Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or Dawn dish soap (though I do own a bottle of it), or Glad trash bags (even though I have some, the copyright/patent-thingy isn't mine), or Tide detergent.

A/N: a Fiction Alley plot bunny. Mild male/male implications, though nothing too bad.

Housework and Magic Don't Mix

By Silvain Star

"I hate housework…" Harry grumbled, wishing Draco would do his own dishes once in a while. He was up to his elbows in water and Dawn, and he was seriously considering buying paper plates next time. The door opened and Ron walked in.

"Mate, no offense, but what are you DOING? You look so…" Ron started laughing. "so…girly!"

"I do not!" Harry argued, though he had been thinking the same thing earlier.

"Mate, you're wearing a pink frilly apron, and doing dishes by hand. You can't tell me that's not at least a little girly," Ron grinned.

Harry grabbed the bottle of Dawn dish soap and brandished it a Ron. "I have soap, and I'm not afraid to use it!"

"Harry, why don't you just use magic?" Ron said, frowning at the dish soap as it slipped out of Harry's soapy hand and went flying under the table, causing Harry to get down on his hands and knees to chase it.

"That's not a bad idea, actually," Harry said, crawling out covered in dust and soap, with the elusive bottle in one hand. He replaced the bottle and took out his wand, dropping it three times before washing the soap off his hand and trying again. He performed a spell to make the dishes wash themselves, the broom and dustpan sweep the floor on their own, and the laundry wash and dry and fold itself. He cast a spell to send the feather duster to go dust, and make the trash empty itself and new bags spring to their cans.

Unfortunately, Harry wasn't very good with housework spells, and everything backfired all at once. The dish soap began flying around squirting him and Ron, the dustpan chased him and tried to hit him on the head while the broom repeatedly poked Ron in the back, the laundry basket shot clothes at them while the Tide detergent scooper tossed powder detergent at them, the feather duster decided to dust their faces and made them sneeze, and the empty trash bags roped themselves across their fleeing path. Harry and Ron both sneezed from the dust at the worst moment they could, and tripped over the trash bags, tangling themselves up in the process, as the dish soap squirted them and the Tide dumped itself in their hair. Just as the door opened again, announcing Draco's arrival, a sock smacked Ron in the face, and a pair of silver boxers patterned with green dragons fell on Harry's head. As Draco entered the kitchen, the dustpan, which had been hovering over the door, turned over to empty itself. The Dawn dish soap squirted once more, then hovered innocently over Harry's head.

"Harry… love… what happened here?" Draco asked, taking in the scene as a scrap of paper fell out of his hair.

"Housework…" Harry sighed.

"And why are my boxers on your head?"

"Because the chores decided to attack us," Ron said, pulling the sock off his face.

"Explain…" Draco insisted, pulling the Glad trash bags from around the best friends.

"Well, it started when I said Harry looked a bit girly doing housework in that apron. He threatened me with dish soap, and it slipped out of his hand under the table, so I suggested he just use magic-" Ron began.

"That's enough… I think I know what happened," Draco interrupted. He turned to Harry. "You tried to use magic, and the spell backfired, causing the chores to attack you and dump detergent on you."

Harry nodded. "I learned something today…"

"What's that?" Draco asked, helping Harry up, right into a hug. He nuzzled Harry's dusty neck.

"Housework and magic don't mix," he replied, grinning. He started to laugh, until the bottle of Dawn decided to empty itself over his head. "I hate soap…"