Title- Tossed Out On Their Asses

Disclaimer- Seriously, people- Do I look like a blonde brit? No? I didn't think so. Also, I am not Mercedes Lackey, however much I wish that was the case. (sigh) Oh well.

Summary- "It was a dark and stormy night, or so the bards do say-" WHOOPS!! Wrong song, wrong fandom. Seriously, though- The seventh years are kicked out on their asses(hence, the title) and they must survive muggle hell. Cool, huh?

Rating- Um, well I'd have to say it's most definitely rated M, given the cursing and the slash, along with all the bits I've allowed you to use your own mind to fill in. Hehe, aren't I nice.

Warnings- And the slash begins!! Don't worry, people- I'm not in the mood to be too graphic. I'll save that for another fic. Random pairings including but not limited to-HPDM, BZSF, HGTN, etc. I was in a weird mood when I wrote this, so… yeah.

Author's Note- Sooo, this little crack bunny jumped out of the pits of hell and grabbed onto my ankle with a vengeance. It refused to leave me alone, so here it is. Yes, this is a chaptered fic, but I finished it before I posted it, so I promise I will post the whole thing, and not stop in the middle. If you want the rest of the lyrics to the spoof-off in the summary, please PM me. I'd be more than happy to send them to you. The only caveat- you must sing praises to Mercedes Lackey for her magnificent ingenuity.

These chapters will all be dedicated to different people

Dedication- To MissingEden, for her wonderful writing and verbose reviews (and the fact that my sister suggested your name when I couldn't think of anyone to whom this chapter should go. You're still special!!). Honestly, though- if anyone deserves a chapter dedication, it's you.

And now, on with the show…

Chapter Three

… … …

It's amazing how much one forgets their hate of something when exposure to said thing is limited and spaced over long periods of time, Harry thought with a scowl. For instance, jobs. More specifically, job hunting. He'd tried bars, restaurants, street vendors, clothing stores, everything, and he still couldn't convince anyone to hire him.

He sat on the sidewalk and stared at the street, fuming. He only needed a job for one day. One measly day, and the class would be easy history. But nooo, that just couldn't happen because the gods of the perverse are sick bastards.

His thought's turned to Malfoy. Harry grinned as an idea came to him. I wonder if the menace would let me pimp him out. Harry dismissed the thought with an angry sigh. One, Malfoy probably already had a job. Two, it was illegal. Three, the thought of anyone's hands on that body kinda sorta made him furious.

A pair of booted feet entered his vision, and Harry looked up with a scowl. The man hovering over him had a stack of papers in his hands, and he scowled right back at Harry.

"I hear you need a job, boy," came the rough voice. "I'll give you fifty pounds to pass out these newspapers to the stores on the strip."

Harry was on his feet in an instant. Sure, it was a piece of crap job, and the man's condescending voice was a very effective irritant, but hell, it was a job. He took the papers and the fifty pound note, and started doling them out to the stores. It took him half an hour to complete, and when he turned around, he could see the man coming back from a truck with more papers. Harry went to help.

… … …

Harry staggered back into the hotel at ten, feet hurting, back aching, and all his muscles sore beyond belief. He ignored the stares the hotel staff sent him, intent on getting into the room and avoiding Malfoy at all costs.

Unfortunately, the plan backfired. The blond was sitting on the couch in the sitting room, flipping through the channels on the telly. Malfoy looked up, then really looked at him.

And started laughing.

"What's so funny, Malfoy?"

"You are, Potter. Seriously, what did you do, roll around in muck all day?"

"Fuck off, pest." Harry said as he turned to go shower. He could still hear Malfoy chuckling through the door every now and then, but the water cut through the sound quite nicely.

He washed his clothes with him in the shower, then hung them up to drip dry. Hopefully they would be dry for tomorrow, so he could go get some more clothes, but he doubted it. Things never worked like that for him.

He walked out of the bathroom wrapped only in a towel, trying to decide if he wanted Malfoy to be in the room to see him or not. He was only a little disappointed when the blond wasn't there.

He walked into the bedroom and checked to make sure the other boy really was asleep before he dropped the towel over a chair and slid into the bed, sighing at the feel of silk sheets on his skin. He was out in an instant.

… … …

BEGINNING OF DAY TWO

… … …

Harry woke up with a loud "What the fuck ?!" as a bundle of warm something was dropped on his face. He sat up, gathering the material into a bundle and looking up to see the amused face of Malfoy.

