One Day in Muggleland; H/D; PG13
Author: Jennifer Phillips
Title: One Day in Muggleland...
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry/Draco, or Draco/Harry
Rating: PG-13?
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and this is meant to offend no one- I adore Dumbledore, really.
Summary: Dumbledore goes stranger than normal and takes the seventh years out to enjoy Muggle London. Mild chaos ensues.
A/N: Written for the contrelamontre vacation challenge. Time: Precisely one hour. I'll try to write a more serious fic next time...
The day Dumbledore went round the bend, it was neither stormy, nor particularly dark. Instead, it was a lovely spring day- chirping birds, blue skies, and a school full of students locked in the Great Hall and wanting badly to be elsewhere. It was also right in the middle of the War, but apparently the stress of being who he was had driven the old wizard from his normal bounds of insanity and straight off the edge of madness.
Draco Malfoy wasn't surprised. Annoyed, perhaps, but not surprised. So when the white bearded wizard leapt to the table and announced to all that he'd be personally taking the seventh years on a full day trip to Muggleland, Draco merely looked haughty (and beautiful, of course) and loudly asked no one in particular who they thought the new Headmaster would be after His Father got out of Azkaban and got this one fired. Dumbledore, apparently slightly deaf in his old age, merely hopped from the professors' table and gave a bit of a dance. The other professors shared expressions of dismay or concern- except for Snape, who seemed to have suspected something like this was coming for years. He, for one, simply sneered a little, flipped his hair, and kept eating.
Reluctantly, and with many confused looks, the seventh years gathered. Those that didn't possess any were given out Muggle clothes- Draco rather smirkingly found a white number with "Slytherins do it with style" emblazoned on the chest, and cursed a boy who tried to tell him it was sized for a girl- and within a sadly short amount of time the ragtag and vaguely laughable group was assembled. As Dumbledore had been the one to pick many of the clothes, no one was really surprised when he doffed his robe to reveal khaki shorts and a Hawaiian t-shirt with sandals. Also, only a few of the students around noticed that many of the clothes seemed to have been purchased in 1970s America, as paisleys and odd color combinations abounded.
Harry Potter, being the savior of the world and all, did protest a little about dragging the most valued students out into the war-field of Britain, but Dumbledore just smiled at him and patted his head. This was all fine until Draco noticed, and started calling him "Pet Potter" and calling him with whistles.
The group was taken from the school and, led by their heads of house and Dumbledore, were taken around London as the rest of Hogwarts was given a free day. The seventh years felt they had gotten the short of that straw, but Dumbledore, as previously noted, was happily oblivious. As the band of oddly dressed and gaping students were dragged about and gathering stares and a few camera flashes, Snape finally felt it prudent to point out himself what Dumbledore seemed inclined to not notice- wizards lost in a world of Muggles rather stood out. With a frown, Dumbledore sighed, looked around, and then haphazardly began to assign people together in a predictably horrid fashion, following a cliche the author doesn't feel any particular need to fight at this moment. To make sure the pairs of students, most of whom were nearly 18 anyway and should have just made a break for it, would be safe, Dumbledore from somewhere produced a disturbing number of handcuffs. After all, knowing his students, some of them might find the opportunity wonderful to swing their partner off a bridge somewhere and give innocent looks when asked about the other.
Draco and Harry, finding themselves now attached at the wrist, glared. Though they'd managed to play adult and largely ignore each other for the year, they were now reduced again to petty insults and name calling which quickly degenerated further until both were simply scratching the barrel for new comebacks or curses they'd heard since they last got to fight. About the time Draco was calling Harry a "snitch-sucking, Muggle-loving son of a house elf" and Harry was reduced to a constant glare and looking ready to give up on talking and punch Draco in his perfectly pointed nose, Hermione came by, attached to Pansy. When the two girls loudly remarked on the immaturity of boys and something about the superiority of the female gender, they finally realized they'd been standing for several minutes on a busy sidewalk acting like typical males. A bit embarrassed, especially when Pansy scoffed something about bickering newlyweds, Harry and Draco decided without another word to move along. In opposite directions, of course.
When they'd finally found how to move together without breaking the other's wrist, our heroes sulked into a coffee shop. Harry tried for a table, Draco complained about the hard chairs and something about his delicate skin, and after briefly indulging in stubborn githood and sitting as far from the other as possible with their linked arms stretched out between them and the waiters tripping over them, Harry finally felt the need to be the man and let Draco win. Since, as he observed while smushing into the large and vaguely comfortable armchair with Draco, he was the honorable Gryffindor, and he had to let Draco win at something since he couldn't play Quidditch for beans.
Shortly thereafter, as Harry was in the bathroom, vainly brushing hot coffee from his too-large jeans, Draco merely watched him with a superior expression on his Aryan face and smirked. "Too hot for you, Potter?" he quipped. "Maybe that will teach you."
"Teach me what, that all Slytherins are bloody snakes and shouldn't be trusted with anything warmer than ice water? That you're either amazingly clumsy or can't handle one little fact and that you'll waste perfectly expensive coffee just to get back at me for being better than you?"
