A/N- Sorry these are a day late, I got kinda busy there. Anyway, I promised up to chapter 15 in exchange for 25 reviews, and I got 'em! Thanks to everyone who left a review, this is to all of you, though I'm too tired to type in everyone's names... hehe... sorry. I still love you all, have no fear!

After this (massive) update, don't expect more for probably a couple weeks. I'll be working on this, of course, but I have exams coming up, so I have to study, too.

These chapters are pretty raw, my betas will actually get them tomorrow, so I might make some changes later, but they shouldn't be major ones. I happen to like it the way it is. Enjoy, and please review!!

##Chapters 9-15 uploaded together, 01/02/05##

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Chapter IX – Working? At the Car Wash

"What are you so happy about?" Draco grumbled the next morning as the two boys exited the Dursley house in the direction of the driveway. The Dursley's car needed to be washed, at least according to Aunt Petunia. Harry could see nothing dirty about it, but refrained from saying so.

"Hm?" He looked over at the blond, wearing the same smile he'd had since he'd woken up. "Oh, I don't know. Good dream, I suppose." He shrugged off the question as he stooped to fill a bucket with water from the garden hose. Draco gave him a little frown, one that said, "I'm not satisfied with that, and you know it." Still, he granted that there wasn't much else that the Gryffindor would have to be happy about that morning. Their wake-up call had been as rude as ever, and the breakfast was hardly fit to be called "food". Draco sighed, taking the bucket from Harry and adding soap as instructed.

Draco was most definitely not having a pleasant day. While Harry's "good dream" seemed to have wiped all memory of the letter that had arrived from his mind, Draco hadn't forgotten it for a moment. He was fairly worried about it, in fact. He knew that he had certainly not made any friends in the "Light" side, though now with the possible exception of their great "hero" himself, but he could easily imagine his reception on the "Dark" side if he went to them for asylum. He snorted.

Asylum was the last thing he'd be given. Once they got through with him, the beating he'd taken a week previously would seem like a few light love taps. At the rate he was going, his name would be anathema to both sides within a month. His only hope was that whoever Dumbledore sent to check up on the two of them wouldn't be too biased against him simply for his history and bloodline. It was a long shot, and Draco had no delusions about suddenly being accepted by the very people he'd antagonized for years and years, but it was about the only hope he had left. There was no option of neutrality open for him- each side would believe him to be working for the other, and one or the other would have him killed. Rather suddenly, he understood why Harry had such a gloomy outlook about his own future. How it felt to have a lot of people who wanted you dead was something he could've lived quite happily not knowing.

Draco was interrupted out of his pessimistic thought process as Harry shoved a cloth into his hand. He looked at it warily. It seemed old, if the holes in it were any indication, and it was covered with odd-looking stains. He cautiously held it at about arm's length, suspended delicately between two fingers. He regarded Harry accusingly, which was hard to do, as Harry seemed to be quietly laughing at him.

"Oi, Potter," He emphasized the last name, gaining Harry's attention and an annoyed glare at the same time, "What, exactly, am I supposed to be doing with this filthy thing?" He waved the rag around a bit for emphasis. Harry paused a moment, then an evil smirk crossed his face.

"Well, Malfoy, we're washing the car." he replied, mimicking the blond's tone perfectly. "So you," He snatched the rag out of Draco's fingers swiftly, "Need this!" With speed that Draco would have been envious of, had he had time to contemplate it, Harry dunked the rag into the sudsy water and whipped it straight at Draco's chest (which, on this lovely day, was covered with Harry's second-favorite Chudley Cannons shirt; another gift from Ron, which Draco claimed he was wearing only because it was the least Gryffindor-ish thing Harry owned besides the green shirt, which was in the wash).

Draco shrieked. He would later deny this vehemently, but he shrieked. And jumped backward as fast as he could, resulting in a not-so-graceful landing on his backside in the Dursley's front lawn.

"POTTER!!" Draco's rage was palpable, but Harry didn't notice at all. He was laughing so hard he was doubled over, his own, dry rag clutched to his stomach as he tried to breathe.

"You... that... ha!... the.." Harry struggled to get a sentence out between gasps for air. He couldn't remember a time he'd seen anything so funny as Draco Malfoy screaming like a little girl and falling all over himself to escape a wet rag, of all things. He had never wished so much for a Polaroid camera as he did at that moment. He looked at Draco's scowling face and immediately started laughing all over again, tears leaking out the corners of his eyes.

Draco glared at the shaking, hunched figure of his 'nemesis', wondering what would happen if he did try to curse him. He was seconds away from grabbing his wand and finding out when an even better idea occurred to him. With a glance to make sure that Harry was much too preoccupied with attempting to breathe to notice his actions, Draco crawled over to the bucket of soapsuds. He dunked the rag as quietly as he could, then held it a bit above the water so some of the excess could drain off. He didn't want his one chance to end in failure because the rag was too wet to fly straight, after all. With a smirk to rival the greatest of Slytherins', he called out in a sing-song voice.

