Must Kill Potter

A/N : uh, Hi! Still alive.

My very first H/D! :)

Genre : Humour/ Romance

Summary : Draco just has just one thing, and one thing only in his mind. He needs help. And he gets it – forcibly.

Warnings : Harry/Draco Slash slight A/U slight OOCs one OC probability of Crack!

Rating : T

Chapter One

Draco honestly didn't know how it happened. He swore he didn't do it. He banged his fist on the table with self-righteous indignation and even offered the use of Veritaserum on himself.

And of course, no one believed him. Not even that cow, Parkinson. And neither did McGonagall – if the set of her lips in a thinned, severe line was any indication. And Draco maintained, bellowed even, that he was being punished unjustly – the Universe was out to get him! He fumed, angrily kicking his feet in the wet, sludgy mud.

Draco huffed in annoyance and recalled the events once again.

OoOoO

It was a Thursday. Draco hated Thursdays – it was the most boring day of the week, right in the middle, neither here nor there. And mostly because Thursdays meant Double Transfiguration with the insufferable Gryffindorks, and two solid hours of that old bat McGonagall exuding severity in every sentence and showing (in Draco's astute opinion) blatant favouritism towards the incompetent fools belonging to her own House.

And so there he was, propped in his seat right after lunch, McGonagall's voice washing over him dully making its way into his sleepy brain, a low buzzing in his ears- explaining something about the precise wand movements used to Transfigure a chair into mice or some such nonsense – while he idly doodled on the parchment and stifled a yawn with great difficulty. Next to him, Pansy was jiggling her foot, steadily growing with impatience and force until the whole bench started to vibrate along with her. Annoyed, he looked up to tell her off and instead his eyes fell on a mop of messy black hair in the seat across from him.

Potter. Probably, the biggest Gryffindork ever, but Draco had to admit there were several worthy contenders.

The scruffy git was bent forward over his desk with his nose practically in his notes. His brows scrunched over his ridiculous glasses. His fringe covered up most of his forehead, where Draco knew that stupidly infamous scar was.

Stupid, famous, scruffy git! With the stupid glasses and his stupid ugly scar.

Draco narrowed his eyes at the Boy Who Persisted To Live. He hoped some of the malevolence that he was directing in his gaze would make Potter choke on his own tongue or something - a bloke could at least hope. The buzzing in his ears grew louder.

Potter's quill moved furiously over his parchment as he diligently seemed to be taking notes. Draco could see Potter's chicken scrawl adorning the parchment even from where he was sitting.

Stupid, arse-kissing, hairy Baboon. Probably was never taught to write legibly by those uncouth muggles.

Potter paused in his note-taking and frowned at his notes.

Stupid, brainless git.

He slightly scrunched up his nose and bit his lower lip, and idly twirled his quill between his fingers.

As Draco's eyes followed the quill, his brain vaguely noting that there may be a very hyperactive bee in his ear for all the buzzing that he could hear. As the quill twirled and swayed the number of bees seemed to be getting higher.

Suddenly the quill made its inexplicable journey towards Potter's mouth, and Draco watched as Potter's lips closed around tip of the eagle quill. The incessant buzzing seemed to stop for a heartbeat then returned with a hundred fold intensity, loud, confusing and compressing at the same time.

The events after that were all too blurry for Draco to recall no matter how hard he tried. All that he could remember was that time seemed to slow incredibly, yet somehow fly past at an alarming rate – if that makes sense, even Draco couldn't make sense of it. One moment he was flying through the air past Pansy's shocked face, and green eyes behind round frames whipped towards him in surprise…and the next moment he was being choked by his own collar as someone was yanking it from behind, someone was screeching in his ear, and out of the corner of his eye he could see a huge huddle of people bent over something, he could see a bit of bushy, brown hair in the middle of the crowd.

"Mr Weasley desist immediately, or it'll be a year's worth of detentions!" screeched McGonagall over all the mayhem, and not a moment too soon as Draco felt the grip on his collar slacken and the darkness enveloping the corners of his vision retreat. He slumped to the ground and took ragged breaths against the stone floor. Suddenly, he was kicked by a boot in the stomach.

