Vegas Vacation- a Drarry fanfic

Setting

Las Vegas, Nevada May 2003

As Harry exited the plane, he was hit in the face by a blast of hot dry heat coming out between the seams of the gangway. The closer he got to the building, the cooler it got, but the numbing blanket of a magic block settled over him as soon as he reached the terminal. It was a strange feeling, one that made him want to rub his fingers together, the absence of his magic was unsettling. It was like touching a scar. His magic was still in him, it just felt like it was locked up, or as if it was sleepy and too lazy to answer his call.

MANCUSA had put a magic block over all gambling areas in the US as far back as the 1920’s, because gambling and magic just didn’t mix. Let’s just say, the odds just didn’t go the right way when wizards were involved. This was the reason why Harry had chosen Vegas for his vacation: wizards and witches avoided Las Vegas, and Harry wanted to avoid witches and wizards. It was a no brainer.

Harry entered the terminal and almost gasped at the amount of color and sound that hit him. Las Vegas was about as far away from Diagon Ally as you could get, the amount of technology and electronics alone was enough to strike a bloke dumb. The slot machines buzzed and tinkled with sounds of electronic music, and bright colors assaulted his eyes. There were so many American muggles and they just seemed bigger and louder than their British counterparts.

Harry hitched his bag over his shoulder, so glad he hadn’t shrunk it down, because if he had, he would’ve been stuck with very tiny clothes and a Barbie sized toothbrush for the week. He headed for the sign that said Taxi, and again a furnace blast hit him as the doors slid open. Harry relaxed in the warmth, it was better than any fireplace or a warming charm he’d ever felt. The heat soaked into his bones, and he blinked in the bright bright sunlight; he was going to need to buy some sunglasses. The sky above him was turquoise blue, and not a wisp of a cloud was in sight. If this was Vegas in May, what the hell would July be like? He looked out to the road where a line of taxicabs went down the street, and a line of people stood at the curb in front of him. Like a conveyor belt, taxicabs filled with people and bags, quickly taking off, only to be replaced by the next taxi in line. Harry hustled into line and quickly found himself at the front, when a taxi pulled up and he opened the door to get in.

As soon as the taxi pulled up to his hotel, Harry knew he was in a different world. Kingsley had recommended the casino to him, he said it had just had its grand opening and he, as the Minister of Magic, had been invited by some member of MANCUSA trying to get on his good side. It was like a modern palace - a palace of gold. Muggles were buzzing in and out like bees in a golden metal hive. Harry got out, paid his driver and walked through the ornate doors. It was cool inside, and there were plants everywhere like a cool tropical garden. He followed the signs and made his way through check in. When the man was telling him how to find his room, Harry tried to listen carefully. But the guy was a rather fit bloke with nice full lips, and Harry saw him talking, but came out of a fog later to only to hear: “Thank you for choosing the Wynn Mr. Potter, we hope you enjoy your stay.”

Harry blushed a little,stammered out a thank you, and moved quickly away, his heart beating a little too quickly.

Bugger, he groaned to himself. He hadn’t had a real date in years. He tried to remember the last time he’d even kissed a man and failed. Dating was complicated for Harry, you see though all his close friends and family knew he was gay and accepted him, he wasn’t really out to the wizarding world. He was aware that many in the general public had theories about his sexuality ever since he broke up with Ginny, but Harry had to keep some parts of himself private. Sometimes he would go to muggle clubs, but he couldn’t bring those blokes home, so it was their place or the loo. Sometimes he used Polyjuice and hooked up with a wizard, but he still couldn’t bring them home, and having sex in someone else’s body was just weird.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Harry looked for signs and at the little cardboard envelope with his key and the room number on it: Room 1520, Wynn Tower. How hard could it be? I mean, he’d found platform 9 and 3/4 when he was 11, he could do this at 24.

About 20 minutes later, Harry admitted defeat. He had become very distracted by the slot machines and black jack tables; there were pretty young woman in short skirts with trays of cocktails wandering about - not really Harry’s cup of tea but still nice to look at - and others walking around, calling out KENO. So much to see, but no room 1520. Finally, he saw an elevator that said Wynn Tower and worked his way through the busy casino floor, until he was safely on board, and before he knew it, he was unlocking the door to his home away from home.

