Title: Potty <3 Drakey
Summary: Lots of scary, hairy, barely-sane wizards came from Grimmauld Place, leaving some even more disturbing curses behind. Draco is helping Potter clean up when he discovers exactly how... creative his extended family could be. Then it gets worse.
Rating: PG-13 (you'll thank me for stopping there, really.)
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): Rather cracky creature-fic, but almost certainly not what you're thinking. First-person narrative.
Epilogue compliant? Not in the slightest.
Word Count: ~2,500
Author's Notes: Happy H/D Hols, winnett! You asked for creature-fic, friends-turned-lovers, accidental bonding, and broom riding, and I was immediately attacked by a rather long-eared crack bunny. I hope you enjoy the result – it certainly was fun to write! Thanks to my long-suffering beta, and to the mods for being beyond understanding.
Merlin, he was insufferable.
Sure, we'd become almost friendly during the Hogwarts restoration, and after he gave my wand back I'd have probably agreed to anything, but Potter just had to ask for help cleaning up Grimmauld Place. Disturbing bunch, Mum's extended family – lots of scary, hairy, barely-sane wizards came from that place. I'd never had much to do with them, and dealing with their detritus certainly didn't rank high on my list of exciting ways to spend my time. Of course, it beats hanging about in Azkaban (even sans Dementors), so the next Monday I hopped on my broom and made my way to London.
Potter was circling above me, grinning like a maniac.
My hand shot out automatically, fingers closing around warm metal. I looked down, taking in the key's intricate scrollwork surrounding a large B. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Let yourself into the house while you're helping out,” Potter replied, swooping over to hover next to me. “Figure it's easier if you stay here.”
“No thanks,” I managed to suppress a snort. As if there was a chance I'd stay in this dreary old house, alone, with Potter of all people, during the holidays. “Mum would miss me.”
He rolled his eyes. “Keep the key – at least I won't have to let you in tomorrow.”
The place was even more of a filthy pit than I'd imagined, even knowing it had recently housed a bevy of Weasleys. Apparently the Blacks weren't terribly careful with their house-elves, and Potter was scared of them.
“Kreacher is staying on at Hogwarts,” Potter said. “He's made friends there, and is something of a natural leader – I couldn't take him away from that. And he wouldn't take socks.”
Or maybe Potter was just scared of Granger. Either way, he adamantly refused my suggestion of importing elves from the Manor to help with the clean-up, so I was stuck with my previous agreement.
We carted piles of old Quidditch gear out of Regulus's room, pulled moth-eaten draperies off the windows, reorganized the library, and even set up a small Christmas tree. I spent a bit of time catching up on family gossip with Great-Aunt Walburga (she'd frightened me in person at age five, but now seemed sad and lonely) as I polished her picture frame, and cleaned Kreacher's old cabinet – the sorts of things Potter wasn't able to handle.
I spent some effort preventing Potter from following his godfather's lead in throwing out all the remaining family treasures, but on one front we were agreed: the shrunken elf-heads in the stairwell simply had to go.
They'd clearly been attached with the same sort of charm as Aunt Walburga's portrait, and were near-impossible to remove. The last head finally fell to my best un-sticking charm combined with a pry-bar wielded by Potter.
“We're getting these things out of the house before tea,” Potter said, tossing his pry-bar aside. “Let's go.”
I grabbed a plaque in each hand, careful to avoid touching those nasty shriveled faces, and followed Potter towards the front door.
“Leave the elves!” Great-Aunt Walburga yelled from her portrait. “Filthy blood-traitor – despoiling my house!”
“Stuff it,” Potter said, yanking the curtain back over her portrait. “I'm putting you in the attic next week, even if the whole wall goes with you.”
“Draco, don't help the blood traitor – the elves must stay!” She was becoming frantic. “They're cursed!”
I looked at Potter, who just shrugged, rolled his eyes, and opened the door.
“Don't do it!” The portrait wailed. “Nooooooo!”
I ignored her, and followed Potter out of the house.
When I woke, I was lying flat on my back in the cold, my entire body hurt, and my head was spinning. I waited a bit, then slowly opened my eyes.
I was lying on the landing, staring up at a the neatly-arrayed set of house-elf heads, reattached to the wall as if they'd never left.
“Merlin's arse,” I muttered. “Why didn't she just say they were unremovable?”
There was a weird, high-pitched moan from my left, and I sat up to investigate.
