Fran's story archive - Detention
Another archive story posted because someone asked for a link to it. I'm not sure if this was ever posted on LJ. It was originally written back in March 2002, about the same time I got my first journal, but I can't find it posted there.
Some of the ideas in this story eventually found their way into Resolution chapter 3.
Detention
“I cannot believe that someone as clumsy as you was ever picked to be a Seeker. You constantly leave mayhem in your wake and nothing will please me more than seeing the back of you in six weeks time. I sincerely hope you pass your exams because I, for one, do not wish to have to put up with you for another year. 25 points from Gryffindor, plus a detention. You will return here tonight after dinner and get this dragon’s blood out of my robes and off the floor. Do I make myself clear.”
Harry Potter nodded and tried to find something to wipe his own hands with. They were splattered with the bright red dragon’s blood, which was already congealing over the desk, Snape’s robes and the Potions room floor. Broken glass glinted in the torchlight.
“As for you, Mr. Malfoy. I would have expected you to have more sense. You will help Potter clean up this mess. And neither of you will use wands. In fact, I will confiscate them right now.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“This is disgusting.” Draco Malfoy held up the bloodstained robes and wrinkled his nose.
Harry was on the other side of the classroom studying the equally disgusting mess on the desk and floor. “This isn’t much better. I hope you’re satisfied now.”
“Me? Why do I get the feeling you’re going to blame me for this, Potter?”
“Probably because that’s the truth. I didn’t mean to knock the bottle over and you could have easily stopped it spilling all over the desk and ending up on the floor.” He bent down and picked up a large piece of glass, putting it safely in the bin. “We’re never going to get this off the floor.”
“And what am I supposed to do with this?” The robes were still in his hands.
“Well, you could try soaking them.”
“I don’t do washing.”
“You don’t do much of anything by the looks of it. What do you spend your time doing?”
“I study. Washing is servants’ work.” Draco carried the robes to the sink and dropped them unceremoniously into it. He turned on the tap.
“No wait!” Harry was suddenly at his side, turning the fast-flowing water off. “That’s hot water.” Grey eyes looked at him with distain. “It will set the stain. You need cold to get it out.” As the water began to fill the sink, Harry swirled the material around, leaving red trails in its wake. “See.”
“Thanks, I’ll remember that next time I need to get blood out of something.” Draco leaned back against the wall, watching Harry set about is task. “You’re getting it all over yourself.” He pointed a finger at the splashes already blossoming on the Gryffindor’s clothes.
Harry paused; dripping hands held over the sink, and looked down at himself. He swore under his breath and tried to find something to wipe his hands on. There was nothing in the immediate vicinity. “Can you do something useful and undo my robe clasp.” He turned to Draco, arms still in the air.
Draco raised one elegant eyebrow and pushed himself off from the wall. “Clasps I can do.” The long fingers reached for the small silver lion-shaped fastening and he tried to find the catch.
“Will you hurry up, I’m dripping all over the floor here.”
“Well, pardon me for breathing.” Draco shoved his hand into the robes and attacked the clasp from inside. “Trust you to have a difficult one.” Eventually the small clip came free and he stood back, pushing the heavy black material back off Harry’s shoulders. It dropped away, pooling in folds about the dark-haired boy’s elbows, dragging his shirt tightly across his lightly muscled chest in the process. The shirt gapped between the buttons, showing small oval areas of tanned flesh from throat to navel.
Draco surveyed the person before him for a moment, taking in the dark tousled hair, the green eyes and sensual mouth. The Gryffindor’s slim body was clad in a simple white shirt, and the grey school trousers actually looked flattering on that trim waist and slim hips. He slowly walked round behind the boy and slid the robes from his arms. Giving the robes a quick shake to smooth the wrinkles, Draco laid them across a desk. From there, he watched as Harry returned to the sink, taking in the way his clothes moved over his back and legs.
“There should be some towels in the storeroom. There’s probably a mop and bucket as well.”
Not moving from his place by the desk, Draco continued watching. “I don’t do floor cleaning either.”
Very slowly Harry turned, right hip leading as he spun to face the Slytherin. “I am not doing this on my own. Either you help or I’ll find another bottle and tip it right over your head. How do you fancy being a redhead for a change? If this stuff won’t come out of these robes, I don’t expect it will come out of your hair either.” Green eyes glared. “And stop pouting.”
“I don’t...”
“I know, you don’t do that either.” Harry let out a long sigh. “The sooner we get this done the sooner we can both get on with much more interesting things.”
Draco pushed himself away the desk. “Okay.” He removed his own robes and left them neatly beside Harry’s. “Couldn’t we just get the house-elves to do this?”
“You heard Snape. No magic. He’d probably take even more points away.” Harry watched as Draco gave a small shrug and headed for the storeroom. Maybe he was imagining it, but wasn’t there just a bit of a sway in the Slytherin’s stride. He was surprised to see Draco in jeans as well. The old pair fitted like a glove, faded where they stretched over his lean frame.
