Chapter 3 – Detention

"Stop staring at my arse, Malfoy, it's distracting."

The feeling of someone staring at him was starting to make Harry feel nervous. He instinctively knew that the eyes that were staring at him were the shining silver of his rival. The chills that rattled down were so familiar that there was no need for him to turn around to know this.

He paused in his scrubbing to wait for any sign of movement behind him. It remained silent. The hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle as his patience began to wear thin. He felt the urge to shift and start to fidget under the stare. His tolerance snapped.

"I'm flattered, Malfoy, really, but I'm busy so piss off." He began his scrubbing again, almost worrying that the other boy was not answering back. He heard the Slytherin shifting towards him. Harry looked over at the bucket, waiting for a pale hand to reach out and grab the other brush.

"I don't know what you're waiting for, Potter. I'm allowed my wand." Harry groaned, he had completely forgotten and now, not only did he look like an idiot, but Malfoy was going to use magic to clean his cauldrons painstakingly slowly just to torture him. Little did Malfoy know, though, that Harry was perfectly used to manual labour and did not need a house elf to do everything for him.

The detention was not eventful for the most part. Both seventh years kept to the silence that had followed the 'greeting'. They found themselves relaxing into the quiet atmosphere. They did not let their guards down, however, the level of comfort in the room did become higher as they let their bodies and minds loosen up.

The pile of stinking pots was lowering at a rapid rate. During the last half an hour of Harry's detention, a time he estimated, he could see that his clean water charm was beginning to wear off. Although the charm was supposed to purify the water every time a soiled object was dipped in, it did not seem to be having much success at doing its job. However, Harry knew it was only a simple charm and not very strong, he had not expected it to last long, but wished it would last just a few more cleanings.

Unfortunately for Harry, the charm gave up its fight to cleanse a few minutes later. He let out a vicious growl, which made Malfoy look up at him. He had been sitting cross legged on the floor, casting a spell every so often at the pot he placed in front of him. Harry gave an uncharacteristic moan, he stood and picked up the bucket. To refill it he would have to walk all the way to the bathroom at the other end of the corridor and back again, and not just once either, every few minutes.

"Where do you think you're going, Potter?"

"Clean water, the charm ran out of steam."

"Are we forgetting that one person in this room still has his wand, Potter?"

"And how likely are you to use it if I asked for your help?" Harry did not need a mirror to know that he was sneering.

"Not very, but you could always beg."

"Never. Not to you."

"Whatever, Potter." Harry scowled and continued on his journey. Upon reaching the door, he did not stop to listen to what Malfoy was saying, all he heard was, "And I'll know if you use your…" He cut the older boy off with the sharp snap of the door shutting. He knew what he was going to say, no magic. For God's sake, why would he be traipsing all the way to the bathroom if he could just cast a fucking spell? Harry growled. Malfoy was such a prat.

Draco looked after the Gryffindor as he left the room. The loud bang of wood meeting wood forcefully resonated through the room. If he had not been prepared for it, he would have jumped. 'No, Draco, get a grip. Malfoys don't do the whole 'jump in fright' thing.'

He looked back down at his cauldron. He shifted closer to it and cast yet another cleansing spell upon it. The damned, purple gloop was refusing to be removed. He was beginning to become frustrated. He had long since thought, pretty much as soon as he walked through the door, that it had been a bad idea to help out his head of house voluntarily. Why had Severus put him with a Gryffindor? And Potter no less.

The purple substance within the cauldron was not anything even resembling something Draco recognised. If it had had a different colour, almost any different colour, he could have named it. A different texture, sure he would have known. But the purple gloop was beyond his knowledge. Besides, it was probably a catastrophe made by Longbottom. No potion they were allowed to brew was purple, he knew, he had checked once he found out only poisonous potions were purple.

Draco clutched the end of his wand slightly tighter as he sent a particularly vicious cleaning spell into the pot. With a curse, he ducked back when the spell hit one patch of gunk and rebounded right back at him.

If he had not been worried Potter could walk in at any moment and see him, Draco probably would have been throwing a childish tantrum on the floor. As it was, his pride would allow no such thing so he made no sound as he began to mutter strings of different charms and spells, directing them into the cauldron and seething silently.

When Harry re-entered the potions classroom a few minutes later, he raised an eyebrow at the sight before him. Draco sat, cross-legged in one corner of the room, his back against the wall, a moody scowl on his face and his arms crossed over his chest.

"What the hell are you doing, Malfoy?" Cold, silver eyes snapped up to him and Harry swore, with satisfaction, that Draco jumped ever so slightly.

"I'm taking a break."

"For God's sake, Malfoy, it's not like it's hard work for you."

"It is when that bloody menace of a cauldron refuses to be cleaned." One arm extended and a perfectly manicured finger pointed out towards the purple jelly encrusted cauldron.

"This one." Malfoy nodded his head, sneering and rolling his eyes. "You're such a fucking baby." With that said, Harry knelt down next to said cauldron, pulled his brush from the icy water and began to scrub at the concoction remains.

Harry could feel blisters forming on his hands, but he was determined to finish what he had started. The purple gloop was slowly, painstakingly slowly, coming away from the metal it seemed to be welded to. It was irritating his skin, making his hands feel like little bugs were crawling up the brush and onto them before sinking sharp, poison filled teeth into his skin.

Malfoy was still in his corner. His features were void of expression, including his eyes, which were as cold as the buckets of water Harry had to keep refilling.

Harry finally brought his hands from inside the pot for the last time, tipping the remainders of the cold water into the metal pot before splattering the liquid, and whatever it may now contain, down one of the drains at the side of the room.

True to his feelings, when Harry looked at his hands, they were covered in blisters and sores. A few were bleeding or wilting a clear, stinging liquid. He groaned and looked over at the three remaining pots. He glanced at Malfoy before setting to work again.

His hands were agony, sending jolts of pain that felt like charged of electricity shooting up his arms and straight to the nerves in his brain. He was half way through the first of the three when it suddenly swept from his hands and disappeared back into one of the cupboards, sparkling and clean. The other two followed suit soon after. Harry looked up.

"Don't think anything of it, Potter. I just think I should be getting you to the hospital wing before your hands explode. Quidditch season is up next week and it won't be much fun if I can't beat you."

"You beat me, since when has that happened?"

"Since my father bought me a specialist trainer last summer."

"Right so it's specialist trainer who probably didn't manage to teach you anything versus natural talent."

"I've always been better, Potter; don't kid yourself. I just needed someone to draw out my gift."

"But you still need me to have fun, right."

"Not really, it just happens you're the best seeker of the other three houses."

"I just think you want another reason to stare at my arse."

"I would do no such thing."

"Sure you wouldn't, Malfoy, just like you wouldn't hex Hermione if you could get off Scot-free."

"Shut up, Potter."

"Same to you, Malfoy. Oh, and you can drop me here, if I spend another moment in your company my head will explode."

"I can assure you there is no chance of that. It is more likely to implode due to lack of brain cells holding the shape. Blow yourself up soon, Potter."

Malfoy turned away from Harry and began the long descent back to the dungeons. With the banter carrying between the two, Harry had not realised he had already reached the fourth floor and was standing at the top of the sweeping staircase. He had not even remembered leaving the classroom. 'I really should pay more attention, what if a death eater had jumped out of nowhere.'

Harry decided not to think about it, which turned out not to matter anyway as his thoughts were swiftly drawn back to his hands, which had begun to shoot spasms of shock up his arm again.

R&R please.

Dark Raven 4426