dracotops_mods (dracotops_mods) wrote in dracotops_harry,

Fest: AMKM (PG-13)

We have two stories for you today. The second one will go up tonight. Do enjoy !

Title: AMKM
Author: seerstella
Prompt: # 85
Summary: There is something Harry doesn’t know about one Draco Malfoy: his dancing skills. There is something Draco doesn’t know about one Harry Potter: Potter is a hopeless romantic.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): Draco/Harry
Word Count: 4622
Author's Notes: 8th year fic. Many thanks and hugs to M for the beta job! I have some good memories with this program (AMKM actually has a pretty same meaning with ‘You Say, We Play’), and I can’t find a better title. Got this idea from seeing misterfist’s prompt, and from my own habit of singing while washing the dishes *winkwink*. I used my own songs, and probably this is not what you want, so sorry! But hope you like! :)


Draco Malfoy hated McGonagall. He really did.

He didn’t do anything wrong, because he was a Malfoy, and no Malfoy does something bad. He merely made a small prank toward that annoying Golden Trio. All he did was mess up Granger’s robes, change Weasley’s hair (who wanted to look at all that disdainful ginger hair, anyway?), and blew up Potter’s cauldron. He had done pranks to them, especially Potter, countless times, which made him wonder why McGonagall put him in the detention now.

She gave him the worst detention ever: cleaning the Muggle Studies class for two months, every Saturday. Without magic.

Draco almost fainted when the old Headmistress told him what he had to do. He’d never done anything without magic – he even Accio’d his books from his desk into his hand Oh, hell. Draco rolled his eyes and took up the broom.

It wasn’t like the school broom he sometimes used for Quidditch practice. It was a house broom, which was only used by house-elves. And now he was as low as those elves. He snorted. Even elves were allowed to use magic to clean things. Bloody hell.

Wait until my father hears about this, he thought.

Then he stopped. He hadn’t spoken to his father since Voldemort’s downfall, which had been last year. He snorted again and gripped the broom. For a minute, he had forgotten why he came here in the 8th year. He had to prove to everyone that he wasn’t Lucius Malfoy. He had done things his father hadn’t; and he had hobbies his father didn’t have.

One of those hobbies included listening to Muggle music. Lucius would kill him if he knew about it.

Now, back to Draco’s detention. Like its name, Muggle Studies class was full of things Muggle. Books, unmoving photos, papers and not parchment… the list went on and on. Even the tables were different from those in the magical classrooms. They were smaller and sat one student each, unlike the longer tables in Potions class.

McGonagall had told Draco to move the books from the tables to the cupboard near the teacher’s desk. Draco knew she was absolutely barmy when he saw how many there books were, and how heavy they were. He rolled his eyes, rolled up his sleeve and prepared for the heavy work.

He lifted a huge book from one of the tables and was opening the cupboard when he heard something.

“Howdy, partner!”

Draco was so shocked, he dropped the book. Thank Merlin it didn’t hit his any of his toes or he would have had to spend the night in the infirmary. He glared at a Muggle radio, obviously charmed to play anytime someone opened the cupboard. So, this was the only thing that contained magic in this… un-magical place.

“You’re still listening to me, Sonny, in our dear program ‘You Say, We Play’!”

Draco surely had that ridiculous gape on his face. What the bloody hell? He continued to stare at the radio as the voice continued.

“We have Elisa here who requested a 50’s rock ’n roll. Hey, what do you folks have in mind? I think nothing’s nicer than Say Mama. She left the choice to me, so I choose. So, here it is, folks, Say Mama by old Gene Vincent. Enjoy!”

Draco’s gape turned into a huge grin. He had listened to that song, of course. His Aunt Andromeda sometimes had played it when he was little, and even taught him some Muggle dancing steps. It had become one of his favourite songs, and it brought up good memories before the War. He grabbed his broom and spun around as the music started. He closed his eyes and opened them again when Vincent started to sing.

Say Mama, can I go out tonight?
Say, Mama, will it be alright?