It was a particularly unpleasant-looking house-elf, lying face-down on the landing. Perhaps things were looking up – if Potty had managed to engage an elf, we'd be done with the rest of the house in no time. We could even pay it, if that would keep Granger happy, but I was off the hook!
The elf rolled over and moaned again.
I examined it more closely – in addition to a somewhat over-sized tea-towel, it had glasses and a … Merlin, no.
“Potty!” I yelled. Or tried to – my voice came out a thin squeal.
The horrid thing pushed its fringe up and squinted back at me. I could see the scar clearly now – this was definitely Potty, turned into a house elf. I had to get away, fast - the Ministry would doubtless try to pin the blame on me. I scrambled to my feet.
“Drakey?” Elf-Potter was staring up at me quizzically, enormous green eyes almost popping out of his nasty little head. “What's wrong with you?”
I reached for my wand, prepared to explain exactly what happened to anyone but Mum who dared call me by that nickname, but – it was my name. And I wasn't carrying a wand. My eyes widened, and I rearranged my tea-towel in an attempt to cover my confusion.
“Why is Drakey a house-elf?” He asked.
I kicked him with one small, warty bare foot.
“You are too, Potty! You idiot,” I squealed. “How did you do this?”
He sat up and tugged at his ears, still staring at me with those bulbous worried eyes.
“Mistress Walburga -” I could see the pain it gave him to name my Great-Aunt that way, “She said the elf-heads were cursed.”
I pulled down on my ears, hard. It hurt almost as much as I needed it to, and I looked about for an iron.
Potty scrambled to his feet. “Potty is going to ask Hermione - she'll know how to fix it!” He scampered for the door, and I raced after him.
“You are not telling Granger about this, Potty!”
He threw the door open before I could stop him, but immediately bounced back in a shower of green sparks, landing on his towel-clad arse. I gave him another kick in the ribs for good measure.
“Mistress Walburga!” I winced at my piping tones, but soldiered on. “The cursed elf-heads turned us into house elves! How can Drakey reverse the curse?”
She looked down at me and shrugged. “I have no idea. But you and Potty belong to the house now.”
“But Potty owns this house!” Potty yelled, stomping over to stand in front of the portrait.
“And it owns you,” she said, giving him a nasty smirk before turning to me and smiling. “Now Drakey, I want you to dust my frame – don't let that foul creature touch me.”
Potty stomped off towards the drawing room, and I gave Great-Aunt Walburga's frame a quick once-over before padding after him.
I found him sulking next to the fireplace.
“So you still own the house,” I said without preamble as he glared up at me. “Just give Drakey a sock, and I'll be on my way.”
“Drakey is a keyholder of Grimmauld Place,” he squealed. “Do you still have the key? You can give Potty clothes too.”
“Fine,” I spat, digging the key out of my pocket and waving it under his nose. “But Drakey wants his sock now.”
“Potty doesn't trust you,” he growled. “We give each other socks. At the same time.”
“Fine.” I scampered up the stairs to Potty's bedroom, and we each grabbed a sock from his trunk.
“Will this really fix the curse?” he asked, ears trembling.
“Drakey doesn't know,” I answered. “But nothing could be worse than this!”
Potty nodded somberly, and we ceremoniously exchanged socks.
I woke up flat on my back again, still cold and sore - this was getting old. I reached up to feel my ears – still long and droopy. Damn. I tucked the worthless sock into the pocket of my tea-towel, sat up and rubbed my eyes.
At least Potty still had the same problem. I stood up and smirked as I took it all in – his long, luxurious ears drooping just so, the spiky fringe falling into his lovely green eyes, the tea towel that was just short enough to tease...
I sat down hard, clutching my head. “Nooooooooo!”
“What's wrong, Drakey?” Potty rubbed my shoulders, and I leaned into him with a sigh. He nuzzled my neck, and started rubbing lower. And lower. And...
“Eeek!” I hopped to my feet. “Why are you doing that?”
Potty was staring at his hands like he'd never seen them before.
“Potty doesn't know why!” He turned mournful eyes to me, and bit his lip in most adorable fashion. “But Drakey is looking extremely fit today.”
“So is Potty.” The words slipped out before I could stop them, and his ears quirked up as he smiled. “But we need to find out what happened! The last thing Drakey remembers is exchanging socks with Potty.”
“Maybe elves giving elves clothes is different,” he said, brow furrowed in concentration. “Potty and Drakey gave the socks at the same time – maybe that matters? Like a love spell.”