Draco's eyes narrowed. "No. Just to shut your sodding mouth if you don't want to get burned, Potter," Draco snapped, and Harry suddenly found part of his robes alight. Delighted that his Muggle toy had worked, Draco gave a bright smile and repocketed the lighter, hiding it somewhere in his too-tight t-shirt and brightly flowered bell-bottoms.
Harry, displaying a remarkable practicality which no doubt would have earned Gryffindor a load of points, decided to put out the fire before he launched himself at his handcuffed rival. The two, rather predictably, hit the wall, and then the floor. Quickly discovering that Draco, having his right hand free, had some advantage in the fist-fighting arena, Harry pragmatically decided that he himself should be allowed on top to even the score. Being a quick study and truly inspired in the circumstances, the raven-haired boy had found the best way to pin the rather more slender Malfoy down so that he couldn't resist, or get in any more cheap kicks at the Potter family jewels.
That's when things got messy. Draco, being a Slytherin, felt the compulsion to fight dirty- though he probably would have put it as a lesson in practical survival skills. In any case, as a Slytherin pinned by a Gryffindor, he automatically had some case for self-defense if anyone could just find a jury that wasn't prejudiced towards Harry's side- or had never heard Draco talk for long on some of his personal opinions. Babble aside, Draco bit Harry's arm.
In Harry's defense, he was never the absolute brightest player on the field, and in situations involving Draco his already fairly limited foresight was known to narrow to remarkable tunnel vision. Somehow, it came down to bite or be bitten, and Harry had had enough of letting Draco win for one day. This time, they would both be pigheaded and stubborn.
Of course, they probably could have managed all of this with a maximum of pain, a few lost teeth and maybe a concussion or two, but there's no fun in that, is there? So, at some point amidst rolling about in the confined space of the cafe bathroom and trying to bite, hit or girlishly claw at the other boy as much as possible, they began to snog.
There, it's a better fanfic all ready, isn't it?
Throwing logic and common sense out the window, the two boys decided on a mutually competitive level that the first one to pull back and stop was of course the loser. Having incredibly thick skulls, both determined that neither of them would be the first to stop.
Eventually, the manager was called over to ask about the strange noises, but when he went to knock he was stopped at the sight of an insane old man in a Hawaiian shirt with a "Trust me, I'm a Muggle" hat, sitting peacefully and humming outside the door something about world peace. Naturally wary of crazy old men, the manager decided to just leave things be.
Some hours later, Harry and Draco returned to the school, bruised, bloodied, and bandy-legged. Both of them looked insufferably pleased, and no one was ever sure who the winner was.
Title: One Day in Muggleland...
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry/Draco, or Draco/Harry
Rating: PG-13?
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and this is meant to offend no one- I adore Dumbledore, really.
Summary: Dumbledore goes stranger than normal and takes the seventh years out to enjoy Muggle London. Mild chaos ensues.
A/N: Written for the contrelamontre vacation challenge. Time: Precisely one hour. I'll try to write a more serious fic next time...
The day Dumbledore went round the bend, it was neither stormy, nor particularly dark. Instead, it was a lovely spring day- chirping birds, blue skies, and a school full of students locked in the Great Hall and wanting badly to be elsewhere. It was also right in the middle of the War, but apparently the stress of being who he was had driven the old wizard from his normal bounds of insanity and straight off the edge of madness.
Draco Malfoy wasn't surprised. Annoyed, perhaps, but not surprised. So when the white bearded wizard leapt to the table and announced to all that he'd be personally taking the seventh years on a full day trip to Muggleland, Draco merely looked haughty (and beautiful, of course) and loudly asked no one in particular who they thought the new Headmaster would be after His Father got out of Azkaban and got this one fired. Dumbledore, apparently slightly deaf in his old age, merely hopped from the professors' table and gave a bit of a dance. The other professors shared expressions of dismay or concern- except for Snape, who seemed to have suspected something like this was coming for years. He, for one, simply sneered a little, flipped his hair, and kept eating.
Reluctantly, and with many confused looks, the seventh years gathered. Those that didn't possess any were given out Muggle clothes- Draco rather smirkingly found a white number with "Slytherins do it with style" emblazoned on the chest, and cursed a boy who tried to tell him it was sized for a girl- and within a sadly short amount of time the ragtag and vaguely laughable group was assembled. As Dumbledore had been the one to pick many of the clothes, no one was really surprised when he doffed his robe to reveal khaki shorts and a Hawaiian t-shirt with sandals. Also, only a few of the students around noticed that many of the clothes seemed to have been purchased in 1970s America, as paisleys and odd color combinations abounded.
Harry Potter, being the savior of the world and all, did protest a little about dragging the most valued students out into the war-field of Britain, but Dumbledore just smiled at him and patted his head. This was all fine until Draco noticed, and started calling him "Pet Potter" and calling him with whistles.