"Oh, Har-ry..." As soon as Harry lifted his head, Draco launched the projectile with all his might, letting out a whoop of glee as it smacked the Gryffindor right in the face. Harry, momentarily stunned, fell backward in much the same manner as Draco had, though without the sound effects. He abruptly pulled the soaked piece of cloth off his face, spitting out the bit of soapy water that had managed to invade his mouth and wiping the back of his hand across his face a few times to get the water off. Draco, meanwhile, was engaged in performing the second part of his hastily formed plan.

As soon as the rag hit its target, Draco scrambled to his feet, hauling the bucket up with him. He grunted a bit at the weight; he hadn't realized water could be so heavy. Nevertheless, he grinned as he pulled the bucket up higher, high enough, in fact, to position it over the head of the spluttering boy on the grass. Harry managed to clear his eyes, only to have two gallons of soapy water dumped square over his head in a whoosh.

Draco, now as gleeful as he could ever remember being, dancingly stepped away several paces, dropping the bucket on the driveway as he went. Once the ribbon of cement separated the two boys, he began cackling at the sight. Harry was now completely drenched from head to toe, his hair matted down and decorated with a few of the bubbles that had managed to hang on, his t-shirt clinging to him like a second skin, spitting out soapsuds for the second time in as many minutes and trying to clear his eyes well enough to glare at the blond. The throwing of the rag, he admitted, was probably deserved. Or at least an expected retaliation. An entire bucket of sudsy water, now that was war.

Harry took a few seconds to clear the water from his eyes, nose, mouth and ears, using the time to think of a suitable revenge. The sight of the hose, lying close by and still turned on, gave him all the idea he needed. He stood slowly, using one hand ostensibly for leverage, but in reality taking hold of the snakelike length of green rubber. Draco never saw it coming.

In a flash, Harry was up, his thumb held tightly over the end of the hose providing the spray with the pressure to reach Draco at fifteen feet away. The Slytherin boy was drenched before he could tell what was happening. Startled and wet, he dove behind the Dursley's car, seeking refuge from the onslaught of the hose.

Harry grinned, taking his thumb away from the hose soon after Draco disappeared from range. He might not have won, but at the very least he had broken even. Or so he thought. So fast that Harry didn't have time to react, a wet mass of Draco slammed itself into his ribs at an angle, very effectively knocking the wind out of him and tackling him to the ground at the same time. He landed with a heavy "oof" of air on the now muddy ground, a wet, panting, and very pleased with himself Draco Malfoy sprawled half on top of him. It took Harry a second to get his breath back, and when he finally had it and glanced at the blond, he was met with the self-assured Slytherin grin he had seen so many times for five years.

"I win." Draco panted, still grinning madly. He was mildly in shock at how much a short little water fight like that could take out of him, and resolved to take up jogging or some other such sport before attempting such maneuvers again. Harry scowled briefly at him, then smacked him with the evil rag which had started the whole thing and then made itself disappear into the grass, momentarily forgotten.

"Only until next time, Malfoy. Only until next time." Harry vaguely wished that it had come out a bit more threateningly, but he was so close to laughing that it really didn't. In fact, it just made Draco grin more, and Harry couldn't help but grin along with him.

"Whatever you say, Potter." Draco relaxed, feeling no compulsion to move at all, and let his head find its resting place in the area between Harry's chest and abs, the Slytherin's ear and cheek pasting themselves to the wet material of his t-shirt. Harry wondered for a moment if he should shove the blond off, but for some reason he didn't feel the need to. Draco's skin felt warm through the wet cotton, and the sun was already beginning to dry them off, so Harry simply stayed where he was, wondering at the sensation of the warmth combined with the sudden cooling power of the small puffs of air coming from the region of Draco's nose.

Languidly, and with no real thought at all for what he was doing, Harry ran his hand lightly through the streaks of wetly darkened platinum blond hair that blossomed on his chest. Draco shivered slightly and... nuzzled?... yes, definitely nuzzled… his cheek tighter against the brunet's chest. The reaction was intriguing, and Harry began running his fingers through the blond locks again when he was suddenly interrupted. By a very familiar voice.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting?" The voice was laughing. Both teen stiffened, for the first time realizing exactly what position they were in, and exactly how it must have looked; Draco with his face buried in Harry's torso, Harry's hand in his hair, legs tangled together... They shot apart faster than they had crashed together, both scrambling backwards in awkward crab-crawls with bright red faces. Harry finally looked up at their visitor. He had already recognized the voice, but the look confirmed it.

"Remus!" Harry shot to his feet and ran forward to embrace the man who was closest, anymore, to being Harry's family. He knew Sirius would've wanted him to feel that way, and besides that, Remus Lupin acted more like a kind uncle than a teacher or superior in the Order.

Draco watched the two exchange pleasantries for a moment, the dread that had been seeping into his heart since the night before coming back full force. His life, then, hung on the opinion of a teacher he hadn't exactly treated well, who knew exactly how he had always treated Harry and his friends, and had no particular love of Draco's family. With a sigh, Draco stepped forward to meet his fate, happy at least that Dumbledore hadn't sent someone who downright hated him; one of the Weasleys, perhaps. Then suddenly, Harry had turned and was smiling at him, and for some reason, he wasn't quite so worried anymore.