Draco was actually a dancer, and a good one at that. He spun, pretending he was at a Ministry gala, dancing with Pansy Parkinson like when he had been eight years old. It was fun, and besides, he liked imagining the broom as Pansy, which was very amusing. He loosened his tie and continued to spin all around the class with the broom in hand.

They got a rockin’ party down the street
Say Mama, can’t you hear that beat?

He jumped on a chair and then onto the table. Using the broom as a Muggle microphone, he shouted as loud as he could.

Woa, woah, woa-hoo-hoo-hoo!
Woa, woah, woa-hoo-hoo-hoo!
Woah, Yeah!

He spun again, making his hair messy and cheeks flush, but he didn’t care. He was alone anyway, and being alone was a rare occasion. He spun on the wooden table and jumped to another. When the song started again, he stood still, the broom handle/microphone near his mouth.

Say Mama, don’t you look that way
‘cause I know just what you’re going to say.

When this part was played, he had jumped down from the table, realising he had made the class dirtier instead of cleaning it, much to his horror. But still, not wanting to let the song pass, he spun on the floor, singing on the top of his voice.

Well Mama, well don’t be mad
You’re gonna say, go ask your dad
Woa, woah, woa-hoo-hoo-hoo!
Woa, woah, woa-hoo-hoo-hoo!
Woah, yeah!

This part was filled by the music, and Draco decided to control his breath and swept the floor. It wasn’t dusty, but dirty enough to make him sneeze. Then he remembered. Tomorrow was Sunday, and for that, Draco was grateful. He could oversleep and maybe go to the kitchen to ask for some food.

All right now!

Draco lifted the broom and used it as an imaginary guitar. He had dreamed of owning this Muggle instrument but never had the guts to ask for it from his parents. As the music progressed, Draco kept playing the imaginary riff and chords and spinning around the class like a professional Muggle singer. Then the music faded, and the voice started.

Say Mama, can I go out tonight?
Say, Mama, will it be alright?
They got a rockin’ party down the street
Say Mama, can’t you hear that beat?

Draco sang the last ‘woa, woah’ part, and the song stopped. He looked around the class and frowned disapprovingly. It wasn’t a mess, the Muggle Studies class, no it wasn’t. But it wasn’t any cleaner than when Draco walked in earlier.

The radio played boring songs afterwards. Draco merely hummed the tunes as he swept the floor and put the books into the cupboard. He couldn’t do any dancing again or this detention would never end. At three in the morning, he was done, and now he could get some sleep. He was used to sleeping late, anyways.


When Draco woke up, there was a small tray of toast and pumpkin juice next to his bed. He frowned and was grateful that his goons had gone to the Great Hall or he wouldn’t have any of this for breakfast. They, and all the Slytherins for that matter, didn’t know about his detention. They would die laughing their arses off from the news of The Slytherin Ice Prince having a detention.


Draco rolled his eyes at the sight of 10:20 in front of him. Maybe they had reached Hogsmeade by now. He wondered who gave him this breakfast, but he didn’t worry about it. Maybe Pansy; he knew she cared deeply about him. He took the toast and ate it happily.

The song yesterday had cheered him up, although he would never admit it.


What the bloody hell was wrong with Potter?

That thought occurred to Draco when he saw Potter changing the colour of the bird instead of transfiguring it back to a chair like he was supposed to. He knew Potter wasn’t really brilliant at Transfigurations, but he also wasn’t this bad. Rolling his eyes, Draco transfigured Potter’s bird, startling him.

“Can’t even make a chair, can you, Potter?”

Potter rolled his eyes. “Maybe I need some extra lessons.”

“No,” Draco sneered at him. “What you need is a detention.” Because seeing Potter in a detention was the best thing ever.

To his surprise, Potter practically beamed at him. “That’s a good idea,” he said, shocking the blond. “I’ll think about it.”

Draco frowned when Potter made his way towards his friends. He rolled his eyes and sat down on the nearest chair. Nobody would’ve guessed how barmy that Boy-Who-Lived was. Maybe Voldemort had done something to his mind.

