Beautiful World ~ 𝑫𝑹𝑨𝑹𝑹𝒀

Chapter 16

It was Saturday, and Draco, as a general rule, loved Saturdays. This one, however, he reminded himself as he gradually woke up, was supposed to be spent in detention. Which significantly lowered his enjoyment of the simple fact that it was Saturday. He moaned a little as he opened his eyes, wrinkling his nose.

He dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and left the Slytherin dungeons before anyone else was even awake. They were to spend the day serving detention with Hagrid and who knew what the giant oaf would have them doing. Attempting to rid the forest of werewolves or something, no doubt.

Harry was waiting in the Entrance Hall for him, looking wan and pale, weak, with dark circles under his eyes. Feeling a strange hint of sympathy, Draco smiled at him. It was an unprecedented move, really, that smile that held no hint of sarcasm or sneer.

"Hi," Harry mumbled sleepily. "We're supposed to go out to Hagrid's and meet him there."

"Right." Draco led the way out the door and Harry followed.

Hagrid was waiting for them, a dark shadow in the predawn light, and he shouted a cheerful hello before informing them that Professor Sprout required a garden dug and they were to dig it, out behind the green houses. They were to remove the dirt so she could fill the hole with her own blend of soil.

"Dig a garden?" Draco whispered, appalled. "You'd think I was a servant or something."

"Detentions are not supposed to be pleasant," Harry said tonelessly. Draco looked at him sharply. His eyes were dark again, almost black, and Draco hated it.

Hagrid led them to where the plot had been marked with stakes and handed them both shovels, promising that someone would bring them lunch, and then ambled off, leaving them alone.

It was going to be a sweltering hot day, Draco could tell already and the sun was just now rising. A sweltering day of digging. Lovely. He scowled and watched as Harry mechanically went about prying up strips of dirt with the grass still sprouting from the top. They were neat, nearly perfectly straight rows, and Draco smirked.

"An expert at digging gardens, are you?"

"Dug them for my aunt," he replied absently, wiping the sweat that had already begun gathering on his forehead with his arm. He winced a little. "Pull up the strips and roll them up, will you? I'll break them, this is the hardest part. The dirt will be softer underneath."

Draco snorted. "I don't think so. Honestly, this is servant's work. My father would roll over in his grave if he could see me now."

"You're father's not dead."

"Well, if he were dead."
Harry just looked at him and shook his head in irritation. "Fine. You sit there and get a sunburn, I'll do it myself."

Sighing loudly, Draco rolled his eyes and started pulling the turf up and rolling it awkwardly, grunting with effort as he carried them a short distance away. They worked in silence for a long while, until all the grass was gone and it was just dirt, and then Draco got his shovel and they started tossing dirt out of the large, rectangular plot.

Against his will, Draco found himself actually enjoying it. The way his muscles ached, the way his body sweated, it was novel for him, this physical labor. He'd never done anything like this before, anything that required this much effort.

By the time an hour had passed and the sun was up, Draco pulled his t-shirt off and tossed it aside, though Harry hadn't removed his long-sleeved button-up shirt.

When the shirt was filthy and stained with sweat an hour later, Draco turned to ask Harry about it. His own chest was sweaty now and streaked with dirt, and he felt rather sexy. Like the construction workers he'd seen in Muggle London one time when his nanny had taken him to McDonalds without his father's knowledge.