"Mr Weasley!" McGonagall yelled again, her voice nearing shrillness of a cat doused with ice cold water.

Draco slumped further down and clutched at his gut. Then, he was being yanked up roughly by the arm and pulled to his feet unsteadily. His vision swam and sound waves seemed to be missing most of his ears.

"…- yes, Miss Granger…now!... – may, Weas - …-sit-…-I return!"

Dimly aware that he was being dragged through corridors, Draco tried to get his bearings together. There still seemed to be a hornet's nest in his head, the buzzing was starting to feel bloody annoying – thank you very much. And it wasn't until he was being pushed roughly into a chair and force fed Ginger Snaps, that the buzzing go down and his head cleared. This may not have been such a good thing as the angry, red face of McGonagall came into focus just a few inches from his nose.

Draco gulped inspite of himself and shrunk a little lower in the chair. Her eyes were furious slits and the lips were drawn into the thinnest line he had ever seen – which meant she was pissed, mighty pissed. Draco gulped again.

"Mr Malfoy," she began in almost a whisper, her teeth clenched, and Draco shivered under her gaze. "Can you, please, explain your actions in class – in my class - just now?"

Draco had to give the old bat some credit, she could be nearly as intimidating and frightening as Snape was – and Snape was scary! Draco had heard Slytherin lore about their Head of House and what would happen if one got on his wrong side – a particularly popular one had Snape simply staring down his nose at one such unlucky sod, who had then promptly fallen down weeping inconsolably, proceeded to suffer a nervous breakdown and had to be taken to St Mungo's, where he then spent the next twenty odd years trying to unsuccessfully choke on his own tongue. Yeah, Snape was scary.

"Mr Malfoy!" McGonagall hissed, snapping Draco out of his reverie wondering how exactly one went about choking on their tongue.

"er…actions?" Draco said working his tongue around the chewed bits of biscuit in his mouth.

"Yes, Malfoy! Your actions! What were you thinking? And how dare you do it in my classroom?" McGonagall was doing the shrill cat-screech again, and Draco wished she wouldn't – it was making his head hurt, along with everything else that was aching in his body.

"uh…what exactly did I do?" Draco finished meekly as McGonagall's face attained several more shades of furious red and her lips thinned more – if that was possible.

And now that he considered it, Draco really didn't know what had happened, and that was alarming to him to say the least. The last thing he remembered was Weasley attempting to strangulate him, and before that there was something about Potter…Potter! That's it! There was something involving Potter. Something he did involving Potter. Something he did to Potter!

Dear Merlin! No!

And then Draco promptly started choking on his tongue, inadvertently answering his own previous question.

McGonagall thumped him on the back until his choking subsided into a hacking cough, spewing bits of Ginger Snap everywhere.

"Thanks," Draco gasped. McGonagall shrugged, something in her expression told him that she had saved his life a tad reluctantly. Cow!

Still, this was the time for desperate measures and faked politeness.

"um…Professor? Could you please tell me what exactly have I done? – I don't seem to recall too well…" Draco added the awkward laugh at the end for good measure.

McGonagall's face took on a pinched look and her nostrils flared, she seemed to think he was purposefully riling her up by being cheeky. Old, tartan-wearing batty cow!

As McGonagall paused to consider whether to humour him or beat him over the head with the biscuit tin, Draco held his breath and prayed, prayed that he hadn't done something, something that would force him to perform an Avada over himself.

"I have never seen a student behave in my class in such a way!" she burst out angrily, her mouth set in a stern line.

Draco prayed some more.

"I must impress upon you the seriousness of the statement when I say that such conduct will not be tolerated in this school –ever!"

Draco entertained the thought of doing a good deed for once in his life, even help the Firsties over the Trick Stair instead of pushing them in it – but, Merlin, please!

"Physically assaulting a fellow student! And especially when it was absolutely unprovoked. Shameful-!"