“Dray,” Pansy called from next to him. He looked at her, and she pointed at Potter, who winked.


Draco couldn’t help but to gape as Potter went away with the Gryffindorks, acting as if he had done nothing at all. Pansy elbowed his rib. “Now, you stop gawking like that,” she said amusedly. “Someone could take your picture and put it in the Prophet.”


Harry had been pining over Draco Malfoy for years. To be precise, that ridiculous feeling started at the end of sixth year, in which Harry had witnessed Draco’s reluctance to kill Dumbledore. Alright, alright, actually since third year he had wet dreams about the Slytherin. But well... nobody could know about that.

Malfoy – who had become Draco since Merlin-knows-when – had become a spy for the Light side, and that made Harry like him more. He had rarely seen Draco during the war, but sometimes Draco sent him letters with coded words about Voldemort’s whereabouts, which had been very useful.

Once or twice, Harry sent him a letter first, asking him something just to get to know him better. Draco didn’t always reply nicely – he was still Malfoy after all – but at the end of the letters, he usually did answer Harry’s questions. To Harry’s surprise, he found that he and Draco had a lot in common.

What shocked him more was their mutual like of Muggle music.

When Harry still lived with his Muggle relatives, Aunt Petunia had a tendency to play songs and dance around in her room when she thought nobody was looking. It was amusing, to see someone as old as his aunt doing tap dance and playing an imaginary guitar on her broom. It was just as amusing to see Malfoy doing the same.

Well, in Draco’s case, maybe not amusing. Arousing was the better word. Harry had never seen someone as handsome as Draco Malfoy, and seeing him dishevelled and sweaty and with messy clothes and with red cheeks and so un-Malfoy-like made him much better looking than usual.

That was a good thing, of course. Dishevelled Draco added a new colour for his wet dream, after all. And Harry wanted to see him doing it again, he really did.

So, being the half-Slytherin he was, he made his way towards the Muggle Studies class. The teacher, Professor Kennedy, a tall woman with strawberry-blond hair, a kind smile, and Muggle clothes was sitting alone at the teacher’s desk. Apparently, she was grading the students’ papers, for she looked so absorbed. However, she looked up when Harry walked in.

“Hullo, Harry. I didn’t know you 8th years have my class today.”

Harry nodded at her before grinning at the sight of a Muggle telephone next to the cupboard behind her desk. It was exactly what he was looking for.

“Can I borrow the phone, Professor?”


Draco wondered why that Muggle Professor couldn’t keep her class tidier. Even after a week of cleaning, it was still messy every night after classes ended. But at least, with that radio in the cupboard, his detentions became easier to bear. He opened the cupboard.

“Howdy, partner!” The radio roared its full volume. “Back to me, Sonny, in our Saturday night’s program ‘You Say, We Play’!”

Draco grinned as he lifted the tables one by one, moving them to the corner of the class so he could sweep the floor. Sonny continued to talk, his voice becoming the only noise in the empty room.

“Seems like we have a lovesick schoolboy in here!” he said cheerfully. “See... James! He wants a love song, a slow one we can use to dance. He said he likes another boy in his class, and maybe he’s listening to this station right now, so this song is for him. How sweet and brave you are, James!”

It shocked Draco that Sonny didn’t even sound repulsed at this James’ blatant gay confession. He thought Muggles were all homophobic, but well... like in many things in his life, he was proved wrong. He waited as Sonny announced the song.

“So, here it is, folks, All I Have to do is Dream by The Everly Brothers! Enjoy!”

Draco didn’t know the song, but he could learn to love it. He always loved old Muggle songs, and that wasn’t something he would admit out loud. No, he hadn’t heard these songs since Aunt Andromeda left, but he still loved them. When he was little, he had suspected that The Beatles, Queen, and Michael Jackson could’ve been wizards and those Muggles didn’t have any idea.

Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream
Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream

Merlin, what a sappy love song.