Harry gasped when he saw the room. It was huge, bigger, brighter and cleaner than than any room in Number 12 Grimmauld Place. It had floor to ceiling windows across one wall that looked out onto the city. All neon and plastic, Las Vegas seemed to stretch out flat until it ran into a rim crusty brown mountains. There were palm trees and plants between buildings, but as you looked out to where the buildings ended, everything beyond was baked and brown. The heat shimmered off the tops of the buildings, and everything looked impossibly bright, as though the sun had come too close to the earth.

Harry turned away to survey the room. The bed was big and white, piled with plump pillows. He made his way around the room with a big TV, its own couch and chairs. There was a small bar set up on a chest with a tray of macaroons and chocolates, and under it a small fridge. The bathroom was just as fancy, with a tub big enough for all three Dursleys to take a soak.

Harry hummed happily, he might never leave! He took a wild jump and landed on the bed and rolled over to inspect the folders on the bedside table. There were several different restaurants listed, as well as clubs and bars. All of it looked intimidating to Harry, and he could already tell he didn’t have the right clothes to wear. Well, he’d just take a big bath, wrap up in the lush robe hanging from the back of the bathroom door and order room service. Merlin, they had even left him slippers to wear.

Soon he was settled in the bathtub, bubbles around him, the hum of the air conditioner muffling the sounds of Las Vegas outside the window. It had been a long time since Harry could relax. He wiggled his fingers, the numbness of the magic block only slightly unsettling now. This is what he needed: to go far away from political demands, from people fawning over him, from people trying to use him. Even now, seven years after the war, people were still expecting things from Harry. Other than his closest friends and the Weasleys, he couldn’t really trust anyone’s motives. Either they thought he was untouchable, or they wanted to take him down a notch; no one ever just let him be. After the war, he had struggled through the funerals, the trials, through the Ministry reform and the political battles. He was sought after as a speaker, a spokesman and a lobbyist, but the only work he truly enjoyed was helping George with the store. Staying in the background, managing inventory, developing new product, working on payroll and purchase orders. Slowly those around him - his friends and family - paired up and procreated. Ron and Hermione married and had two children - Rose and Hugo. George married Angelina and now they had little Fred. Even Ginny, who had spent the last 5 years playing international Quidditch, was engaged to an Irish bloke named Finn. It’s not that they pushed Harry out of their life, he just kind of existed on the edge, the proverbial third wheel. It hit him one day, as he had got his fourth invite to an event in memory of the Final Battle, that people had even stopped adding “plus one” to his invites. Well, this year was going to be different, he wasn’t even going to stay in the same country to remember that horrible day. He was going to be somewhere where he was anonymous. He was going to have a romantic adventure! Well, not tonight. Tomorrow!

He looked over the room service menu and called down his order of a very American hamburger and french fries. Who were they kidding? They were just chips. He was trying to figure out how to work the telly, when there was a knock on the door and a muffled: “room service.“

Harry grabbed some cash for a tip and opened the door, but when he looked up, his heart stopped. His ears buzzed, and he suddenly felt fuzzy around the edges, because there before him, clad in a golden vest and black slacks, stood Draco Malfoy. Harry did the most sensible thing he could do: he shut the door right in Malfoy’s face. The last thing he heard was a very startled: “Potter?!” and a very loud thump.

Fuck …fuck …fuck…was it really Malfoy??

He quickly peaked out the peephole, but there was no one there. Shit, he had no magic and a fluffy robe was the only thing he was wearing. He pulled a hanger out of the closet for protection and opened the door slowly. There, sprawled on the floor, surrounded by fries and two hamburger buns, was Draco Malfoy in a Wynn Resort uniform. His blond hair was cut short, and he still was thin but looked much healthier than he did when Harry spoke at his trial. At the moment he looked pale, a lump swelling on his forehead, but he still had a bit of a golden tan. Yup, Draco Malfoy, all long and lean, still elegant even in his faint.