"Wait. I just punched Potter? Oh, by Morgana's flying bloomers! Thank you!" Draco said none too fervently. And now that he finally noticed it, his hand was a bit bruised around the knuckles, he hadn't felt the throbbing as it was lost in the overall numbness of his body.

McGonagall paused mid-rant and gave him a withering look.

"Yes, Malfoy. You 'just' punched Mr Potter in the jaw! And may I ask you to explain your actions before I give you a year's worth of detentions?"

"He must have deserved it! I didn't do it!" Draco proclaimed promptly. Relieved enormously that he 'just' socked Potter, his brain instantly reverted to the old Slytherin tried and tested stand-byes – when guilty, deny.

"You didn't do it?" McGonagall repeated slowly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Yes!" said Draco. "I don't even remember punching him!"

"You don't remember," she repeated in a dry tone.

"Aha," Draco nodded.

"One moment I was looking at his quill," Draco suddenly felt himself blushing for some reason but brushed it away, "and then I was being murdered by Weasley!"

McGonagall raised an eyebrow at him, clearly disbelieving, and then walked around the desk to sit in her high-backed tartan chair.

"You don't remember assaulting a fellow student and creating a ruckus in my class?" she asked in an even tone, with what was a laudable amount of patience.

Draco nodded again. He was aware that he was starting to resemble a bobble-head.

McGonagall continued to peer at him, her fingers steepled in front of her – it was such a Dumbledore-ish thing that Draco stifled a snort. After a few minutes of absolute silence Draco started to fidget nervously under the unblinking gaze and had an overwhelming urge to say something or even confess– damn, that was effective. Must remember to try it out on someone next time.

"uh…I really don't know what happened. But I didn't punch Potter—er, not consciously!" he added hastily as her eyes narrowed.

He looked down at the knuckles of his right hand and felt McGonagall's gaze on it too. He gulped.

"So I might have punched him," he said quietly looking into his lap. But his head shot up the next instant, coming up with various possibilities.

"But I wasn't aware of doing it! Honest! It was like – it was like I was bewitched! I had no idea of what I was doing! Yeah – I might have even been Imperiused!" he said with conviction in his voice now. Being Imperiused – it certainly explained why he didn't remember doing it, Merlin knew he would enjoy socking Potter's ugly mug, even lovingly preserve it in memory, and so the most logical explanation for him completely blacking out the event would be –

"You mean someone placed you under an Imperius curse – an Unforgivable, whose use guarantees a life sentence in Azkaban – just so that you could punch Potter?"

"Yes?" he chanced meekly. McGonagall's eyebrow ascended dangerously towards her hair line.

"Its probable –Potter does have many enemies," he tried to rally weakly. "It's the only explanation!"

McGonagall stared at him and then pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Mr Malfoy, you've wasted enough of my time today. I refuse to further listen to your nonsense-"

"Its not nonsense! I'm willing to testify under Veritaserum!" Draco hoped his desperate bluff would work.

"—to your nonsense. Detention every Thursday with Mr Filch for a month! Report at eight O'clock tonight for you first detention. Now, kindly remove yourself from my office."

Draco sensed that she dearly wanted to drag him off by the ear out of the office and hastily made for the door. Only, the door swung inwards before he could take a few steps towards it and Draco's heart jumped into his throat as watched Snape enter with much flapping of robes, closely followed by Dumbledore.

"Mr Malfoy," Dumbledore acknowledged him, as he stood rooted to the spot and probably gaped like a fish. Snape had just deposited himself in of the chairs without comment; he strangely avoided looking at Draco. Oh, this really couldn't bode well for him.

"Headmaster!" McGonagall sounded as surprised as he was. "Mr Malfoy was just leaving."

"Oh, that would not do, I'm afraid. Mr Malfoy is very much needed here," Dumbledore seemed amused and he bloody twinkled his eyes at Draco.

"uh," said Draco intelligently.

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed solemnly.

"Albus?" McGonagall sounded confused.

"Minerva," he said politely.

"Malfoy?" she asked bewildered.

"Ginger Snaps!" exclaimed the old, twinkly-eyed fool.