But yes, Draco could learn to love it.


Harry watched with amusement as Draco did a slow dance between the tables and used the broom as his dancing partner. He wondered who Draco imagined the broom to be; most probably Parkinson, she had attached herself – much to Harry’s jealous dismay – to Draco’s hip all year.

When I want you in my arms
When I want you and all your charms
Whenever I want you, all I have to do is
Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream.

Harry let out a giggle, which he stifled almost immediately; he didn’t want Draco to hear it. He continued to peek as Draco made a graceful spin as if he really were dancing in a ball.

And Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away.


This James requested songs every Saturday, every time Draco was working, which made him wonder. This was the fourth Saturday he since he got the detention, and there were still another five Saturdays to go.

To his surprise, Draco didn’t really mind.

His father would kill him for this, but Draco found himself starting to enjoy the cleaning. It was the only time he could relive his good old memories, when the songs came out from the radio and when he danced with the song.

After Billie Jean ended, Sonny’s voice roared from the radio, and Draco continued his work.

“James has another message for his love! He says ‘I’ve been seeing you all this time, following your moves, listening to your voice every time you sing. I think I’m in love with you, and I’d love to dance with you someday. If only I could be braver and go to you. Oh, sweet!”

Wow, this James was an absolute stalker. And a hopeless romantic. Draco shook his head in exasperation and continued to work. He continued to tie the formerly messy scrolls of lessons about Muggle London, and Sonny continued to chatter, reading James’ message for ‘his love’.

“Whoa, Jamie!” Sonny’s chipper tone responded to the message. “Now we’re wondering why James can’t just go to his love and confess, aren’t we all? He does answer here, folks! Listen: ‘You hate me and I hate you. But I don’t think I can hate after I get to know you, after I realise that you’re not a git I used to think. We’re not exactly friends, and you still pull pranks on me, but I know we can make this work.’”

If James were a wizard, which Draco doubted, he would absolutely be a Gryffindor. Optimistic and bold, typical Gryffindors. Draco shook his head and paid no heed as he continued his work.


Like what was said before, the good thing about the detention was nobody knew about it. Somehow McGonagall had made sure of that. Maybe she didn’t want to have another student in detention for fighting and blackmailing. For that, Draco was relieved. He couldn’t imagine what his friends might think about it, and that would turn his life into a living hell.

As if this living hell wasn’t enough already.

But there was a small feeling that told Draco someone knew. Someone other than the old Headmistress knew. If that was true, that explained the morning breakfast next to his bed every Sunday morning, when he was so tired that he skipped breakfast in the Great Hall.

It was a weird feeling, of course, because nobody laughed at him for doing detentions in a Muggle classroom without magic. Nobody blackmailed or insulted him. That meant nobody knew. Or maybe the person knew, but they kept it to themselves, for their own twisted amusement.

Maybe McGonagall herself sent him breakfast. That thought was so hilarious, it sent Draco into hysterical laughter. It couldn’t be McGonagall; she could care less about his hunger. There was no way Draco could like her, and he knew she felt the same way about him.

“Oi, Malfoy!”

It took that familiar voice to break Draco from his musing. He was lucky that he had been alone in the library when he laughed like he was round the bend, but his luck turned one-eighty as he saw Weasley and Potter approached him.


“Harry wants to talk to you.”

Draco lifted his eyebrow and watched the two with concealed amusement. With an interesting shade of green, Weasley hurriedly left the library. That made Draco roll his eyes. Although he had turned to his side in the War, Weasley still couldn’t stand him. He kept throwing a glance at Potter, as if debating between to leave or stay. Finally, he was out the door,

After the Weasel was gone, Draco lifted his chin, showing Potter his usual Malfoy pride. He had to admit, Voldemort’s death had changed the Prat-Who-Lived. For example, he had grown a bit better looking, and it was obvious that he had put on some weight. Even his glasses weren’t so horrid anymore.

