Here's a little something I wrote for the HD Remix fest over on LJ.
I do not own the plot for this fic.
This is a remix of an original fanwork: specifically, icmezzo's Love Lies Bleating. It was remixed with her permission for a challenge, and while it can be read as a stand alone, I would absolutely recommend the original which is hilarious and absolutely adorable.
You can find icmezzo on LiveJournal.
Draco awoke — as he often did these days — to the sound of a soft tapping at his bedroom door. Still half asleep, he scowled and curled belligerently into his blankets. The knocking continued, unabated and irritating and loud. Every tap against the wood seemed to go right through Draco's throbbing skull. He clenched his teeth and buried himself under the covers.
One would think that after a dozen or so thwarted efforts, Mother would take the bloody hint. This crusade of hers to turn him into a functional human being was starting to grate on his nerves. Especially all this rubbish about being up at a reasonable hour. He could die in this bed for all the difference it would make.
He had nothing to do and nowhere to be and absolutely no one to see. No one wanted him around since the war and while he could hardly blame them, it didn't make it less depressing. Therefore, if Draco was going to be depressed, he would very well be depressed in bed. Mother could just learn to live with it.
Mood sufficiently soured, he sneered and turned over, stubbornly ignoring the knocking until it ceased altogether. Draco heaved a sigh of relief and closed his eyes, only to yelp in alarm as knobbly, pointy fingers poked at him through the covers.
"Master Draco is needing to get up now!" a squeaky voice informed him.
Draco scowled and turned over, blinking blearily at his assaulter. The house-elf squeaked in dismay and tugged her ears anxiously, but gamely resumed her mission. "Master Draco is needing his breakfast," she insisted firmly. "He must be getting up now."
"Go away, Hilla," Draco muttered, suppressing the instinctive urge to yell at the unfortunate creature. She was only doing her job, after all. It wasn't her fault Mother was being so stubborn. Draco sneered to himself. Well, two could play at that game.
Hilla however, was refusing to back down. "Master Draco will be falling sick!" she blubbered fretfully, tugging at her ears in earnest now. "Sick and ill and not well! Oh, the poor young master! Won't eat his breakfast…all Hilla's fault…"
Draco watched in alarm as the elf descended into shrill wails of despair, tugging her ears and banging her head against assorted furniture. Oh for the love of…Draco groaned as the howls ascended to a whole new decibel. His headache returned with a vengeance and he silently damned his mother and the entire race of house-elves. Why couldn't they all just leave him to his misery? There was no call for this drama. He could hardly sleep with a raving elf in his quarters.
Hilla continued with her caterwauling and Draco's eye twitched dangerously.
Right. This had to stop.
"Hilla," he tried, keeping his tone calm and stern. The elf ignored him in favour of shrieking and assaulting herself with a cushion. Hardly effective, but Draco supposed it was the thought that counted. And really, this was going too far. "Hilla!" he snapped again. "Stop that racket or I'll give you socks myself! And don't think I won't!"
Hilla released the cushion and turned to him with pleading, wet eyes. "Will Master Draco be having his breakfast then?" she whimpered.
Draco's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Fine. Tell Mother I'll be down momentarily."
Hilla beamed at him and Draco resolutely refused to smile back. No need to bond with the help, after all. Instead he sighed and summoned his robe. A bath was certainly in order if he was going to have to venture downstairs.
Suddenly, a thought struck and he halted. "Where's Cerise?" he asked the elf. Mother usually sent her personal house-elf to wake him up in the mornings. Cerise was far more manageable than Hilla. One mention of Stinging Hexes and she would run for cover. Draco was rather fond of her.
Hilla turned back to him. "Cerise is busy with Mistress' new goat, Master Draco," she replied.
Draco gaped at her. "She's busy with what?"
But Hilla had already disappeared with a crack, leaving Draco staring dumbfounded in the silence.
