𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐔𝐒 2008

Potty Wee Potter and a Newt in Transfiguration (1/3)

Author: grey_hunter
Title: Potty Wee Potter and a Newt in Transfiguration (Part 1 of 3)
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, default canon pairings in the background
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Harry can't remember how he's ended up as Draco Malfoy's personal house-elf.
Warnings (if any): Epilogue-compliant, (partial?) cross-dressing, rimming, some gore, fruits.
Total word count: ~23 500

Potty Wee Potter and a Newt in Transfiguration Part 1 of 3

The chiming of the doorbells signalled that it was Thursday.

Draco Malfoy only ever had visitors on Thursdays; specifically, every Thursday afternoon at teatime – to the minute, like clockwork. Or like a conditioned Pavlovian response.

Harry opened the door before the last resounding chime ended, arm stretched out awkwardly to be able to reach the handle. He kept forgetting he could do this with magic.

The hulking shadow of a wizard filled up almost the entire doorway, except for the two sloping windows of blinding sunlight above his shoulders.

"Welcome, Master Goyle," Harry said. Instinct compelled him to bow deeply, but this time he managed – just barely – to stop himself before his nose actually bumped into the ground. It bloody hurt, last time he didn't pay attention, and just how daft was it to have a bruise on the tip of one's nose?

One large step carried the man's massive bulk over the threshold, and a habitual movement sent the door swinging closed, swiping Harry away with it, and almost wrenching his shoulder out of its socket because, again, he hadn’t let go in time. Muscle by muscle, the blunt features of Goyle's face reordered into a dull mask of bemusement.

"Potty." The deep grunt sounded uncertain, as if its owner thought it strange that he had to acknowledge Harry's presence. It was the same reaction Harry got every time.

Malfoy was, as usual, waiting in the drawing room. His hastily assumed 'elegantly reclined' pose was not quite up to his old standards, with one of his feet slipping from the green pouffe and the other one having almost lost the house slipper, which was dangling precariously from his big toe. He held the Daily Prophet's sports page in his hand – upside down. Harry thought it sad that not even Goyle fell for the act anymore.

"Hello, Greg," Malfoy said, pointedly not taking notice of the contorted angle of Goyle's neck as he put down his paper.

"Draco."

Harry sighed. Even his considerable experience in solving plots was no help in finding any hidden meaning behind that exchange. Besides, he had no time to loiter; he had to go and serve tea.

"So. Seen the latest headlines?" Goyle was asking when Harry returned with the tea tray.

"Yes, but they're talking utter crap, as always." Malfoy waved, disinterested, with the paper, which caused the Quidditch section to dislodge and slip onto the carpet. Malfoy appeared not to notice. "Potter isn't missing. I bet he was sent on some idiotic undercover mission and the Ministry doesn't want to admit it."

For a moment, Harry's heart sped up, but then he reminded himself that Malfoy was always jumping to conclusions. There was no way he could know anything.

"I didn't mean the gossip section." Goyle said reprovingly. The narrow stripe of skin between the thick brows and low hairline had only space to accommodate exactly one thought-line. Harry thought it was appropriate since Goyle had a one-track mind, and even that one was usually focussed on food.