A/N v.2: Doodly doodly doodly PURGE TIME. XD
This fic makes 25 out of my desired 40 [or 50, depending], which is 62.5% done, woot!
I had some issues with my muse [it's been happening more and more often], so I went prompt-hunting. I found a couple Drarry prompts I liked on Tumblr, so I wrote them. This is based on: "Draco as the leader of the Inquisitorial Squad discovers about the detention that Harry was suffering under Umbridge's hand." A big thanks to my little sis, who helped me remember what exactly happened during fifth year. And this reminds me, I need to get Attention typed up, too.
Reviews, as always, feed me. As do faves and alerts. You guys make me feel loved and happy and like there's nothing wrong with the world. You rescue my fragile self-esteem. Constructive criticism is always appreciated as well. Other than that, I do hope you enjoy Detention. :)
DISCLAIMER: I saw this really clever one on one of black. k. kat's [take out the spaces and the 's]stories [she's a good writer, she does a lot of Bleach and Torchwood stuff. Check her out!]: Dis (not) - claim (mine) - er (no, really)
Detention
Harry winced as the pain in his hand began to increase. He glanced at his left hand and winced again at the sight of the words I must not tell lies being etched deeper into his flesh. The skin around the chicken-scratch letters was already swollen and inflamed, still not fully healed from the previous night's detention. The essence of dittany helped the pain, of course, but it didn't speed up the healing process.
Suddenly, Harry heard a crash come from above. He instinctively looked toward the ceiling, which, unsurprisingly, wasn't affected. Harry quickly came to the realization that something heavy had fallen to the floor in the room directly above Umbridge's. Had it been Fred and George? Peeves?
"Hem, hem," came Umbridge's girlish voice. "Mr. Potter, please return to your lines. I will go and investigate the source of this disturbance. I trust you will do nothing…unseemly while I am gone, or you shall face severe consequences upon my return." She smiled sweetly at Harry and scurried out of the room.
"Horrid old bat," Harry muttered, and put the quill down for a minute to let the pain die down. He considered completely skipping out detention, but decided against it immediately with a shudder. He really didn't want to face the 'severe consequences' that Toadface had mentioned.
As he flexed his hand, trying to ease the cramped muscles, a knock sounded at the , he began writing again. "Professor Umbridge?" came a silken voice, and Harry nearly dropped the quill in surprise. This was just perfect. The one person he didn't want to see his pain and humiliation was standing outside the door. Please don't come in, Harry prayed mentally. Please don't see me like this. But luck didn't seem to be with him, because a moment later, the door opened and Malfoy sauntered in. "Professor Umbridge?" the Slytherin asked again.
"She's not here," Harry said without looking up from the paper. "She went to go 'investigate' some noise. What are you doing out of bed so close to curfew anyway, Malfoy?"
"I could ask the same of you, Potter," Malfoy replied. Harry could almost hear the sneer in Malfoy's voice.
The scratching of the quill paused as Harry looked up at Malfoy and quirked an eyebrow. "Sorting fan mail," Harry deadpanned, sarcasm evident in his voice. He returned to his lines. "Detention, Malfoy. I've answered your question; now answer mine."
Malfoy was silent for a minute, no doubt weighing the pros and cons of telling Harry, but eventually he said, "There's a Gobstones Club meeting secretly in an abandoned classroom on the fifth floor after dinner each night."
"That's right, you're a part of the Inquisitorial Squad, aren't you, Malfoy? Been docking points, have you? Do you enjoy the looks of sadness on the first years' faces?" Harry asked, not bothering to hide the disdain that was no doubt leaking into his voice.
"They deserve it for breaking the rules," Malfoy said harshly. "And I'm the leader of the Squad, Potter. Learn to treat your betters with respect."
"I will treat you with respect when you deserve it," Harry quipped. He really didn't even know why he was still talking to Malfoy. They would just end up fighting, as always, and where would that land him with Toadface? But for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to stop. Was he secretly masochistic? He didn't know. If anything, at least the conversation kept his mind off of the pain in his left hand.
Harry heard Malfoy shut the door and advance towards where Harry was seated. "Look here, Potter," he began heatedly, but then he seemed to notice something, because all the anger left his voice to be replaced by morbid curiosity. "Potter, what's that on your hand?" he asked.
Harry immediately pulled the hand into his lap. "It's nothing," he said quickly. But he couldn't hide a wince when the sudden movement aggravated his hand.
"It's not nothing, Potter," Malfoy argued. "Let me see."
"I told you, it's nothing!" Harry snapped. But his writing began to slow a little as the pain grew more intense.
Luckily, Malfoy let the matter drop. "What's she having you do for detention, Potter?" he asked airily.
"What is it with you and the questions?" Harry muttered angrily, but under his breath. "What does it look like?" he said at normal volume. "Writing lines." He grit his teeth to fight the pain.
Malfoy glanced around and watched Harry write a few lines. Suddenly, Harry dreaded the next question that Malfoy was no doubt going to ask. "Without any ink?" Malfoy asked incredulously, and Harry groaned silently.
"It's, um, self-inking," he improvised. And it was true, in a way. The quill just drew its ink from Harry's blood.
