choked. Tears sprang to his eyes and he coughed, feeling like his throat had closed up.
"All right there, Zabini?" he heard Malfoy say.
Blaise rolled his eyes at him and gave a last powerful cough. "This is not Ogden's Old," he wheezed. There was a scratchy feeling at the back of his throat and he desperately needed to drink something smooth, like pumpkin juice. "What the hell are you drinking?"
"It's illegally made in Syria. Father's private stock," said Malfoy with a smug curve to his lips. "Not like he's around to miss it," he added, smirk morphing into scowl. He yanked the bottle out of Blaise's hand and drank deeply.
Blaise blinked rapidly, feeling the alcohol spread through his body. It was much faster-acting than regular Firewhisky; his arms and legs already felt heavy -- after one drink and barely five minutes. He didn't know how Malfoy was still conscious.
After a few more drinks, he realised that the trick was to pour the drink straight down his throat without tasting it; there was something intoxicating in the smell and taste of it, something that made his vision blur and his head swim with things that were best not mentioned in polite company.
He'd never got drunk with Malfoy before -- the other Slytherin boys had simply assumed that Malfoy didn't partake. They liked to joke about the stick that was no doubt driven so far up Malfoy's arse that he couldn't absorb alcohol properly. As such, Malfoy was a morose, sullen drunk, though there was mischief lurking around his eyes, almost like the echo of a well-forgotten childhood.
Blaise had always been strangely drawn to Malfoy -- not that he'd ever admit it, but he envied Malfoy's ability to make a room full of people shut up. Once upon a time, Blaise had wanted to stand beside Malfoy as an equal, but this wasn't possible. Malfoy didn't want equals; he wanted minions. Blaise was too proud and worth too much to acquiesce to the role of a mere lackey.
"I bet it's a wig," said Blaise, looking at Malfoy's hair, which fell around his face in an even part -- too even.
Malfoy lifted his head slowly, a look of incredulity on his face. "Really," he said slowly, as though he was having difficulty forming words. His eyes looked out of focus. "A wig?"
"It never changes," explained Blaise. "There's no way real hair can always look the same."
"Go on, try and pull it off, then," said Malfoy in a bored voice.
Blaise blinked. His vision was starting to swim from too much Firewhisky, but he was quite sure that Malfoy had just invited him to touch his hair. Hesitantly, he reached behind Malfoy's head and threaded his fingers through the hair at the back of his neck -- it was slightly darker there, not quite white-blond, but Blaise suddenly understood why Pansy liked petting Malfoy's hair so much. It was so different from Blaise's own tight, coarse hair, it felt--
"Really, Pansy," said Malfoy with a smirk. "Go on and pull, see if you can pull off my 'wig'."
Flushing in embarrassment, Blaise tightened his hold on Malfoy's hair and pulled as hard as he could -- partly because in the back of his mind, he really did wonder if it was a wig, and partly because he just wanted to hurt Malfoy right then, for suggesting that Blaise was...
He realised that Malfoy's head was thrown as far back as it would go and he was staring at a smooth, pale throat that was delicate like a girl's.
"Ouch," said Malfoy matter-of-factly, and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down.
Blaise let go of Malfoy as quickly as he could. He could swear he'd been sobered up a little by the thought of Malfoy and him--
"So?" said Malfoy, rubbing the back of his head with a bemused look. "Satisfied, Zabini?"
"No," Blaise heard himself say. He grabbed a fistful of Malfoy's hair and kissed him.
After that, two things happened.
One thing was that Blaise realised that the fact that he'd always been drawn to Malfoy was no accident or coincidence. He'd just never allowed himself to realise that he simply wanted Malfoy -- in every way. Kissing Malfoy felt far better than kissing girls ever had.
The other thing was that Malfoy let out a whimper, dropped the Firewhisky, and fisted his hands in Blaise's robes, pulling him even closer. The kiss was sloppy and wet and intoxicating -- mostly because they both tasted like the Syrian Firewhisky. Blaise's head began to spin and he broke the kiss.
They stared at each other, breathing harsh and ragged. "So this is why you're so hard to please," gasped Malfoy. He looked like he was trying to smirk but it wasn't working.
"Shut up," said Blaise, and leant in to kiss him again, but Malfoy shook his head violently and scrambled up from the ground.
"I can't do this," he managed to say before taking off towards the castle like his arse was on fire.
Moments later, he was out of sight, and Blaise was staring in the direction he'd gone for a good while until he heaved himself up from he ground and followed.
There was no sign of Malfoy in the entrance hall or next to the dungeon entrance. Blaise hurried past the portrait of a badly drawn boy ("You killed Kenny! You bastard!" it called as Blaise went by) and turned into the corridor that led to the Slytherin common room.
Blaise muttered the password, stalked past a group of fourth-year girls, and flung aside the curtain that hid the corridor leading to the boys' dormitories.
Malfoy stood with his head thrown back against the wall not far from the entryway. His eyes were closed and his chest was heaving. Blaise checked behind himself to make sure the curtain had fallen back in place. When he turned back, Malfoy was looking straight at him.
"This is the last thing I need," said Malfoy, an almost pleading look in his eyes.
Blaise hooked his thumbs into his robe pockets and tilted his head to one side.
"I think," he said, and licked his lips, "'this' is the only thing you need... Malfoy. And right now, I'm going to prove it to you."