Draco ate breakfast alone. This, by itself was odd. Usually, Mother would be sitting across from him, alternating between fretful heckling and casually mentioning various events in the Daily Prophet that he might be interested in. Draco was rather thankful for the silence actually, and for once he ate with gusto instead of picking sullenly at his eggs.
Hilla's parting statement had intrigued him greatly and he was eager to dispense with his meal and go find Mother and ask her what this was all about. Draco shovelled in the last of his eggs, banished his plate to the kitchen and then went off in search of Mother. She'd most likely be in the gardens at this time. Draco took a right down the hallway and made his way to the Manor Gardens.
Draco walked down the small trail that led to his favourite section of the Manor lawns. He had looked all over but Mother was nowhere to be found. Perhaps, she was in the West Wing? Draco dismissed the thought, deciding to look for her later. It had been a while since he'd visited his little garden patch and he had missed it. Smiling slightly, Draco made his way further.
Mother didn't come this way too often. She found it unkempt and unsightly. The bushes weren't trimmed and the grass was far too long. She would even cast a notice-me-not charm on the whole patch when they had visitors. Not that they had many visitors nowadays…Draco shook his head firmly. He wasn't going to think about that. The garden was a symbol of happier, simpler times in his life. Resolutely, he quickened his paces.
The frog pond was still teeming. A hopper croaked amiably at him before plunging into the water. His old swing hung from the gnarled elm tree. Draco smiled. He'd had good times here. It would hardly do to tarnish the place with his maudlin musings.
Everything here held good memories for him. Why, even that rock pile had…
Wait a minute.
Rock pile? Draco's brow furrowed. He'd never had a rock pile.
"Mah!"
The attack cry came out of nowhere. Draco yelped in alarm and scrambled away, on the double. A furry face poked out from right above the pile, peering warily at him. Draco blinked as the…the animal cantered up to the very top and stared down at him.
Draco stared back. It was brown. And rather small. And it was most certainly a goat.
"Mah," it bleated sullenly, no doubt requesting him to take his leave. Draco was too stunned to be appropriately offended.
"She actually bought a goat," he mumbled. "Why'd she buy a goat?"
Draco was fairly concerned now. Mother must be lonelier than he thought — especially if she was seeking the company of this…this barnyard beast.
"Mah!" the offensive creature repeated itself, as if catching on to his unvoiced opinions. Draco glared in response and planted his hands on his hips. "And just what is your problem?" he demanded. The goat ignored him in favour of descending a few steps and staring disapprovingly at him. That was when Draco noticed the glasses.
"Are you…are you wearing Father's glasses?" The animal was in fact, sporting Lucius' bifocals. Draco gaped incredulously. Okay, he was really worried about Mother now.
"Mah," the goat agreed nonchalantly. It then proceeded to ignore Draco and began its ascent again. Draco watched in silence as it hopped and skipped its way to the top, then clambered down. The hoppity-skippety routine was repeated a few more times for good measure. Draco could swear the animal was deliberately ignoring him. His ego bristled at the idea of being brushed off by a goat. "Aren't you getting tired of that?" he asked.
"Nah," the goat retorted, wagging its hindquarters rudely at Draco as it began all over again.
Draco shook his head and took a seat on the swing. Well, at least someone was having fun.
Half an hour had passed before the goat decided to mix it up a little. Draco raised an eyebrow as the creature leapt off the rock pile and landed on spindly, teetering legs. It bleated triumphantly and Draco smirked. "Very impressive," he offered, "...for a mulch eater."
The goat snorted at him and cantered about, keeping a prudent distance from Draco's swing. Now and then it would get distracted and come too close. Then it would bleat in alarm and dash away again. Draco rolled his eyes.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Hay Head," he drawled. "Do you really think I've got nothing better to do than sit here and plot your untimely demise?"
The goat bleated in dismay and skittered back again, observing him with wide, wary eyes.
Draco sighed. "Well, perhaps I don't," he agreed. "But I'm not going to. And I'm going to stop talking to you now, because this is a new low. Just stay out of my way and do your — your goat things and we'll be fine, all right?"