I suddenly knew.. Oh, Merlin.
“Wait,” I said, leaning towards Potty. “I hope Drakey is wrong...”
I reached one trembling forefinger out toward his chest, directly over his heart. My fingertip glowed a bright, luminous orange.
“What does it mean?” He stared at me, and I took a deep breath.
“Drakey and Potty are bonded.”
“Bonded?” He squeaked. “How do we stop it?”
“Drakey doesn't know,” I answered, putting a comforting arm around his waist. “Bonding is hard to break in people, and Drakey doesn't know anything about elf bonding.”
“Mmmm,” he said, arching up against me. “How does it work in people?”
“Depends on how things go,” I murmured, squeezing him close.
“How things go when?” He carded his long fingers through my forelock.
“When, ” my breath hitched as his fingers brushed the sensitive spot at the base of my ears, “When we try to consummate the bond.”
Potty snorted. “Do, or do not. There is no try.”
“What?” He was still incomprehensible. Adorable, with those big green eyes staring right back at me, but gone 'round the twist.
“Never mind,” Potty said, resuming his work on my ears. I relaxed despite myself. “Tell Potty about what happens to the bond.”
“The strength of the bond is determined by several factors. The compatibility of the partners' magical powers, and the quality of the match.” Merlin, I sounded like Slughorn discussing potions ingredients. “The intensity of the... coupling,” Potty smirked and waggled his eyebrows at me, “signals the strength of the bond.”
“The stronger the bond, the harder it is to break,” I said. “And the less likely the partners are to want to break it.”
“But house elves may be different.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, house elves may be totally different.”
Potty sprang to his feet. “Let's find out,” he said, tugging at my hand. “Come on, Drakey!”
His voice sent shivers down my spine, and I allowed myself to be led downstairs into the kitchen. Potty opened the cupboard door, and paused.
“Drakey really wants to, with Potty?” He squeaked, staring at me with big nervous eyes.
I shoved Potty up against the next cabinet, pressing my body against his, and put a hand on either side of his face.
“Yes,” I leaned in and pressed my lips against his.
He hesitated briefly, then I felt his lips part against mine. The next few moments were a bit blurry, but I distinctly remember thinking how incredibly long his tongue was. Our tea towels didn't leave much to the imagination – and let me tell you, everything they say about those with big ears is true.
I finally came up for breath, and jumped as Potty pinched my arse under the tea towel.
“Oh, Drakey!” he whispered.
He grabbed me about the waist, and I tumbled after him into the cupboard.
I woke up sore all over, naked and wedged into a warm, impossibly tight corner. I moaned and tried to move my arms, but there was something – no, someone on top of me.
So I did the sensible thing – I yelled, and started kicking. I finally connected squarely with a door, and we rolled out in a flailing tangle of limbs. Of course I ended up on top, staring down into a gorgeous pair of deliciouslyhuman-sized green eyes.
“Potter!” I wound my fingers in his hair and flopped down against his body. “You're not a house elf!”
“Neither are you,” he said, grinning back up at me. “How did we do it?”
I raised up on my elbows and slid a finger down to his heart. It gave a blinding flash, and I quickly jerked my hand away.
“Still bonded,” he observed, blinking.
“And now that we've consummated the bond, we belong to each other,” I said, thinking quickly, “not the house.”
“So if we break the bond will we be house elves again?”
“No idea,” I replied, “But this bond is extremely strong.”
“I guess we're a good match,” he said, smirking. “I always thought your wand felt friendly.”
“You're a pure-blood too,” I retorted. “It's a strong match. We'd have a hard time breaking it.”
Oh bollocks. I was going to have to tell Mother – and she'd expect Potter to accompany me to all the society holiday parties. My dismay must have shown on my face.
“Do you want to break the bond?” he asked, arching up against me.
Merlin, Potter was even better-endowed as a human than as a house-elf. I slipped a hand down between us for confirmation.
“Do you?” He ground his hips against me in slow circles.
“Er, no,” I gasped. Wow. So that was why my arse was so sore.
“It's almost too bad,” he said with a sigh. “You were an awfully cute house elf, Drakey.”
“Call me that again and I'll hex your bollocks off,” I hissed, “Bond or no bond.”
“Don't worry, I've got a better use for those,” Potter said, trailing his fingers slowly down the side of my torso then slipping in to cup my balls. “But this time let's skip the creepy cupboard - I've got a perfectly good bed upstairs.”
I shivered, and leaned down to kiss him again.