Chapter Title: Got Milk
Characters: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy and Various Younguns Who Are Mine
Genres: Challenge Response, General, Humour, One Shot
Rating: PG
Warnings: Adult Language
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Draco Malfoy or most of the Dursley family [thank god for the last one] but the plot is mine and JKR can't have it! :P There!
Summary: Harry will never be late again! But why?
The May 2007 response challenge for Hex: One (or both) of the boys is a professor at Hogwarts. Harry or Draco teaches Muggle Studies! At least 400 words, including the phrase: That's a rather disturbing moustache.
Got Milk
"All right, class, settle down," Draco, or Professor Potter-Malfoy, said to his Muggle Studies class that morning.
They were uncharacteristically rowdy this morning. Usually he was greeted with half-lidded eyes and zombie-like gaiting. But today he'd promised that they'd actually get to do something Muggle for a change, instead of just reading about it. That's why they were anxious and exited. Well, that, and he'd promised that he'd bring in Harry Malfoy-Potter in for a demonstration and his expert knowledge on Muggle sports.
Draco wondered where Harry was. He'd left their flat a half an hour ago and Harry was in the shower. He never stayed long in there unless he was… Damn, Draco thought, being late would have been worth it for that.
He was broken out of his unprofessional-work-environment thoughts by one of his students raising her hand. He shifted in his seat, glad for the concealing desk, and nodded at Molly to ask her question.
"Professor Malfoy, can you explain some more what tetanus is, exactly?"
"It's not tetanus, you dumb arse, it's Tetris," Andrew sneered.
"Don't call her a dumb arse, dumb arse, it's tennis," Riley said, shooting his almost-girlfriend a winning smile while she blushed.
"Okay, no one is a dumb arse," Draco said, standing up and rolling his eyes at Riley's antics and the roomful of shocked faces he got for his language. Good, that's why he didn't curse often, so when he did they'd all pay attention. "Riley is right, though, it's tennis." The class snickered, knowing that one of their favorite professors wasn't angry with them.
Feigning ignorance for their sakes, he fumbled his explanation. "From what I understood when Harry-" here he got more giggling, especially from the girls "- Mr. Potter told me about tennis, it's a two person game, or he said you could play with four people. It's got balls and two rackets, or four, depending. You have to grip the handle firmly; I guess you grip it a lot like if you were holding on to your broomsticks, hold the ball… or was it balls. I can't really remember all the details. Anyway…"
At this point he was stopped from further explanation as the successor of the Weasley twins interrupted him. His loud guffaws and red face were an indication of just how long he'd been holding his amusement in.
"And, pray, what is so amusing, Mr. Dursley?"
Between deep breaths and laughing coughs, Benjamin Dursley, the adopted son of Neville Longbottom, answered, "Balls… two person game… firm grip…broomsticks!" He continued laughing, oblivious to the tight lips of his professor, the gaping looks of his classmates and his boyfriend's anxious poking.
He was saved, nonetheless, by the chiming of Draco's Floo. His long-awaited special guest had finally arrived. Another roomful of shocked faces, including Draco's, materialized.
"What?" Harry asked, perplexed, and looked himself over. He didn't see anything unfamiliarly shocking about how sooty he was. He dusted himself off and looked back at Draco, whose eyes and lips were smirking, in question.
"That's a rather disturbing moustache, love," Draco drawled, arms crossed in amusement. He conjured up a mirror for Harry and levitated it over to him. On Harry's face, his upper lip actually, there was a milk moustache with tiny flecks of soot. The milk was slowly dribbling over both sides of Harry's lips as they furrowed in a slight frown.
"Ah, sorry, was in a bit of a hurry coming this morning, I suppose," Harry mumbled and blushed as he put the mirror down and grinned sheepishly at his husband, realizing his accidental slip of tongue.
Draco gave him a knowing, leering look and smiled. Harry's blush increased in intensity as he hurriedly wiped the milk off his top lip away with the tips of his fingers. The class finally broke out of their shock and burst out laughing.
"What now? Have I smeared it on my cheek?" Harry sighed, picking the mirror up off the fireplace mantel.
"Oh, another disturbing moustache," he said, observing the soot moustache he'd gotten when he wiped away the milk one with his fingers, obviously still unclean from brushing the soot off his clothes not five minutes ago.
"Well, at least it matches with you better this time," Draco said, eyes twinkling as they looked from Harry's hair to his upper lip. This was the best payback ever for what Harry had done to him. He didn't even have to get his hands dirty, so to speak, by doing anything himself; Harry had done quite an excellent job of that alone. That would teach him not to take too long in the shower unless Draco was with him.
That night, after a day full of teasing Harry by manhandling the tennis equipment for further punishment, Harry and Draco played Ben's form of tennis in their flat - a room full of loves and forty-loves - with moaned promises that Harry would never again have a milk moustache in his presence because he was 'in a hurry.'