Suddenly, Malfoy grabbed Harry's shoulder with both hands and began twisting, sending pain shooting through Harry's right arm as well as his left. "What the hell, Malfoy?" Harry yelled, instinctively pulling his left hand up to pry off Malfoy. "Get off me!"
Quick as a flash, Malfoy dropped Harry's shoulder and grabbed his wrist, turning his hand so that the palm faced down. "I must not tell lies," he mumbled, reading the cuts out loud. Suddenly, his eyes widened and flickered back and forth between Harry's hand and the paper a few times. His mouth dropped slowly as all the pieces finally connected for him. "She's having you write lines in your own blood?" he nearly screeched.
Harry glared at Malfoy, annoyed. "Yes, and it hurts damn bad, Malfoy, so please let go of my hand before I hex you, consequences be damned."
Malfoy dropped Harry's hand as if he'd been burnt. "God, Potter, I had no clue," he said.
That was it. Harry had had enough. He jumped out of the seat and nearly flew around the desk to push Malfoy up against the closed door, anger no doubt shining brightly in his eyes. He was tired and hurt and humiliated and sick of being ignored and he would die before he ever accepted Malfoy's mock sympathy, just for the blonde bastard to backstab him later. Harry Potter was many things, but he was not weak or insecure, and he definitely did not let his guard down. He would not stand for this mockery, from Malfoy of all people. He grabbed both of Malfoy's wrists and pinned them against the door. His knee spread Malfoy's legs apart, and he held down Malfoy's lower with his own waist, all the while trying to ignore the parts of their bodies that were touching.
"What would you have done if you did know, Malfoy?" he spat. "Gotten me into detention faster? Whispered nasty untruths about me to Umbridge? Spread rumors about how I'm a madman who self-harms? Look at the Golden Lunatic, so affected by his hallucinations that he's been brought to cut himself, been brought down to the level of carving a reminder into his own skin to maybe bring himself out of his ravings. Who knew all Voldemort had to do to defeat him was drown him in his madness? It's a right laugh, isn't it, Malfoy? Well, you know what you can do with your damn pity? You can shove it up your ass, because I am damn sick of everybody pretending to care, while really they're off whispering behind my back about how the Savior's gone crazy. And you're no different, Malfoy. Always talking about how the Boy-Who-Lived isn't so glamorous, always mocking me, insulting me, putting me down. Well, guess what? Not anymore. Not now. I refuse to be mocked by such a pathetic person! You make me sick, Malfoy!" He was nearly yelling by now, but he didn't care anymore. He saw Malfoy's eyes widen a bit in fear and felt a vindictive pleasure at the sight.
Then Malfoy's eyes narrowed again, back to that familiar haughty expression, as he tried fighting back against Harry. "Unhand me, Potter!" he cried. "Unhand me this instant! Don't you know better than to manhandle your superiors? Oh, just wait until my father hears about this! He'll have your head—"
Harry tuned him out at this point, trying to rein in his own anger. It hadn't been right to just explode like this, not even to Malfoy. No matter how angry Harry was, he couldn't just vent on other people. And he hated to admit it, but no matter how much he hated the Slytherin, even Malfoy didn't deserve to be at the receiving end of his anger.
Almost unconsciously, Harry's gaze fell to Malfoy's lips as he thought. Slowly, his thoughts trailed off, and he simply watched those perfect lips move as Malfoy continued to ramble. Malfoy had such beautiful lips; how had Harry never noticed before? So full, so smooth, so edible. Harry absently wondered what they would taste like.
And suddenly, just like that, harry was tired of the hatred and fighting. Without really knowing what he was doing, Harry pressed his lips to Malfoy's, effectively swallowing the rest of Malfoy's complaints.
There was a moment where both boys remained frozen, then suddenly they transformed into a whirlwind of passion. Arms and legs tangled together, lips clashing again and again in fiery kisses. "I've always had a bit of a crush on you," Malfoy admitted between breathless kisses. Harry just groaned and pressed closer to the blonde.
But as a hand began reaching up Harry's shirt, he remembered where they were and reluctantly broke away from Malfoy. Panting harshly, he wiped his hand across his lips, and tried to smooth out the creases that had appeared in his clothes. "We can't," he said between breaths. "Not in Umbridge's office. She'll be back any second either way."
Malfoy nodded, and Harry smirked a little as he noticed the blonde looked no better off than Harry felt. Malfoy's hair was mussed, his lips were slightly swollen, his robes were hanging off of one shoulder, and a faint dusting of pink covered his cheeks. "The Room of Requirement?" he asked.
"Midnight," Harry confirmed, and moved quickly back to the desk. He picked up the quill again and resumed writing, flinching as the pain once again made itself known. "Now get out of here before Umbridge returns. You can squeal about the Gobstones Club later."
He could almost feel Malfoy's smirk. "Yes, dear," Malfoy said sarcastically as he opened the door. "By the way, Potter," he added, almost as an afterthought, and Harry looked up briefly. "This…dalliance of ours changes nothing between us." He winked saucily at Harry, and then he was gone.
Harry stared at the door for a second longer before going back to his lines, trying to finish them as fast as he could. "I wouldn't have it any other way," he muttered, even though Malfoy could no longer hear him.
FIN