Vukovich: 50/50 shit 'n' Shinola

So the prompt is something along those lines with Draco fisting Harry while wearing a ring on their first night of 8th year/university/new job, etc., it doesn't go well, and Harry needs medical attention. He can have a vagina if you're feeling it, but no preference between that and ass. Merry fistmasssss

Put a Ring on in It

Draco never would have done it if Potter hadn't dared him.

"You gonna get cold feet now, Malfoy?"

They were both utterly pissed and high off triumph.

"Chicken," Potter said. He tossed his packer to bounce off Draco's chest and onto the floor.

It was warm.

Potter was warmer. And wet. Drenched. The only thing he said was "More", until Draco ran out of fingers, but Harry begged like a man starving.

They didn't quit until Draco's shoulder shook. He was pressure-red across the knuckles, like he'd punched a wall, then dunked his fist in Vaseline to put out the burn.

Potter excused himself to the restroom and didn't come back. Draco didn't take it personally. In fact, he hardly noticed.

--

Potter robbed him. It was the only plausible explanation.

In the morning, his ring and wallet were gone. He noticed the missing ring immediately upon waking. He missed it like a dead spouse, the absence in bed palpable.

Magic didn't find it, so it wasn't anywhere nearby.

When he wrested last night's clothes back on, his pockets were empty.

Potter. He scoffed at the indignity of it while doing up his cuffs. Of all damned people. Auror Potter.

A freshening spell would have to do this morning. He had a police report to file.

--

By the time he reached the desk, his ire had faded. Rather than demand to see Potter or loudly narrate the contents of his report, he cleared his throat and said:

"Yes, Auror Potter found my wallet and I'm supposed to pick it up from him."

The secretary glanced up at him sidelong. Then down. She lingered on his shoes.

"He's sick."

Draco considered finding Potter's office and breaking into it. The secretary wheeled her chair to a rotary phone on the other end of the desk. Her back was to Draco.

And then he was halfway down the hall.

Left: Aurors A-H Right: Aurors I-R Ahead: Aurors S-Z

"Helpful," he whispered to himself.

He kept his stride casual and did not think about what would happen to a former Death Eater, who was somewhere in the twilight between drunk and hungover, when he got caught ransacking a Senior Auror's office on a lark.

Potter, Harold James

"Pfft," Draco grabbed the doorknob and twisted, just to see how sturdy the lock was. "Harold James. Sounds like a porn-"

The door swung right open. Potter was sitting at his desk.

"-name..." Draco gulped. He considered bolting. Apparating. Throwing something and screaming. "Pocket sand."

"What?"

"I said, 'You're supposed to be sick'."

As soon as he said it, he felt it, himself. His hangover was approaching like a freight train of northbound nausea. He was adept at holding himself together, but the effort made him irate.

"Oh. I am. I'm on my way home." Potter shifted in his chair like he couldn't find a comfortable spot. "I was, ah," he held up a scrap of paper, "just going to Owl you. Actually."

"To apologize for robbing me in my sleep?" Draco hissed.

Why was he even here at this God-forsaken hour, anyway? Because Saint Potter was a klepto when he drank? He surely didn't need the money.

"Wait," Potter paused in pulling a clear plastic baggie from his robe pocket, "what? I didn't steal it."

He pulled it out even more slowly, and Draco realized he'd walked into a trap. Potter had engineered this. He was some kind of one night stand stalker. He wanted Draco to come hunt him down the morning after. And he knew exactly what to steal to spur Draco best.

"You arsehole." Draco's ire stuffed his guts back down.

He snatched the baggie and held it up. Inside was his ring, safe and sound. If a bit crusty.

Potter didn't say anything to defend himself. He silently watched Draco pour the ring out into his palm. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.

He was probably disappointed Draco had figured him out. Maybe he'd expected Draco to be too cowardly to demand it back. That seemed more like Potter. He probably took a souvenir from all of his bedroom conquests. His wallet had better not be missing anything important.

"And my wallet?" Draco asked, like was collecting taxes.

Potter shot him a quizzical look.

Draco sniffed and said, "Or do you keep that for your sex trophy collection?"

"My what?"

"You know, your-"

And Potter leaned back in his chair, and the seat made a strange, clinical crinkling sound. And then the grind of ice cubes. And Potter's hissed breath.

And Draco finally looked down at his hands. There was a St Mungo's logo on the baggie. The dried gunk around the emerald was tinged with red-turning-brown.

Potter hadn't stolen out under the cover of darkness like a cat burglar, after all. He'd used Draco's bathroom and gone straight to the Mungo's A&E.

Potter said, "You probably left your wallet at the party. I think you left without your coat, too."

Draco gulped. His wallet was in his coat pocket in the cloak room.

The events of the night replayed in fast-forward. Many frames were missing.

"Didn't know you were left-handed," Potter said, as though watching the film in Draco's head.

"I'm... not...?" Draco said, dazed, as he desperately sought an exit.

He sent a man to the hospital and then hunted him down and accused him of theft. He'd gone to considerable lengths to do so, in fact. Illegal lengths.

The color drained from his face, and he wobbled a bit.

"I think I'm unwell," Draco warbled.

Potter handed him the folded scrap of paper and nodded towards the open door. In farewell, he said, "Interesting that wasn't even your better hand," but mostly to himself.

Draco didn't stop to consider it and shuffled in the general direction of the front desk. Presuming that the folded paper was a note to get him past the secretary, he unfolded it as he approached.

It was official stationary from the desk of Harold James Potter, Senior Auror.

Draco huffed at the self-important name choice.

There was no note. Not a single word. Just a doodle of a Niffler.

weeedledeedleeeldle

woooooo

SCHERRRENNSNSNSNSNSSNSPDRRRRR

beeetleboop

1) Set off your smoke alarm or play the sound on your phone (if your home has no smoke alarms, pease get some!)

2) stand BY THE FRONT DOOR to hand out treats

Do this a couple times and then keep it up NO EXCEPTIONS. Accidentally set the alarm off cooking? Treats by the door. Smoke alarm sound on TV? Treats by the door. Changing your smoke alarm batteries twice a year like you’re supposed to? Give them a test run and your pets get treats by the door.

Most dogs and cats will clue in VERY quickly that hearing that specific sound means go to the front door and wait for treats.

If there’s an emergency and even if you leave by another way, you will still know the most likely place your pet(s) is and can direct first responders to help.