Archive of Our Own

“For the love of Merlin, sit down, Weasley.”

“I’ll sit down when I’m good and ready, just you watch.”

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Luna, Ginny, George, Pansy, Blaise, and Draco had all descended upon one particularly unlucky karaoke bar in a last-minute attempt at a birthday celebration. It was a popular spot in the heart of Wizarding London that prided itself on its large selection of muggle music. Inside, giant posters of muggle artists ranging from Jimi Hendrix and Mick Jagger to Beyoncé and Britney Spears covered the dark walls. Rotating colorful disco balls floated high above them, reflecting bright reds and greens off of every surface. Most importantly, though, the lively establishment allowed for such last-minute plans and let them request and receive a booking all in the same night.

Before that night, Harry’s birthday plans were simple. They weren’t going to do anything too special, and he was fine with that. They’d all planned to gather at Harry’s, order takeaway, and sit around his place eating and talking, and it would have been spectacular.

Luna and Ginny, however, had had other plans.

“It’s your twenty-ninth birthday, Harry, we have to do something! I mean, I guess we don’t have to, but we have to, you know?” They’d said. “Let’s ring in this year the right way!”

Then, of course, once they got Draco in on it…

“Are you actually, genuinely turning down the rare chance to go out in a relatively private, low-key environment, get sloshed, and have a grand fucking time? Grow up, Potter, let’s go.”

And go they did.

After being offered the best room available—meaning, of course, one with private bar access, it took less than thirty minutes for everyone to be well on their way to embarrassing—but still fairly functional—levels of intoxication. This, of course, led to a couple of things.

For starters, it meant that the more performances they all gave, the more theatrical they became. Ron kicked things off with a bang, throwing his limbs around to “Mr. Brightside” before handing the mic over to his brother. George then sang “Bohemian Rhapsody” in its entirety with Luna and Ginny as backup. Luna in turn pulled Pansy up for a rousing rendition of “Bring Me to Life” in all its early 2000s alternative-rock glory. Pansy and Blaise, bless them, rapped all of “California Love”—no one knew when they’d learned it—and then immediately dragged the birthday boy up to do his version of “No Scrubs.”

Aside from the riveting shows of firewhisky-fueled talent, though, the general levels of intoxication also meant that the touching, laughing, hugging, and affectionate speeches were never-ending. Though each of the nine friends had different drunk personas, it seemed that somehow, on this remarkable night, their collective goal was to be the most obnoxiously sentimental person in the entire room.

And all this obnoxious sentiment meant that a certain Blaise Zabini and a certain Luna Lovegood were giving Harry and Draco sideways glances all night long.

“C’mon, Draco, it’s your turn!” Luna insisted, beaming with the kind of electric excitement only she could exude. “We’ve all done our solos, even Blaise. You have to.”

“Yeah, Draco, you have to,” Pansy smirked.

“I don’t mind—really I don’t, but what would I even sing? You lot took all the best ones,” Draco protested.

“Ooh, it’s almost midnight! Draco, why don’t you do the birthday song honors?” Luna clapped.

“I think that’s a fantastic idea, Lovegood, one of your best.” Blaise winked, hiding his smile with his glass.

Draco opened his mouth and closed it again, looking to object again but knowing there was no way out of it. He sighed, and just before he could take full advantage of his liquid courage, Potter toddled over. He leaned down, his gaze slightly glossy but still alarmingly sincere, and placed his hands on Draco’s knees.

“Draco, you’ve got to do it. It’s my birthday.” He tried to frown, but failed, choosing instead to grin like an idiot. “Unless you’re scared.”

Draco snorted as he rolled his eyes and rose from his chair, displacing Harry as he went. “Please, Potter, you’re embarrassing yourself.” He picked up the mic again, dimming the lights with his wand and taking his place. “If it’s a performance you all want, it’s a performance you’ll get.” He quietly cleared his throat, then brought the microphone close to his lips, eyelids dipping low and voice going sultry.

He sang slowly, tasting each syllable as it went.

Draco took a brief pause, focusing on the intense stare of the man of the hour himself. Harry had abandoned his drink almost as soon as Draco started singing, gaining a sudden interest in the subtle, seemingly involuntary sway of Draco’s hips.

He trailed off, flashing Harry a quick smile. He saw the muscle in Harry’s jaw twitch as he stared, Harry’s tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Everybody!” Draco prompted with a grin. He waved his arms like a conductor as Luna, George, Hermione, and Pansy ran up to take his place in singing a traditional birthday chorus. Draco chuckled under his breath as they began dancing and swinging each other around, more or less in keeping with the rhythm of their pitchy rendition. He walked off the stage to reclaim his seat on the plush sofa, looking to top off another glass of wine.

Harry, on the other hand, had different plans.

He slid across the settee towards Draco and placed a gentle hand on his leg, flirting with the seam on Draco’s inner thigh. Draco turned to look at him, quirking an eyebrow. A short moment passed before either of them said anything—Draco looking equal parts amused and confused, and Harry looking somehow both determined and unsure, and more than a little horny.

“You...um,” Harry paused, frowning. “You looked good—you look good, now, too. You’re fucking gorgeous is my point,” he blurted out before he could talk himself out of it.

“Yeah?” Draco let his amusement slip through his smile.

“Yeah.”

Draco watched as Harry’s gaze shifted to his mouth and never left. A small voice in the back of his head was positively screaming at the soft pressure of Harry’s warm hand on his thigh.

He let his own eyes fall as well and leaned in, ever so slightly, until Harry met him nearly halfway.

Their noses brushed, Draco’s breath ghosting over Harry’s parted lips, before Harry’s glass buzzed and shattered in his hand.

In his tipsy excitement, Harry’s magic had run away from him and crushed his empty glass. Quickly-melting ice immediately fell into his lap, and he jumped up, confusing his already staring friends.

Draco’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, his cheeks and neck flushing tellingly.

“Called it,” Luna singsonged, peeking over Pansy’s shoulder.

Blaise came up beside Luna and snorted, slinging an arm over her shoulders. “And he wanted to get takeaway instead.”