The animal twitched a cautious ear and took a step closer. Draco froze, watching it carefully. Then it bleated and dashed around him towards the tree. It kept an eye on him as it chewed thoughtfully at some bark, no doubt expecting Draco to make a lunge for it. Even a stupid goat wouldn't trust him. Draco sighed and looked out into the distance at nothing in particular, trying not to feel strangely hurt by the whole thing.
At some point, he must have nodded off on the swing. The gentle rocking motion and the warm sun had lulled Draco into peaceful, tranquil sleep.
The loud and angry bleat was a rather rude awakening.
"Mah!"
Draco yelped and nearly fell over, catching hold of the rope to hold him up and looking around frantically. The goat ignored him in favour of bleating up a storm. It – he, Draco supposed it was a he – was standing a few feet away and acting like grass was officially out of season. Draco finally succeeded in righting himself, and glared at the little trouble-maker.
"Damn it, you furry fiend! Give me a heart attack, why don't you?"
"Mah!" the goat replied, dashing off again. That's when Draco noticed that something was chasing it.
The frog croaked aggressively before hopping a few paces and making a lunge for the unfortunate creature. The goat bleated haplessly and made a run for Draco, skittering behind him in an effort to avoid the big, scary frog. Draco gave the absurdity a minute to sink in, and then he burst into laughter.
He couldn't help it. It was just so ridiculous.
"You – you can't be serious," he managed between bouts of uncontrollable laughter. The goat pawed sullenly at a clump of grass behind him. The frog croaked and puffed up imposingly, observing it with an evil gleam in its eye. The furry twit trembled and snuffled into Draco's flank, clearly terrified.
Eventually, Draco got a handle on himself. Still chuckling, he scooped up the hopper. "That's enough, William."
As a boy, he called all the frogs William. They didn't seem to mind. At least, they never told him so. "Shame on you, picking on the poor little goat," he went on, putting William back in the pond. "Go find yourself a worthy opponent, will you? Perhaps a dragonfly or a lily-pad…"
The frog swam off and Draco returned to his swing, still grinning. It had been a while since he'd laughed so much. It felt…good. Like a load had been lifted off him. His mirth only increased when he caught sight of the goat cautiously clambering up on the old garden bench, apparently intent on thwarting any more murderous amphibians.
"You really are a piece of work," Draco chuckled, shaking his head. Damn it if he wasn't getting fond of the silly creature.
The goat bleated and tossed its head, doing a quick hop skip on top of the bench. Draco watched with amusement, absently wondering if he could pet it. He extended a hand but the goat shied and backed away a few paces.
Draco's shoulders slumped. Right. Still not friends then.
An idea suddenly struck. Draco perked up and pulled his wand out from his pocket. "Accio apple," he chanted. Sure enough, an apple whooshed by from the kitchens and he caught it neatly. Draco held it out to the goat who froze in his tracks and eyed it covetously. Draco grinned and waggled the fruit.
"Do you want to share?"
The day passed quickly and soon, it was late in the afternoon. Oddly enough, Draco was still laughing. Not that he could be blamed, of course. He had had a ridiculously entertaining day if he did say so himself.
It took a few dozen apple slices but the goat eventually succumbed to the legendary Malfoy charm. Draco had spent the better part of his day petting the silly creature, scratching his ears and watching him amble about.
Eventually, things became even more ridiculous.
The swing set was bad enough. Draco wondered just how silly he looked, pushing a goat propped precariously on a swing, limbs flailing clumsily and in all cardinal directions. But he was bleating in delight and his little tail was wagging and he tossed his head happily as he sailed through the air. Draco hadn't considered how expressive goats could be. Or perhaps it was just this one. But he was firmly convinced that the goat was enjoying himself just as much as he was. Somehow that made it even better.