Harry crouched down next to him. Taking a closer look,he realized that Malfoy was at least breathing. Harry giggled despite himself, and the line from his favorite old movie came into his head: of all the gin joints in all the towns in the world, he had to walk into Malfoy’s. Malfoy’s head wobbled back and forth as Harry shook him gingerly,...out cold. Harry began to worry ; Malfoy must have hit his head really hard.. Harry quickly scooped up the food from the floor into the little metal lid that covered the plate and set it aside. He leaned down and grabbed Draco under his arms, and pulled him into the bathroom. He stopped right inside the door and quickly grabbed a flannel, running it under the cold water. He knelt next to Draco and wiped it over his face and held it against the back of his neck.

...

Draco’s head was pounding, he felt a little nauseous. He slowly came to consciousness, where was he? On the floor. His fingernails scratched at the cold tile under him. What happened? Was he at work? He slowly opened his eyes and there, grinning down at him, was Harry fucking Potter. Draco jerked away.

“Potter? What the fuck are you doing here?” Draco spat and then moaned, squeezing his eyes shut. He grimaced and clutched his head again.

He closed his eyes, maybe this was a dream? He’d had them about Harry before. Okay, they were different kinds of dreams, often involving quidditch leathers and a steamy locker room, but he was pretty sure Harry was wearing a Wynn bathrobe, so the dream had potential. He opened his eyes just enough to peek through his lashes, and there was Potter, still smiling, still hovering over him. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, but no one could mistake the scar and those beautiful green eyes.

“Can you get up?” Dream Potter asked.

“No,” Draco replied, but struggled up and leaned back against the wall. Things spun for a moment, but he was beginning to feel a little clearer. “I’m not dreaming, am I?”

“Nope.” Potter chuckled.” I guess you were as surprised to see me as I was you.”

Draco looked up into the green eyes and nodded, taking a moment to take Potter in. Potter in all his terry clothed glory. The bastard had matured. He was square-jawed and had a five o’clock shadow of a beard. His hair was longer, and the front was pulled up into a messy bun. He was taller and broader than Draco ever imagined scrawny Potter could become: a broad brown chest with a patch of brown hair showing at the top of the robe, and thick strong thighs covered in coarse dark hair peeked out from under his robe.

“You’ve got a pretty good goose egg on your forehead,” Potter said, moving to the ice bucket, where he wrapped some cubes up in the flannel. “Can you hold it on your head?”

Draco nodded again and pressed it to his forehead.

Potter settled down on the floor, his back against the opposite wall, and looked a little awkward. Rubbing his face with his broad hands, he chuckled again. “This is just crazy Malfoy, what are you doing in Vegas?”

“Hiding, I thought,” Draco said quietly, “did you come to take me back?”

“NO! No, of course not. I’m just here on vacation,“ Harry sputtered, “I came here because I thought no one would know me. Christ, Malfoy…” He let out a sigh.

Draco looked at the floor, and a little feeling of deja-vu swept over him. He let out a giggle and a rather unbecoming snort; the more he tried to hold it back, the more he snorted.

“What’s with you and bathrooms, Potty?” He finally laughed out in a kind of hysterical whisper.

Harry gave him a confused look and tilted his head to the side. Draco could see the moment he got the joke, as Harry turned bright red, and Draco prepared for the telling off he was about to receive. But as he watched, Potter’s face lit up, he opened his mouth and let out the biggest and best belly laugh Draco had ever heard. Potter beamed at him, and Draco beamed back, it was kind of spectacular... then Draco remembered where he was and suddenly became aware of time.

“Shit, I have to get back downstairs, my shift is probably over. I need to punch out or I’ll get into trouble,” Draco said as he struggled to his feet.

Harry stood up and put his hands out as if to spot Draco in case he went tumbling back to the floor. Trying to master some dignity, Draco paused, straightened out his clothes, and handed the flannel back.

“Thank you, Potter,” he said in a stilted voice and started towards the door, a little dizzy but feeling more in control. He spotted the empty plate and the lid filled with ruined food. “I’ll bring you back some dinner after I punch out, and you can tell me why the most powerful wizard in the world would come to a magicless desert for vacation, okay? “ He asked, looking Potter full in the face for the first time and giving him the Malfoy smirk.

“Ahh there’s the Malfoy I know and, I mean…ummm sure...” Harry stuttered and blushed…. Adorable, thought Draco and then shook his head a little at the thought, which sent him reeling and clutching at his head again as he stumbled out the door with a hamburger patty squished in the treads of his shoe.