Disclaimer: Not mine, though I wish they were.
Title: Mucking
Author: Luceid
Summary: Harry and Draco get stuck mucking out stalls as punishment. When Harry gets hurt for Draco's sake, what's Draco going to do about it?
Spoilers: up to and including OotP
Warning: This will eventually be slash, which means guy-on-guy action, w00t!
A/N: Please note that even tho I'm coming out with bunches of new stories, I will continue the old ones. Thanks.
PS: Thank you to Tinanit Enozym, Kris, Ply, lovestruckbyanelf, kitty12perfecto, "On My Command, Sir", kendra1117, Someone, and Ebony Catastrophe for reviewing before my repost. It's because of you all that I got back on track!
Chapter 1
Harry laughed as Draco scrunched his nose up delicately.
"This is disgusting!"
"What did you expect, Malfoy? We aren't exactly picking flowers."
They were doing quite the opposite, actually. Mucking out the stalls of the thestrals had been their punishment for fighting. Again. They'd been in a lot of fights lately, and the teachers believed that shared detentions might do them some good. It hadn't.
Draco looked warily into the stalls. He could hear the beasts, but he sure as hell couldn't see them. Past experiences with Hagrid's pets-- his arm twinged in sympathy as it remembered a certain hippogriff-- hadn't exactly made him the daring type in this sort of situation. Harry had noticed. So, trying to make a miserable situation like sharing a room and a day with Malfoy enjoyable, he walked up to one of the stalls and petted the animal inside. Malfoy took a step back at the pleased, crooning noises coming from the invisible creature. Harry paid close attention it for a while, then looked up at Malfoy's nervous expression as if just noticing his discomfort. He tried to put on an expression of mock-concern but failed miserably.
"Why, Malfoy, I do believe you're scared," Harry said, grinning.
Draco looked indignantly at Harry, and took a step toward him angrily.
"I'm am not afraid of anything, Potter!"
The thestral thought that this was the best time to let out a shrill whinny, causing Draco to stumble backwards and trip over the handle of a shovel, to land undignifyingly flat on his back.
"So is that the Malfoy grace you're always blathering on about?" Harry asked as he walked over to stand beside the prostate Slytherin, leaning down to offer his hand. "I don't need your help, Potter," spat Draco, getting up on his own and dusting straw off his designer jeans. Harry just shrugged, and, picking up a shovel and handing Draco one of his own, said," We'd better get to work if we want to finish this before supper."
So the two boys set to work. Had anyone been around, they might have heard Draco muttering something under his breath about Harry, thestrals, and a well-placed hex. However, contrary to popular opinion, they actually cooperated rather well, after a time. Harry removed the creatures from their respective stalls, and then Draco shoveled the muck. Harry scoured them clean (no magic!), followed by Draco replacing the straw. After about an hour and a half of this, they had mutually decided on a small break. Both sat down on bales of hay, facing each other. Harry wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his oversized Dudley hand-me-downs while Draco took out a small silver-coloured kerchief and dabbed his pale skin. Harry grinned. Draco raised one eyebrow at him, as if to say, What idiotic thought has run through your big Gryffindor head now? Harry, of course, answered accordingly.
"I bet this is the first time you've actually had to do work in your life, Malfoy."
Draco shot Harry a superior glance and sniffed," Malfoys are above these menial jobs. Though I'm quite sure that this is a step up for you, Potter."
"Heh, I bet you've never even done enough to break a sweat before, you lazy prat."
Ignoring the last bit, Draco returned, "I get an adequate amount of exercise with Quidditch, thank-you very much. And Malfoys don't sweat, we glisten."
Harry snorted.
Draco opened his mouth to shoot an insult at Harry when he felt something tug on the back of his shirt. When he tried to pull away, it just pulled harder. Draco could feel hot breath on the back of his neck, and he was starting to panic. He looked at Harry, wide-eyed, and yelped, "Potter, what's got me? Oh, fuck! Help me, dammit!"
Harry stood up and quickly made his way over to Draco. He grabbed whatever it was that had his rival, and grunted as he struggled to push it away. Draco tried to turn, to see his attacker, but he couldn't get a glimpse of her/him/it. Breathe, Draco. Calm down. Potter's got it , he told himself. Then Draco heard a cry of pain, and, after a moment, realized it was Harry's. "Aagh! Bloody hell!" He heard Harry hiss in pain, and saw him stumble back, grasping his bleeding arm tightly. Now Draco was scared. He started to panic, flailing about to the point of beating whatever-it-was with his fists as it got a good hold on his neck. When he felt two sharp fangs starting to pierce his skin, he pulled away from the creature with all his might, resulting in the loud rrrrriiip of his shirt and the painful tearing of his flesh. He fell forward and landed sprawled on the dirt floor by Harry's feet.
Draco wasn't exactly sure what was going on. All he knew was that his expensive shirt-- the one he had gotten in seven different colors because he had liked it so much-- was ripped from the neck all the way down his back. Said neck had his blood, wet and warm and surely bright, oozing down the side, and, having fallen flat on his face on a barn floor, he was sure that whatever was on his left cheek was certainly not dirt. As his prone position was not the best vantage point to be had, he didn't see what happened next.
Did I create a new word? "undignifyingly." Hmmm. Indeed.
I really like this much better than the first version. Tell me what you think!
Review please!