Then there was the 'walk' through the gardens. Draco used the term 'walk' loosely. He'd made an idle suggestion at some point, with absolutely no intention of carrying through. But the goat had other ideas. Draco had been relentlessly butted and bleated at until he went through with the inane idea and cast a Feather Light Charm on himself. He could only hope none of the house-elves saw him sitting on the goat, cantering proudly through the gardens. They only stopped because his furry familiar decided to take a detour through one of Mother's fountains. Draco had been soaked to the bone and he laughed his head off through every bit of it.
Not too long after, he was hurtling for the Snitch on his old Nimbus, one arm outstretched and the other protectively wrapped around his bleating passenger as they scoured the air for his target. A golden flutter caught his eye and Draco executed a perfect loop, hurtling towards the Snitch. His arm grasped out and small wings fluttered against his fingers for a second. Draco grinned triumphantly and his fist closed around…
… absolutely nothing.
"Mah!" came the muffled albeit triumphant call of victory. Draco caught a glimpse of gold in the goat's mouth and then there was an audible swallow. Not for the first time that day, he burst out laughing.
"You great loon," he chuckled, petting the smug goat fondly. "I can't believe you swallowed it!"
"Mah," the goat replied, bunting affectionately into Draco's hand. Draco grinned and scratched his ears. "You know, with those glasses and the Snitch swallowing, I can swear you almost remind me of…"
Draco trailed off, frowning slightly. That was odd, wasn't it? Finally, he shrugged and patted his new best friend. "Never mind. You're much smarter than him. Better looking, too. Let's go chase those prissy peacocks again, yeah?"
They whooshed back to the ground, boy and goat in search of new adventures.
Sunset came all too soon. Draco sighed in contentment as he sprawled out on the grass, letting the last rays of the sun warm his skin. The goat sat next to him, chewing contentedly at the last of Mother's roses. Draco spent the better part of his hour running his fingers through coarse, brown fur and truthfully, the silly creature seemed to be as content as he felt. This was oddly enough, really the best day he'd had in a very long time.
"Guillaume," Draco murmured to himself. The goat took a break from chewing to stare enquiringly at him. Draco scratched his ears and the bumps of his horns. "That's what I'll call you, you nit," he grinned. "I figure if you're going to stay, I may as well name you."
Guillaume bleated affectionately and bunted into his hand. Draco smiled and petted him again. "I'm glad you're here," he said softly. "It's been a while since I've had this much fun." They went back to gazing at the horizon, watching streaks of orange and red paint the sky.
"Draco?"
Draco jumped at the sudden disturbance and whirled around. His mother was standing behind them, clutching a book and looking rather perplexed. Draco flushed and edged away from his new friend.
"Yes, Mother?"
Narcissa's gaze travelled from him to the goat and back again. Guillaume bleated in apparent dismay and snuffled into Draco's palm. Draco patted his rump soothingly, wondering what this was all about. "I need to talk to Harry for a moment," Mother explained.
Draco raised a disparaging eyebrow. "Harry?" he scoffed. "That's a horrible name. I've decided to name him Guillaume. Guillaume, the goat. That's much better."
"You…what?" Mother blinked, looking even more confused.
"Why did you buy a goat anyway?" Draco asked distractedly, recommencing the petting.
"Of course I didn't buy Harry," Mother replied. "Why would you think – wait. Didn't you see my note?"
"What note?"
"Oh for Salazar's… the parchment on your place setting in the dining room. For you to find when you came down for breakfast!"
Draco frowned and shook his head. "There was no note. What did it say?"
"No note? Where could it have gone? I left it there myself. Parchment doesn't just disappear into thin…" Mother trailed off as Guillaume attempted to slink away. "…air," she finished flatly. Guillaume bleated fretfully and hoofed at the ground. Draco could have sworn he looked guilty.
Mother seemed to think so too. She glared sternly at Guillaume, crossing her arms and tapping her foot. Draco was reminded of that time he had snuck a frog in during dinner and it had made a break for safety in Father's soup.
"Harry," Narcissa intoned sternly. "Did you eat my note?"