Speaking of Potter, he was acting weird all the time. Not like he hadn’t been weird before, but nowadays he was even worse. After McGonagall had put him in detention, Draco never pull a prank on any of the Trio again, and he started to notice them especially Potter instead.

Potter seemed like he really wanted to be in detention. He blew up his cauldron, he mis-Transfigured his bird, he wrote such an absurd essay in Charms, and the list went on. Thanks to his status as The Voldemort Slayer, the teachers turned a blind eye on him, but Draco didn’t. It was odd to see someone really want to be in a detention.

Finally someone else noticed. On Draco’s fifth Saturday, McGonagall put Potter in detention too. It was more boring than Draco’s since Potter had to deal with cauldrons and potions. Afterwards, Draco saw the Gryffindor turn back into his normal self, no longer seeking detentions.

“What?” Draco repeated, finally could get a grip to reality.

Potter looked flustered. “I just... I wonder if we can... er, start over or something.”

Draco had the right to look dumbfounded.

“I mean... Professor Kennedy talked to me yesterday. She told me about her Muggle Studies project and she wanted us to partner up for that, and maybe partnering with you won’t be so bad and...”

“You’re rambling.” Because Potter was... right?

Potter stopped. “Sorry.”

“What are you saying?”

“I want to start over.” Potter declared with his infuriating Gryffindor confidence, offering his right hand. “Hello, I’m Harry Potter.”

Draco couldn’t help but remember his old days, when he was younger and less mature and clouded by bias from his father. Back then, he could stand tall and smirk, and call people like Weasley names he actually didn’t know the meaning of.

But now he was older. He was more mature. He wasn’t a boy who wanted to be his father anymore.

So he took the offered hand, because he knew this was his only chance. “Draco Malfoy. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter.”


My Heart Will Go On was a song Draco had never heard, and he wondered why James requested such a sappy song. Today was his last Saturday, and McGonagall had admitted that with a deep frown of disagreement. Maybe that old bat wants some more, Draco thought sullenly.

Draco himself was between overjoyed and sad; he was starting to get used to doing the cleaning. Now, he was done sweeping the floor, and he was moving the tables back in place. Those tables were heavy, but he didn’t care. Sonny hummed the song and rambled about the it being used in a ‘blockbuster movie’ about a sinking ship in 1912.

James had become Sonny’s and Draco’s favourite. His messages for the love of his life filled Draco’s Detention Saturdays, and it was amusing to hear his lovey-dovey words. Sonny seemed to love them too, and he always commented after he finished reading the message. Still, Draco despised Sonny’s chipper tone, although he loved the songs he played. He sounds like a Hufflepuff first year.

Draco made a mental note to contact Aunt Andromeda and maybe have some nostalgic moments together. Although he knew he wouldn’t dare do that for real, the thought made him happier. It was good to remember her, after all.

It was quite shocking, really, that today the Muggle class wasn’t as dusty and chaotic as it used to be. It didn’t take long for Draco to finish. He stood up near Professor Kennedy’s chair, looking around the class and admiring his work. He had to admit he was good at this job, although he hated the idea of being as low as a house-elf.

Behind him was the cupboard, from which Sonny’s voice came.

“Hello, folks! Back with me, Sonny, in ‘You Say, We Play’! Before we continue with Tammy’s requested song, I have bad news for you. To guys who have fallen in love with James’ adorable love letters, I’m afraid you have to let it go. We have to say goodbye to James, since this is his last message to us all. Sad, isn’t it?”

Draco didn’t feel sad. No, not at all. And why should he? He was leaving this place as well, and he couldn’t care less about the blaring Muggle radio in a cupboard and the sugar-high broadcaster with his too-chipper voice, for Merlin’s sake. But still, he was curious about James. That man was blunt and reckless like a Gryffindor should be. Reckless for admitting his liking in public, and blunt for those words he had written to Sonny.

With a more serious tone, Sonny began to speak. It was short, but shocking nonetheless.