The group was taken from the school and, led by their heads of house and Dumbledore, were taken around London as the rest of Hogwarts was given a free day. The seventh years felt they had gotten the short of that straw, but Dumbledore, as previously noted, was happily oblivious. As the band of oddly dressed and gaping students were dragged about and gathering stares and a few camera flashes, Snape finally felt it prudent to point out himself what Dumbledore seemed inclined to not notice- wizards lost in a world of Muggles rather stood out. With a frown, Dumbledore sighed, looked around, and then haphazardly began to assign people together in a predictably horrid fashion, following a cliche the author doesn't feel any particular need to fight at this moment. To make sure the pairs of students, most of whom were nearly 18 anyway and should have just made a break for it, would be safe, Dumbledore from somewhere produced a disturbing number of handcuffs. After all, knowing his students, some of them might find the opportunity wonderful to swing their partner off a bridge somewhere and give innocent looks when asked about the other.
Draco and Harry, finding themselves now attached at the wrist, glared. Though they'd managed to play adult and largely ignore each other for the year, they were now reduced again to petty insults and name calling which quickly degenerated further until both were simply scratching the barrel for new comebacks or curses they'd heard since they last got to fight. About the time Draco was calling Harry a "snitch-sucking, Muggle-loving son of a house elf" and Harry was reduced to a constant glare and looking ready to give up on talking and punch Draco in his perfectly pointed nose, Hermione came by, attached to Pansy. When the two girls loudly remarked on the immaturity of boys and something about the superiority of the female gender, they finally realized they'd been standing for several minutes on a busy sidewalk acting like typical males. A bit embarrassed, especially when Pansy scoffed something about bickering newlyweds, Harry and Draco decided without another word to move along. In opposite directions, of course.
When they'd finally found how to move together without breaking the other's wrist, our heroes sulked into a coffee shop. Harry tried for a table, Draco complained about the hard chairs and something about his delicate skin, and after briefly indulging in stubborn githood and sitting as far from the other as possible with their linked arms stretched out between them and the waiters tripping over them, Harry finally felt the need to be the man and let Draco win. Since, as he observed while smushing into the large and vaguely comfortable armchair with Draco, he was the honorable Gryffindor, and he had to let Draco win at something since he couldn't play Quidditch for beans.
Shortly thereafter, as Harry was in the bathroom, vainly brushing hot coffee from his too-large jeans, Draco merely watched him with a superior expression on his Aryan face and smirked. "Too hot for you, Potter?" he quipped. "Maybe that will teach you."
"Teach me what, that all Slytherins are bloody snakes and shouldn't be trusted with anything warmer than ice water? That you're either amazingly clumsy or can't handle one little fact and that you'll waste perfectly expensive coffee just to get back at me for being better than you?"
Draco's eyes narrowed. "No. Just to shut your sodding mouth if you don't want to get burned, Potter," Draco snapped, and Harry suddenly found part of his robes alight. Delighted that his Muggle toy had worked, Draco gave a bright smile and repocketed the lighter, hiding it somewhere in his too-tight t-shirt and brightly flowered bell-bottoms.
Harry, displaying a remarkable practicality which no doubt would have earned Gryffindor a load of points, decided to put out the fire before he launched himself at his handcuffed rival. The two, rather predictably, hit the wall, and then the floor. Quickly discovering that Draco, having his right hand free, had some advantage in the fist-fighting arena, Harry pragmatically decided that he himself should be allowed on top to even the score. Being a quick study and truly inspired in the circumstances, the raven-haired boy had found the best way to pin the rather more slender Malfoy down so that he couldn't resist, or get in any more cheap kicks at the Potter family jewels.
That's when things got messy. Draco, being a Slytherin, felt the compulsion to fight dirty- though he probably would have put it as a lesson in practical survival skills. In any case, as a Slytherin pinned by a Gryffindor, he automatically had some case for self-defense if anyone could just find a jury that wasn't prejudiced towards Harry's side- or had never heard Draco talk for long on some of his personal opinions. Babble aside, Draco bit Harry's arm.
In Harry's defense, he was never the absolute brightest player on the field, and in situations involving Draco his already fairly limited foresight was known to narrow to remarkable tunnel vision. Somehow, it came down to bite or be bitten, and Harry had had enough of letting Draco win for one day. This time, they would both be pigheaded and stubborn.
Of course, they probably could have managed all of this with a maximum of pain, a few lost teeth and maybe a concussion or two, but there's no fun in that, is there? So, at some point amidst rolling about in the confined space of the cafe bathroom and trying to bite, hit or girlishly claw at the other boy as much as possible, they began to snog.
There, it's a better fanfic all ready, isn't it?
Throwing logic and common sense out the window, the two boys decided on a mutually competitive level that the first one to pull back and stop was of course the loser. Having incredibly thick skulls, both determined that neither of them would be the first to stop.
Eventually, the manager was called over to ask about the strange noises, but when he went to knock he was stopped at the sight of an insane old man in a Hawaiian shirt with a "Trust me, I'm a Muggle" hat, sitting peacefully and humming outside the door something about world peace. Naturally wary of crazy old men, the manager decided to just leave things be.
Some hours later, Harry and Draco returned to the school, bruised, bloodied, and bandy-legged. Both of them looked insufferably pleased, and no one was ever sure who the winner was.