"Nah," Guillaume protested weakly.
"Harry!"
"Mah."
Narcissa's shook her head and pressed a slim hand against her eyes. "Oh dear."
"Mah," Guillaume agreed pitifully.
Draco stared at both of them, getting more confused by the second. "What the bloody hell is going on?" he demanded.
Narcissa wrung her hands anxiously. "Draco, you're going to need to sit down. Harry, give us a minute, please?"
Draco gaped at her, absolutely lost. "What in the…why do you keep calling him Harry?"
"Draco, he…"
She was interrupted by a violent hacking cough. Draco whirled around. For Merlin's sake, what now? Guillaume was bent over, wheezing and hacking. Draco's eyes widened in alarm. He was next to his pet in seconds, summoning a pail and filling it with water.
Three things happened in quick succession.
First the sun finally set, dipping below the horizon and out of sight.
Second, the goat flew out of Draco's grip and spun violently in the air.
And finally, something naked, heavy and decidedly non-goat-like landed on top of Draco and knocked all the breath out of him.
As the ringing in Draco's ears receded, he caught Mother's whispered, "Oh dear." He groaned and opened his eyes.
Big, green unmistakable eyes stared back at him. Eyes framed by wiry, unfashionable spectacles.
"Hi," Potter mumbled in a small voice.
Draco stared in stunned, horrified silence. And then he imploded.
"What the fuck?!"
A shrill, sharp scream tore from his throat as he scrambled to get away from Potter. Naked Potter! Naked former goat Potter!
Guillaume was Potter! Potter was Guillaume!
Potter was naked!
Potter was dead.
"Potter!" Draco howled, quite unable to control himself. "That's fucking Potter!" He couldn't decide whether he was embarrassed beyond belief or just fucking furious. He gaped in absolute horror at the two of them. Mother pursed her lips, but Potter was staring right at him – his gaze a mixture of shame and concern.
It only made Draco more livid. What kind of trick was this? Impersonating a goat? This was low even for Potter! Would he stop atnothing to ruin Draco's life?
And he had somehow talked Mother into this horrid scheme!
"I can't believe you would do this to me!" Draco yelled, turning on her. "Embarrassing me like this! My own mother!"
"Now, Draco," Narcissa soothed, handing Potter a cloak to cover himself. "Please, let me explain."
Draco sneered. "No, I don't think I will," he replied coldly. "If you'll excuse me…" And with that he stormed off, leaving Mother and Potter staring at his retreating back as he tried to put as much distance between himself and them as was humanly possible.
Several days passed and Draco's life had returned to status quo. He had gone back to sleeping twelve hours a day, ignoring Mother's summons, reducing house-elves to tears and skipping meals – business as usual. It wasn't pleasant, but Draco was determined to put that…traumatic incident behind him and carry on with not moving on with his life.
Nevertheless, every now and then he found himself poring over Mother's spell book and leafing through a certain potion.
Just Kid-ding: Shirley Hammerhard's Goat-for-a-Day Potion Ingredients: 7 slices of burnt toast
1 piece of previously chewed cinnamon bubble gum
1/8 tsp. powdered lacewing fly
19 strands of fresh grass
1/3 beetle
4 pints pumpkin juice
1 bogey
2 owl treats, mouse or cricket flavour
Stir (combine thoroughly) and heat to body temperature for 24 minutes. Consume immediately. Appropriate for beginner through advanced students.
Draco shook his head and sighed as he chucked the book away.
Honestly, only Potter.
It had taken three days of sulking and about a month's worth of pumpkin soufflés before Draco had conceded to listen to Mother's explanation. Bizarre as it was, he believed it.
Only Potter could be incompetent enough to swallow seven slices of burnt toast and stale cinnamon gum, then accidentally ingest powdered lacewing (having mistaken it for sugar), trip over his shoelaces and swallow precisely nineteen strands of grass, a partial beetle, try to wash it down with pumpkin juice, then swallow…the other thing and finish it off with a nice helping of mouse flavoured owl treats.