He returned to the soaking robes and emptied the sink of the red-stained water. “Be careful there’s still a lot of glass on the floor,” he called as Draco set about mopping the dragon’s blood from the flagstones.
They worked in silence for sometime, each clearly absorbed in what they were doing. Just as Harry decided most of the blood had finally been removed from the robes, he heard a cry and a string of expletives. He turned, just able to make out Draco’s blond head below the level of the desks. Drying his hands, he strode towards the boy. “Are you okay?”
“I’ve cut myself.” Draco sat on the floor nursing his hand. The palm was stained with blood.
“You better not be making this up.”
“No. Look.” Holding up the hand, the cut on his palm was clearly visible. Just below the thumb, it oozed blood.
Harry took the hand for a moment and studied it. “It’s not very deep. I’ll get a dressing for it.” He shook his head. “You’ll do anything to get out of this, won’t you?”
Draco looked surprisingly smug. “If you’d care to look, you would see I have almost finished. I was clearing up the last of the glass when this happened.”
“Oh.” Draco was right. The floor was virtually clean, though Harry decided it would keep a distinctive red hue for sometime to come. He disappeared into the storeroom and returned with a small first aid kit. “You probably should get this checked out by Madam Pomfrey.” Harry dropped to the floor and sat in the ‘V’ of Draco’s stretched out legs, draping his own around the boy. “Come on, give it to me.”
Holding out his hand, Draco watched as Harry carefully cleaned away the blood and checked out the wound. “I don’t think there’s any glass in it.”
Harry prodded at the flesh around the wound. “No, it doesn’t feel like there is.” He rummaged in the kit for a moment and found an antiseptic cleaning salve which he carefully applied to the cut. Then he fixed the dressing in place. “There. I knew my emergency first aid classes would come in handy one day.” He finished cleaning blood from the rest of Draco’s hand. “You’ve got it all over your shirt as well.”
Draco looked down at his cuff where the red blood was already drying. “That’s okay. I’ve got plenty more shirts.”
“Really.” Harry looked at the Slytherin, a dark look in his eyes.
“Umm.” Draco watched as Harry’s ministering fingers worked their way from the palm of his hand to the tips of his fingers slowly massaging each digit. “So, do you fancy a quick shag?”
“What? Here?” Harry spluttered. “On the floor in the Potions classroom? Are you out of your mind?”
“Well, I suppose the floor is rather cold. So how about a quick snog instead then? We can find somewhere more comfortable for the rest later.”
Harry tried hard not to smile. “You know, Malfoy, that’s what I really like about you. Whoever said romance was dead.”
Leaning forward, Draco reached his arms around the slim shoulders of his lover and pulled him into a hard embrace.
---fin
Some of the ideas in this story eventually found their way into Resolution chapter 3.
Detention
“I cannot believe that someone as clumsy as you was ever picked to be a Seeker. You constantly leave mayhem in your wake and nothing will please me more than seeing the back of you in six weeks time. I sincerely hope you pass your exams because I, for one, do not wish to have to put up with you for another year. 25 points from Gryffindor, plus a detention. You will return here tonight after dinner and get this dragon’s blood out of my robes and off the floor. Do I make myself clear.”
Harry Potter nodded and tried to find something to wipe his own hands with. They were splattered with the bright red dragon’s blood, which was already congealing over the desk, Snape’s robes and the Potions room floor. Broken glass glinted in the torchlight.
“As for you, Mr. Malfoy. I would have expected you to have more sense. You will help Potter clean up this mess. And neither of you will use wands. In fact, I will confiscate them right now.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“This is disgusting.” Draco Malfoy held up the bloodstained robes and wrinkled his nose.
Harry was on the other side of the classroom studying the equally disgusting mess on the desk and floor. “This isn’t much better. I hope you’re satisfied now.”
“Me? Why do I get the feeling you’re going to blame me for this, Potter?”
“Probably because that’s the truth. I didn’t mean to knock the bottle over and you could have easily stopped it spilling all over the desk and ending up on the floor.” He bent down and picked up a large piece of glass, putting it safely in the bin. “We’re never going to get this off the floor.”
“And what am I supposed to do with this?” The robes were still in his hands.
“Well, you could try soaking them.”
“I don’t do washing.”
“You don’t do much of anything by the looks of it. What do you spend your time doing?”
“I study. Washing is servants’ work.” Draco carried the robes to the sink and dropped them unceremoniously into it. He turned on the tap.
“No wait!” Harry was suddenly at his side, turning the fast-flowing water off. “That’s hot water.” Grey eyes looked at him with distain. “It will set the stain. You need cold to get it out.” As the water began to fill the sink, Harry swirled the material around, leaving red trails in its wake. “See.”
“Thanks, I’ll remember that next time I need to get blood out of something.” Draco leaned back against the wall, watching Harry set about is task. “You’re getting it all over yourself.” He pointed a finger at the splashes already blossoming on the Gryffindor’s clothes.
Harry paused; dripping hands held over the sink, and looked down at himself. He swore under his breath and tried to find something to wipe his hands on. There was nothing in the immediate vicinity. “Can you do something useful and undo my robe clasp.” He turned to Draco, arms still in the air.
