Detention with the Muggles

Beta read by: Daily Prophet Reporting and Whimsy

The Beautiful Cover Art is a courtesy of Poggy 'pojypojy' on Deviantart

Disclaimer: I would love to own Draco. I wouldn't mind owning Harry too, or any other character in the Harry Potter books, although sometimes Harry quite pisses me off. But I do not, so don't sue me, Jo! it's not my fault if I get these ideas, and I don't earn a penny from them.

Author's note: This story was written pre-HBP.

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"Damn McGonagall," hissed Draco under his breath. "It's all her bloody fault!"

He sat at the entrance of a small cave with legs and arms crossed, resting his head on his hands and his back on the bare stone. He stared outside, thinking in boredom. A cave: a grandiose word for just a crevice in the stone, but it was the only place he could get to easily. The Muggle clothes he had been forced to wear were wet at the legs and arms, but, thank Merlin, he'd found a place to weather in before it started to pour.

"What did you say?" asked a childish voice at his left.

Draco sighed and rolled his eyes, raising his gaze to the ceiling of the cave and following randomly a bat flying into the small shelter they had just found. He turned to look at the little girl next to him. "Nothing. Don't worry," he muttered, trying to sound reassuring; he couldn't stand to hear the child crying yet again.

Yeah, it was McGonagall's fault. Draco had insulted Granger again before their Transfiguration lesson started two days ago. He'd called her Mudblood and had said that she disgusted him. Unfortunately, he had turned around to find the professor right behind him, looking extremely displeased after hearing every word he had said.

"Very well, Mr Malfoy. Detention for you, and ten points from Slytherin for your behaviour," she had said. Draco had wanted to hex her, to smash her ugly face, to tear her hair out by the roots...to hurt her badly. But he couldn't and had to lower his head, and accept his punishment. He hated it! Malfoys should never lower their heads. They should raise their chins high over everyone else. Especially over that Gryffindor wench!

But he'd hated her even more when he found out what his detention would entail.

"You'll go to a Muggle farm and work there for the whole weekend, Mr Malfoy. You're not allowed to use magic. You do have permission to bring your wand with you - these days we must all be careful. But you're not allowed to use it unless you're in life-threatening danger. You'll be under the same restrictions that are in effect during summer holidays. And don't stare at me like that," she had said sharply, noticing that his eyes had gone wider and wider as she talked and that now they had narrowed into a look of pure and utter loathing. "It's for your own good."

"How can it be for my own good?" he'd asked, his fists clenched and shaking.

McGonagall had given him a piercing glare and had replied, her voice lofty with the ease of years spent disciplining students: "You must learn some respect for Muggles, Mr Malfoy. If we cannot teach you that with theory, we'll teach you with pratice."

"But..." he had tried to argue.

"No buts. You'll leave tomorrow and your detention will continue every weekend until I deem you've learned your lesson. When your classes are over, you'll find some Muggle clothes you ought to wear on your bed." H spoken.

er serious gaze bore straight into his soul as she'd spoken.

"But... my father won't ever approve..." he'd said again. Professor McGonagall had smashed her right hand over her desk, forcefully shutting him up.