Not once.
A total of four times, as it happened.
Draco feared for humanity, he really did.
The story only became better, of course. It always did with Potter. The long and short of it was that he had somehow managed his latest accidental transformation while Mother had been visiting him to discuss Father's sentence. Having found herself faced with the goat version of the Saviour of Magical Kind, she acted with prudence and brought him home to consult the Manor library texts and find a cure.
In the meantime, Potter had found Draco and the rest was…bizarre history.
"Idiot," Draco grumbled sullenly. Still, it was nice to know that Potter hadn't gone out of his way to deceive him, hadn't meant for it to happen. These things just happened with him. He had explained as much in the twelve owls he had sent Draco since that day. Sure as the sun, the notes arrived every morning, imploring Draco to write back just once. Draco never did. He was still peeved, thank you very much.
Besides, Potter was clearly losing his patience. His last note had been particularly agitated. He had declared that if Draco wasn't going to write back, he was going to do something about it. Draco snorted. Like that was going to happen. Potter wouldn't come back for Draco. Draco wasn't worth coming back for anyway. Potter would just eventually stop writing, that was all.
Draco resolutely told himself that he wouldn't miss it.
"…and I'll tie your shoelaces myself. Don't think I won't, young man!"
Draco frowned as Mother's scolding voice carried over to his room. She never took that tone with the house-elves, and they didn't have shoes anyway.
Then he heard mother's resigned "Oh, very well. He's upstairs. Good luck."
"Mah!"
Draco froze at that all too familiar bleat and the unmistakable cantering of hooves. No. No, he wouldn't. Would he?
Yes, Draco realized. He would. He definitely would.
A furry head poked in at his door, nosing it open. "Mah," Potter greeted happily, cantering in like he owned the place. He ambled about Draco's bedroom – Draco's bedroom – and sniffed about, very much at ease.
"No, really," Draco deadpanned. "Make yourself at home."
"Mah," Potter replied nonchalantly, upsetting a wastepaper basket. He cantered about in delight as a half eaten apple rolled out. Then, he turned his back on Draco and commenced munching it.
Draco bristled indignantly at the rude dismissal. "I don't know what you think you're doing here Potter, but you're wasting your time."
"Nah."
"And you're a goat again," Draco replied with a sniff, leafing through his book again. "Just thought I'd mention it in case you haven't noticed." With all the time the idiot spent as a four foot walking garbage disposal, it was quite possible that he had in fact, missed that little detail.
"Mah," Potter agreed.
"What set it off this time? Too much toast? Another craving for owl treats?"
Potter stopped munching and stared at him. Draco raised an eyebrow as the goat cantered over and butted against his leg.
"Ouch!" Draco hissed in pain. "Potter!"
"Mah."
"Yes, I'm still cross with you," Draco snapped.
"Mah?"
"Because you lied to me, obviously."
"Mah!"
"Well, I don't care if it wasn't your fault. The fact remains that you could have done…I don't know, something and you didn't."
"Mah," Potter replied belligerently, flattening his ears for emphasis.
Draco scowled at him. "Well, you're a git too," he replied. "And now, I'm going to ignore you and go back to reading because you're a goat and this is stupid. You can just sit in that corner and…be a goat forever for all I care. Goodbye, Potter." And with that, he went back to reading, dismissing the stupid goat or git or…git goat? Goat git?
Whatever. Draco was so done with this.
He kept his eyes glued to his book, firmly ignoring Potter when he cantered over to peer over Draco's shoulder. He refused to acknowledge Potter when he snuffled at the book. He merely pursed his lips and went on reading.
However, when Potter craned his neck and took a big bite out of Chapter 23, Draco launched a protest.
"Potter!" he scolded, shaking the idiot off. "No! Bad goat!"
Potter abandoned the book and went to chew on the curtains instead. Draco groaned and pinched the bridge off his nose. He had forgotten this part.