Draco raised one elegant eyebrow and pushed himself off from the wall. “Clasps I can do.” The long fingers reached for the small silver lion-shaped fastening and he tried to find the catch.
“Will you hurry up, I’m dripping all over the floor here.”
“Well, pardon me for breathing.” Draco shoved his hand into the robes and attacked the clasp from inside. “Trust you to have a difficult one.” Eventually the small clip came free and he stood back, pushing the heavy black material back off Harry’s shoulders. It dropped away, pooling in folds about the dark-haired boy’s elbows, dragging his shirt tightly across his lightly muscled chest in the process. The shirt gapped between the buttons, showing small oval areas of tanned flesh from throat to navel.
Draco surveyed the person before him for a moment, taking in the dark tousled hair, the green eyes and sensual mouth. The Gryffindor’s slim body was clad in a simple white shirt, and the grey school trousers actually looked flattering on that trim waist and slim hips. He slowly walked round behind the boy and slid the robes from his arms. Giving the robes a quick shake to smooth the wrinkles, Draco laid them across a desk. From there, he watched as Harry returned to the sink, taking in the way his clothes moved over his back and legs.
“There should be some towels in the storeroom. There’s probably a mop and bucket as well.”
Not moving from his place by the desk, Draco continued watching. “I don’t do floor cleaning either.”
Very slowly Harry turned, right hip leading as he spun to face the Slytherin. “I am not doing this on my own. Either you help or I’ll find another bottle and tip it right over your head. How do you fancy being a redhead for a change? If this stuff won’t come out of these robes, I don’t expect it will come out of your hair either.” Green eyes glared. “And stop pouting.”
“I don’t...”
“I know, you don’t do that either.” Harry let out a long sigh. “The sooner we get this done the sooner we can both get on with much more interesting things.”
Draco pushed himself away the desk. “Okay.” He removed his own robes and left them neatly beside Harry’s. “Couldn’t we just get the house-elves to do this?”
“You heard Snape. No magic. He’d probably take even more points away.” Harry watched as Draco gave a small shrug and headed for the storeroom. Maybe he was imagining it, but wasn’t there just a bit of a sway in the Slytherin’s stride. He was surprised to see Draco in jeans as well. The old pair fitted like a glove, faded where they stretched over his lean frame.
He returned to the soaking robes and emptied the sink of the red-stained water. “Be careful there’s still a lot of glass on the floor,” he called as Draco set about mopping the dragon’s blood from the flagstones.
They worked in silence for sometime, each clearly absorbed in what they were doing. Just as Harry decided most of the blood had finally been removed from the robes, he heard a cry and a string of expletives. He turned, just able to make out Draco’s blond head below the level of the desks. Drying his hands, he strode towards the boy. “Are you okay?”
“I’ve cut myself.” Draco sat on the floor nursing his hand. The palm was stained with blood.
“You better not be making this up.”
“No. Look.” Holding up the hand, the cut on his palm was clearly visible. Just below the thumb, it oozed blood.
Harry took the hand for a moment and studied it. “It’s not very deep. I’ll get a dressing for it.” He shook his head. “You’ll do anything to get out of this, won’t you?”
Draco looked surprisingly smug. “If you’d care to look, you would see I have almost finished. I was clearing up the last of the glass when this happened.”
“Oh.” Draco was right. The floor was virtually clean, though Harry decided it would keep a distinctive red hue for sometime to come. He disappeared into the storeroom and returned with a small first aid kit. “You probably should get this checked out by Madam Pomfrey.” Harry dropped to the floor and sat in the ‘V’ of Draco’s stretched out legs, draping his own around the boy. “Come on, give it to me.”
Holding out his hand, Draco watched as Harry carefully cleaned away the blood and checked out the wound. “I don’t think there’s any glass in it.”
Harry prodded at the flesh around the wound. “No, it doesn’t feel like there is.” He rummaged in the kit for a moment and found an antiseptic cleaning salve which he carefully applied to the cut. Then he fixed the dressing in place. “There. I knew my emergency first aid classes would come in handy one day.” He finished cleaning blood from the rest of Draco’s hand. “You’ve got it all over your shirt as well.”
Draco looked down at his cuff where the red blood was already drying. “That’s okay. I’ve got plenty more shirts.”
“Really.” Harry looked at the Slytherin, a dark look in his eyes.
“Umm.” Draco watched as Harry’s ministering fingers worked their way from the palm of his hand to the tips of his fingers slowly massaging each digit. “So, do you fancy a quick shag?”
“What? Here?” Harry spluttered. “On the floor in the Potions classroom? Are you out of your mind?”
“Well, I suppose the floor is rather cold. So how about a quick snog instead then? We can find somewhere more comfortable for the rest later.”
Harry tried hard not to smile. “You know, Malfoy, that’s what I really like about you. Whoever said romance was dead.”
Leaning forward, Draco reached his arms around the slim shoulders of his lover and pulled him into a hard embrace.
---fin