"uh," Draco said trying to slink away to the door before anyone noticed.

"Malfoy!" McGonagall roared catching him in the act.

"Professor!" Draco whinged and tried to appeal to his Head of House.

"Severus!" she said warningly.

"Severus," Dumbledore said mildly, biting into a biscuit.

"Oh, for the love of Merlin!" Snape finally shouted. Which finally had the happy effect of everyone freezing to look at him, and Dumbledore happily popped another treat into his mouth.

"Albus, what do you want?" McGonagall tried again. "And why does Mr Malfoy need to be here? I don't know if you've found out but Mr Malfoy here-"

"Assaulted Potter? Yes, we know, thank you," Snape interrupted. "How do you know he did it? Or if he wasn't bewitched to do it?" he asked blithely looking at his fingernails.

Draco silently cheered his Professor on.

McGonagall's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. She opened her mouth to argue but Dumbledore raised a palm for her to stop.

"Minerva, no one is questioning whether Mr Malfoy is guilty or not. I'm sure there are a classroom full of witnesses," Dumbledore's lips quirked up a little.

Why that partial, old coot! It was just not fair! Wasn't there any justice anymore? Did no one needed to hear the other side of things? Draco fumed silently and bemoaned his own victim state.

"And I'm also certain that Mr Malfoy wasn't under any bewitchment either," his beard twitched as he glanced at Snape.

Draco was outraged. That was a lie! Enchantment was the only logical explanation! May be the whole thing was a conspiracy by the old, barmy I-luv-Gryffindor coot. Yes! It was apparent that he was always jealous of his good looks and the Malfoy name. And this was all a convoluted plan to make Draco's life miserable. Maybe the coot had himself placed him under Imperius! It was a plot by both Potter and Dumbledore! To make him punch Potter so that he grievously injured his hand! Thereby incapacitating him! Yes! What a nefarious plan…

"I've already established that and Malfoy would be serving detention with Filch," McGonagall said interrupting Draco's silent fuming and wilful thoughts that were growing more fantastical by the second.

"Oh, that won't be necessary, Minerva," Dumbledore said starting on his third biscuit; he looked up to see McGonagall's shocked expression. "Oh, don't worry, Mr Malfoy here will be attending detention –but not with Mr Filch."

She looked confused, which was exactly how Draco was feeling and more because Snape seemed to be determined to not look at him.

"Are you aware of a new decree passed by the Ministry, Mr Malfoy?" Dumbledore turned to look at Draco standing stupidly in the middle of the room.

"uh."

That sounded so clever, Draco mentally smacked himself.

"Educational Decree Number One-Hundred And Thirty-Four," Dumbledore recited looking back at McGonagall, "It states that every educational institution in Britain is required to have on the staff a trained professional who would specifically cater to the needs of the students' psychological needs, helping to cope with stress, dilemmas or any excessive demands on their fragile, developing minds – to ensure the well-being of their mental states and healthy development of their psyches. The professional would also help students cope with emotional states, common to the developing adolescents, and offer adequate help in a friendly, secure, lawful and professional manner."

McGonagall looked gob-smacked, while Snape covered his eyes with a hand, Dumbledore just looked amused and hummed to himself. Draco just wanted to hit his head on something hard as he got an inkling to what exactly all this had to do with him.

"The Ministry sent the 'trained professional' this morning, and he is delighted to begin his work at Hogwarts and eager to help our student population," Dumbledore began mildly after a few minutes lapsed. "And Mr Malfoy I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that you'll be the first one to receive his professional help and guidance to cope with any or all emotional or psychological problems that had surely caused you to attack a fellow classmate without provocation."

Dumbledore wasn't laughing but Draco knew he was enjoying himself immensely.

"Minerva," he addressed the stunned Professor, "we must welcome to our staff the very capable Mr D J Prod –seems like a capital fellow."

"uh," Draco groaned miserably.

McGonagall stared, Snape still covered his eyes and Dumbledore twinkled.

A/N : uh…review please? Pretty please? :)