"What the fuck is your problem, you wanker?" Harry growled, mind still cloudy with sleep.

Malfoy sighed and struck a pose, one hand resting lightly on his hip, and the back of his other across his eyes.

"You don't appreciate me!" he mock-wailed. "After all I've done for you, you still hate me!" The sentence ended on a high note, almost a sob.

Harry stared at him. Malfoy stared back. Finally, the blond huffed and said, "Put the damn clothes on." and stalked out of the room. Harry looked at the bundle in his hands, and was surprised to see it was the clothes he had washed out yesterday.

As if on cue, Malfoy's voice rang out from the sitting room- "Have you never heard of Room Service?"

… … …

They were eating breakfast again, and at least this time wasn't so tense. Harry finished his waffles and sat back, looking at Malfoy. The blond had only had a piece of fruit, and Harry was trying to figure out how the other man kept his figure when the blond started talking.

"I never did ask- did you find a job, Potter?" the question was surprisingly civil, but Harry had to think for a minute to get his mind wrapped around the question before he answered.

"Yeah- I delivered papers. Made good money too, now that I think about it. You?"

Malfoy got up, reaching across to the closet and pulling out a jacket Harry knew the blond hadn't had earlier. "Yes, I did."

Harry waited for more, but Malfoy didn't volunteer anymore information. Finally, as the blond was walking out the door, Harry couldn't wait any longer.

"What is it?" he asked, almost afraid of the answer. He was right to fear it, too, if the stampede it caused in his chest was any indication.

Malfoy stopped halfway through the door, a tiny grin playing about his lips. The grin grew to a smile as he said, "I'm a model for a painting." He paused, then added, "A nude painting."

Harry stared at the closed door, then let his head drop onto the table, banging it while punctuating every thump with a muttered, "-fuck, fuck, fuck-"

… … …

Harry was nervous, to say the least. He'd spent the whole day shopping, supplementing his muggle wardrobe. Or at least, that's what he wanted to believe. He knew he was really just finding clothes to make Malfoy notice him more.

He'd found a couple of promising outfits, and had bought them all. He knew that none of them matched up to the blonds standards, but they were quite obviously better quality than Harry was used to. At one point during the day, Harry had stopped and sat for a minute, bemoaning the fact that he was getting all dressed up for a Malfoy, his greatest rival. Add to the fact that the blond probably knew about his sudden, overwhelming attraction, and you had a recipe for disaster.

The funny thing was, Harry found he didn't care. So what that Malfoy will probably laugh his ass off, Harry didn't care. He really didn't.

He was still trying to convince himself of that when Malfoy walked into the suite. Harry had a flashback to that morning-"A nude painting."- and whimpered a little.

Happily for Harry, Malfoy ignored the sound of distress (yeah, right) and busied himself with putting his jacket away. By the time he'd turned around, Harry had gotten himself under control again. Well. Sorta.

Anyway, they chatted about inconsequential things while waiting for room service, and everything was going fine until Malfoy said, "So what did you do all day, Harry?"

Harry blanked out. Who knew that having Malfoy say his name like that, his first name, too! Would have such an effect on him?

"I, um, I shopped." Wow, way to be articulate, Harry-my-boy.

"I can see that. Your clothes aren't the usual pieces of crap. Any particular reason?" Malfoy's voice should be illegal. The husky timbre, coupled with the look of pure heat, was an overload for Harry.

So he did what he usually did when his brain took a vacation- react without thinking. "Shut up, you bleached blond."

Malfoy's eyes widened and his jaw dropped, then a hard look entered his eyes.

"How dare you! I've never heard such an baseless accusation!" Harry was really close to hurting himself for fucking up the thing they had had going.

Malfoy continued his rant. "I am a natural blond! And," he dropped his voice from its high range to the husky tone that had that bad habit of making Harry's higher brain functions go bye-bye, "I can prove it."

Harry swallowed as Malfoy stood up, turning to face him dead-on.

"Um, what are you…" the question died an early death in his throat as the blond shrugged out of his shirt. Reaching over, Malfoy pulled Harry to his feet, then danced out of reach.

"Why, merely proving to you just how natural my hair color is." was the reply. The Slytherin backed up towards the bedroom, and as his hand landed on the knob, he asked, "Aren't you going to join me?"

Harry surged forward, bracing his hands on either side of Malfoy's head. He leaned in, and just before he placed a kiss on the boy's lips, he whispered, "Oh, most definitely."