"Potter, stop it," he ordered firmly. Potter blithely ignored him and went on eating the curtains. If it was possible, he was even more obstinate in goat form.
"Potter, really. This isn't going to…"
"Mah," Potter replied, still chewing.
"And don't talk with your mouth full," Draco scolded.
Potter snorted and went back to munching. When the curtains were sufficiently ruined, he started on the carpet. Finally, Draco had to admit defeat. "All right!" he cried, throwing his arms up in exasperation. "If I take you outside, will you stop eating everything?"
Potter abandoned the carpet at once and bounded over, hopping and skipping alongside Draco and wagging his little tail in apparent delight. Draco sneered at the furry little menace. "Come on then," he muttered. "And mark my words, Potter. This is the last time I'm indulging you. Do you understand?"
"Mah," Potter replied, pushing him towards the door.
Draco thought that last bleat sounded a little smug.
It took Draco about three weeks to learn that as far as sheer obstinacy went, goats trumped Malfoys hooves down.
The first time Potter had come over since the incident, Draco had indeed been badgered into taking him for a walk. But he had also made his displeasure very clear by ignoring Potter's ridiculous goat antics and refusing to smile when he dove into Mother's fountain. Of course, then the idiot got spooked by the frogs again and Draco had to save him. But the fact remained that Draco had done everything in his power to discourage Potter from visiting.
One week later, Potter was over again in goat form. Mother threatened to buy Potter peppermint flavoured bubblegum and a new toaster, just in case. Draco hadn't wanted to risk his precious books again so he'd accompanied Potter to the gardens without protest. He had refused when Potter politely bleated for a push on the swing. Potter had responded most unfairly, by gazing at Draco with downcast eyes and lowered ears. Draco grudgingly indulged him for a good hour and a half before Potter would let him have a turn on the swing.
By week three, Mother's resolve was clearly breaking and so was Draco's. He was already in the gardens impatiently waiting for the goat to show. Potter bunted against him affectionately as soon as he arrived and engaged him in a game of tag. Draco upped the ante by procuring the brooms. Potter swallowed three more Snitches that day.
On day one of week four, Draco napped until sunset. He nuzzled into Potter's fur and only woke when Potter nibbled gently at his hair. Draco yawned and got up, rubbing his eyes sleepily. When he removed his hand, the goat was gone and Potter was there, staring at him with anxious green eyed and twigs in his hair.
"I'll…just go then," he mumbled, reaching for his cloak.
"Potter."
Potter halted and looked at him enquiringly.
"Come as yourself tomorrow," Draco mumbled, curling back on the grass for a few more minutes. Potter grinned incredulously and Draco suppressed a smile of his own and closed his eyes. He pretended not to notice when Potter leaned over and kissed his forehead.
These days, things are a little bit different. Draco doesn't sleep in until noon, for one thing. He barely skips a meal and his portions have increased. He spends a lot of time in the gardens, but he doesn't skulk about alone. Potter always keeps him company, in one form or the other. Draco isn't sure what he likes best, actually.
Goat Potter still plays a great Seeker's game even if he does eat his prizes. But bloke Potter is a fantastic kisser. Eventually, Draco just decided he'd rather not choose. Bloke Potter or Goat Potter, as long as he had Potter it was all right.
As for the rest of the Manor occupants:
William remains at large and on the lookout for hapless goats to torment. No one is safe.
Hilla is delighted and extremely grateful for the improvement in Draco's appetite. She makes it a point to sneak Potter an apple whenever she can, goat or not.
Mother's roses are naught but mulch now. They will be missed.
Mother, herself? A bit bemused, most likely. She laments her roses, of course and there have been a couple of exasperated 'Oh, Harry's as the Snitch swallowing continues unabated. But once in a while Draco sees her, sitting in her study and watching him and Potter cavort about the Manor with a hint of a smile on her lips. He suspects that all in all, she thinks it's worth it.
And for once, Draco agrees wholeheartedly.