The Secret's In The Telling by Sakuri

Chapter 28

Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one

Chapter 28: The Morning After the Night Before

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Somehow, Harry was managing to hold his own. He wasn't one for drinking excessively, especially not strong liquor, but that didn't seem to prevent him from matching his Slytherin counterpart in shot after shot of the burning liquid that Draco unsteadily poured for them both. There were now small puddles of it on the table around where their glasses sat, either from uncoordinated hands entirely missing their mark as they grew steadily more inebriated, or an even more undignified result of one of them laughing unexpectedly while attempting to drink.

Currently, Harry was grinning like an idiot at something one of them had just said – though for the life of him, he couldn't remember what that had been, or who had said it. Somewhere in the back of his head, there had been a voice insisting that he'd regret this when he found he couldn't move due to a hangover of epic proportions in the morning, but he thought he'd managed to drown it several shots back. Now, he drifted pleasantly, mind and body both buzzing as Malfoy prattled on in the background. The Gryffindor was completely failing to pay attention, but that didn't seem to matter to either of them, so long as he nodded in the right places.

"…and Nott! That absolute p-pre-preten – that idiot! How dare he? Do you know what he said to me? He said I'd fallen!"

"Did you?"

"No, I was perfectly graceful. The point is… The point is…" But Draco couldn't seem to recall exactly what the point was, so substituted by pouring out the last drops of Firewhiskey into the tiny shot glasses. He frowned regretfully when the last of it had drained from the bottle.

"We should toast something," Harry said suddenly, as Draco picked up his drink, ready to toss it back without thought.

"Why?"

The Gryffindor shrugged. "Dunno. Something to do."

His companion blinked cluelessly for a few moments. "Uhm… To what?" he finally gathered himself enough to ask, ignoring the way the world lurched as he shifted slightly, rearranging his legs more comfortably beneath him. He sat cross-legged on the floor, the other boy opposite him in the same position, the coffee table between them.

From the corner of his eye he caught movement, and turned to glance at Vanima, slithering her way onto the warm hearth of the lit fireplace.

Inspired, he turned back to the Gryffindor, momentarily forgetting himself and allowing a similarly idiotic grin to pass over his face. "Toast something in Parseltongue for me!" he insisted, remembering how the sibilant words had fallen so nicely from the other's lips.

Green eyes blinked in surprise, but it didn't take long for Draco's enthusiasm to catch. "What do you want me to say?" he asked, grinning. It was odd, knowing someone else appreciated the language. Even Ron and Hermione were made uneasy by it, and half the school still considered it Dark.

But then, he supposed that explained why Draco liked it, with his fixation for all magic just this side of legal.

The blond shook his head. "Anything," he breathed, already leaning forward with anticipation. He'd probably regret showing such eagerness later, he knew, but he couldn't help it. Yes, he'd heard Potter speak the snake language before, but he wanted to hear it spoken directly to him…

The Gryffindor cast around for ideas, before seeming to think of something satisfactory and picking up his glass. He turned to glance at Vanima, concentrating for a second, before beginning to speak.

And yes, there it was. That sound that Draco would never admit he couldn't get enough of; soft, flowing whispers that he could never grasp, never understand, but certainly admire. Green eyes lost their sharpness when he spoke it, glazed as they imagined he was addressing a serpent, even as he directed the words at the blond.