Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or settings to be found herein.
A/N: I wrote this deeply silly little HP/GO ficlet a few years ago, but thought I might as well post it here now as it's still pretty DH compliant (well, with the exception of the epilogue, of course). I picture the Lovegood's Snorkacks as being a sort of male equalivalent to the Playboy Bunnies.
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There was a knock on the door.
Though Voldemort had been vanquished five years ago Harry still retained several lingering vestiges of paranoia, and he therefore immediately checked the sneakascope, the foe glass and the output from the CCTV camera(1).
No immediate danger was indicated, so he looked through the key hole.
He then withdrew and rubbed his eyes. Confident that what he had just seen was the product of too much stress and too little sleep.
He looked again.
Okay, this had to be a particularly persistent, insomnia fuelled hallucination.
"Open the door Potter," said a muffled, yet clearly raised voice. "I'm freezing my bollocks off out here."
For several seconds Harry was rendered completely speechless. All the available evidence was now strongly suggesting that Draco Malfoy was in fact standing outside his front door wearing nothing but a thin blue cloak and a pair of black boxer shorts with a pink fur trim. So much for functioning dark detectors.
Wand at the ready, he flung the door open.
The blonde haired man looked at him in a thoroughly disgruntled fashion. "Well, that took you long en…."
A few quick hexes flung in Malfoy's direction cut off whatever aspersions he was about to cast upon Harry's ability to answer a door.
As he hauled Malfoy's immobilised form inside the flat Harry dearly hoped that none of the Muggle neighbours could see him. They already had him down as a bit of a strange sort, and he really didn't need them to see him dragging an unconscious, half-naked man inside.
"It'll all end in smut you know," said one of the two women in the living room portrait(2) , which Dean Thomas had gifted to him as a flat warming present.
"Always does," said the other, nodding sagely.
"Shut up," snapped Harry, wishing that he could find some way to rid himself of the blasted thing without hurting the feelings of his artistically inclined friend and colleague.
He then, in a move that would have raised a great many eyebrows were it to be publicly made known, plonked Malfoy onto one of the mismatched dining chairs, and, with the aid of a dressing gown cord and a tea towel, tied his hands and feet behind him.
Ignoring the pointed and self-congratulatory glances going on in the portrait, he pressed his wand to the centre of Malfoy's forehead.
"Enervate."
Draco snapped back to consciousness with a start. He then gaped as he realised that he was bound to a chair. "What are you trying to do Potter," he d demanded, "use me to fulfil all of your sordid and debauched fantasies?"
"What?" snapped an affronted Harry. "You have the arrogance to think that you'd feature in any of my sordid fantasies. Not that I have sordid fantasies, of course. But if I did, you certainly wouldn't be in them."
"Fine," snapped Draco, looking worrying disappointed.
"Anyway, what I want to know is what you're doing here?"
"It's quite simple Potter," said Draco, as he made a great show of looking disparagingly at the small room's sparse furnishings, "I'm on the run and need somewhere to stay."
"On the run from who? The Wizengamot pardoned you four years ago and all of Voldemort's more... loyal supporters are either dead or languishing in Azkaban(3).
Draco went a rather amusing shade of pink and mumbled something incomprehensible.
"What?"
"I… erm… I accidentally vandalised a demon's car and now he's after me."
"How can you accidentally vandalise a car."
"That bit was intentional. I just didn't realise it belonged to a demon at the time."
"Why did you come here though?"
"I'd heard that your house has divine protection."
This was, in fact, true. The rumours that Harry Potter had been blessed by an angel were actually correct. Contrary to popular belief however the said blessing was not for his valiant stand against evil, but rather for a hard week of helping out in a second hand bookshop.
"But how did you find me?" he asked, trying to look directly at Draco whilst ignoring his mid-section.
"Erm… I saw you last week in Asda and followed you home."
"You mean you were stalking me, you bast… hey wait a minute, what the hell were you doing in a Muggle supermarket?"
Draco blanched. "Would you back to the magical world if your father had been caught doing what mine was doing in Gringotts?"
"What, you mean the thing with the goblins, the pogo stick, the nine-tailed flogger and the seven gallons of chocolate fondue? I thought that was just a vicious rumour. Why on earth do you think that I'd help protect you from the forces of evil though?"
"Well, I was hoping that some of that Gryffindor nobility would win through, or failing that, I could offer to fulfil all of your debauched fantasies."
"I already told you I don't have those kinds of thoughts, especially not about you."
"You said you didn't have sordid fantasies about me, not debauched ones."
"There's no difference," said Harry, feeling increasingly irked by the whole situation.
"There is, it's just subtle," said Draco.
"Is that why you showed up in those ridiculous underpants?"
Draco returned from blanched to blush in less than a second. "Er… this is what I wear for work. It was just that he showed up and I had to run."
Harry's eyes widened. "You wear those for work. What sort of job do you do?"
"I'm a host at Lovegood's Dancing Snorkack Bistro."
Harry burst out laughing. It took several minutes before he was capable of coherent speech. "Do you have to wear the fluffy pink Snorkack horn?"
"There's nothing wrong with the Snorkack horn," said Draco, coldly.
This merely sent Harry into another prolonged fit of laughter. "Draco Malfoy a Lovegood's Snorkack, who would have thought it?"
"Look Potter I'm… er… really sorry about all of that stuff that happened at school and… and… I really don't want to die by frazzlement at the hands of an enraged demon."
Harry thought about all of the times that he'd wanted to inflict serious bodily harm upon Draco Malfoy's person. He then thought about the fact that Lucius Malfoy's heir was now a disgraced Lovegood's Snorkack, with about as much foresight and common sense as a screwdriver. Eventually he made his decision.
"Fine. You can stay here until it's all sorted out," he said, hoping that he still had the phone number for Fell's Books.
Draco's face was at once the very picture of relief. "Don't suppose you could untie me? I mean, it's not as if I've got a wand on me."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Well, only if you were lying when you talked about offering to fulfil of my debauched desires."
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(1)Which, while a good idea in theory, was rendered quite useless due to the fact that, given the near proximity of so many magical items, it kept picked up nothing but an obscure digital channel that seemed to mainly feature low budget talk shows, lower budget soap operas and an advert in which a sharply dressed man in dark glasses waxed lyrical about the virtues of something called The Posthumous Essence Acquisition Plan, which promised £££ now in return for agreeing to reimburse the creditors with an unspecified sum upon death.
(2)Entitled: The Two Fair Maidens of Slashtopia
(3)The majority on tax evasion convictions.