“Dear love of my life,

I’ve liked you since we were both in our third year. We weren’t friends, and now we’re just starting over, but I can’t help but think about it. I know I’m such a coward, choosing this way and not confessing directly. But I know you’d hate me as soon as I said it.

You’d been helping me last year, and we were closer than I thought. We have so much in common, and I can’t help but to relate to you. I see you everywhere after our ‘problem’ finished, and I can’t help but notice you. Things are getting weird, and I think you still don’t like me, so I know I should do something.

Last month I saw you serving detention. There was a radio, Sonny’s program, and I saw you dancing around the room. I’ve never seen that part of you, and I like it. I like it a lot. I did many things to put myself in detention with you, but I failed at all of them. I saw you dancing and singing every Saturday night, and I like you even more. I know you’d be tired afterwards and skip breakfast, so I brought you breakfast to your room. I hope you like it.

Even now, as Sonny reads this letter, I’m standing behind the door, seeing you working and sweeping and moving the tables. Or maybe you’re standing still right now, listening to Sonny read. Maybe you’ll hate his voice –
at this part Sonny coughed so hard he stopped reading – or his comments, but this is the only way I can tell you how I feel.

So, Merlin help me, but Draco Lucius Malfoy, I think I’m in love with you.

Harry James Potter.”

Draco was sure his mouth had touched the ground when Sonny said his name in James’ message. Sonny said something, his usual comment about the message. He couldn’t hear anything until he heard the door creak open. He looked up, and Harry Potter stood in the doorway, his face pale with a faint blush on his cheeks.

“Hi, Draco.”

To his surprise, Draco found himself suppressing a smile.


“Hi, folks! Back with me, Sonny, in ‘You Say, We Play’!”

The sound from the radio blared all around the small flat. Draco closed the curtains and walked towards the refrigerator. He still couldn’t help but to wonder how Muggles kept their food cold. But that was why he and Harry were here. Thanks to Professor Kennedy, all 8th year students had to live in Muggle London for three months. The Gryffindors had cheered, Hufflepuffs laughed, Ravenclaws contemplated, and Slytherin sneered.

They had been together for two months, and it had taken Draco a while to consider going out with Harry after the ‘coming clean’ incident. But actually both knew what his answer would be.

Nobody knew, of course. Well, maybe some people did. Granger probably had suspicions; that girl could read anything between the lines. To Harry’s surprise, Professor Kennedy had called him and joked about it, telling him not to ‘request songs with Hogwarts’ Muggle phone’ anymore.

Draco took a can of Muggle beverage – alright, the name was Pepsi, but who cared – and walked into the bedroom. Harry was sound asleep on the bed. Their bed. It was actually two separate beds, but they had merged them together for their own good.

Draco smiled. If Harry liked to see him dancing, Draco liked to see him sleeping. Harry was a terrible dancer, and he refused every time Draco asked him to, much to Draco’s chagrin.

Sonny’s voice was still audible from outside the bedroom, and Draco rolled his eyes. He forgot to turn off the bloody radio, and even after months, he still couldn’t help but despise the chipper voice. So he bent down and dropped a kiss to Harry’s temple before walked out. Harry had been a shy but wonderful lover, and although Draco never admitted it, he liked being with him.

Maybe he, too, had always liked Harry after all.

“Now, here’s a request from my dear, Kitty,” Sonny said, the volume of the radio increased tenfold when Draco sat on the armchair near it. He glanced at the Muggle clock on the wall and realised that the radio program was going to end.“So, I hope you folks like our last song for today... Smooth Criminal by Michael Jackson! Enjoy and have a good night! My name is Sonny and I’ll see you tomorrow night!”

Draco grinned and took a sip of his Pepsi before standing up. He had loved this song, and as he danced through it, he knew Harry had awoken and was now standing at the door, staring at all his moves with a huge grin on his face.

And with that thought, Draco found himself smiling a smile only Harry could make.


Tags: [admin] fest-2013, author: seerstella, era: 8th year, fic length: one shot, fic length: short, genre: humour, rating: pg-13, type: fic

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