Authors: pixystick (Harry) and furiosity (Draco)
Warning(s): Crack, and lots of it. Implied wallpreg.
Disclaimer: JKR owns. We only play. You do not sue.
Length: 2600 words
Summary: A sunny Tuesday morning turns nearly lethal as Harry makes a stunning realisation. Or, you know, we have absolutely no idea what we're talking about.
Note: Our compliments to thespicerack (see post-fic footnote). Stick art by furiosity and also entirely littlearsonist's fault.
Concrit: Always welcome and appreciated.
FADE IN ON: INT. GRIMMAULD PLACE, KITCHEN
Morning at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, began just as all Tuesday mornings did -- with Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy sitting at the kitchen table and having breakfast.
After Harry's famed defeat of the Dark Lord, the two former enemies ended up settling their differences in a memorable game of naked Quidditch, after which they'd moved in together and bothered no one with their presence. Unless we're talking about Hermione Granger, whom they bothered every night, as neither of the boys had any interest in cooking.
Draco held that morning's issue of the Daily Prophet in front of him, gazing at the headline article, which proclaimed, PLATFORM NINE AND PLATFORM TEN MATE AGAIN -- WHERE WILL PLATFORM NINE AND SEVEN EIGHTHS GO?
Harry glanced at Draco as he placed his goblet of pumpkin juice back on the table. "You know," he said, quite casually, "I was thinking earlier that Voldemort might not actually be dead."
Draco put down the Daily Prophet and raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, he might not actually be dead? Are you suggesting that you did a poor job of disposing of him, Potter?" He smirked.
Feeling highly offended at this accusation, Harry responded angrily. "I did not do a poor job of anything, Malfoy. If anyone did, it was you." Regardless of the fact that Draco really hadn't been involved in the disposing of said Dark Lord, Harry continued. "It's just - he was the Dark Lord! He couldn't have just died like that, I don't think."
Draco's eyebrow climbed a bit higher. He folded his arms across his chest and leant back against his chair. "Ignoring for a minute the fact that I was in Maui while you were doing the disposing, didn't you and your little friends run around collecting Horcruxes that the Dark Lord had made? Did you leave one behind or something?"
Harry glared at Draco. "No," he said. "We didn't leave any behind. There could have been more than seven, though." Deciding that this very well may have been the case, he continued excitedly, "don't you see, Draco? If Voldemort created eight Horcruxes instead of seven, then when we destroyed his body, he still would have had one more to rely on." He glanced around suspiciously. "He could even be here, in this room, right now."
Draco blinked, then frowned. "You know, surprisingly enough, you might be right. But... if you were a Horcrux made by the Dark Lord, where would you be?"
Confused, Harry thought about the possibilites. "Well, he would have wanted it to mean something. Like with the other Horcruxes. Unless that's what he wanted us to think. He might have used something so simple that we would never think to examine closely." Harry looked around for an example and smiled when his eyes fell on the silver salt and pepper shakers that had belonged to Sirius. He picked up the one holding the salt. "This could be the last Horcrux."
Draco sprang up from his chair and backed away from the table. "Have you got your wand?" he asked after he'd put a reasonable distance between himself and the salt shaker in Harry's hand. "You should cast a revealing spell on it and see if it is a Horcrux."
"Stop being such a wuss, Draco." Harry pulled his wand out of his back pocket and set the salt shaker back on the table. Raising his wand high in the air, he made a dramatic sweeping motion and shouted "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." He stared at the salt shaker expectantly. Nothing happened.
Draco snorted. "Honestly, Potter. Were you too busy staring at Granger's knockers in Charms class?" He pulled his wand out of his robe pocket and pointed it in the general direction of the salt shaker. "Magus Revelio," he said, and took a tiny step back. Nothing happened. Draco lowered his wand and looked over at Harry. "Well, that's not it."
Harry smirked triumphantly. "My spell might have worked just fine, then," he said. He looked at the salt shaker thoughtfully, running over their other options in his mind. "If it isn't that, it has to be something even simpler. Maybe we should call in a search party?"
Draco blinked rapidly at him several times. "You really are a self-satisfied prat sometimes, Potter, I hope you know that," he said, not unkindly. "Though if you're giving up that easily and deciding to call in a search party, don't let me stop you." Draco put his wand back in his pocket and walked back to the table. He sat down and picked up the Daily Prophet again, pretending to read the front page (for the fifth time) with great interest.
Harry stalked over to Draco and grabbed the Daily Prophet out of his hands. The paper went flying, but he didn't know where it landed. "I'm not giving up," he said. He never gave up. "I simply meant that we should start searching. I apologise if that wasn't clear enough for your highness." He folded his arms across his chest and stared at Draco expectantly. He hated being ignored.
Draco glared up at Harry. "We? It's your stupid idea that the Dark Lord is still around. If you're so keen on proving yourself right, you look for him." He got up with an indignant sniff and stalked out of the kitchen.
Incredulously, Harry watched Draco leave. It took him a moment to pull himself together and go after him, but he wasn't about to find Voldemort and face him on his own. Running into the hallway, he grabbed Draco by the arm and turned him around. "You are not getting out of this, Malfoy. We're doing this together."
Draco's eyes narrowed, then he smirked, slowly. "And what will you give me for helping you?"
Pushing Draco against the wall, Harry held him tightly in place. "I'm sure we'll think of something," he said, moving close enough so that their lips were nearly touching. He stepped back. "First, we need to find Voldemort."
Draco sighed. "You're an infernal tease, Potter." He disentangled himself from Harry's grip and made an evident attempt at looking dignified. "Maybe you should stop saying his name. If he's in the house..." Draco trailed off, his expression dark.
Harry groaned in exasperation. "Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself." He smirked, proud of himself for remembering Dumbledore's words. "Well, let's go!" He glanced around excitedly. "Where should we start?"
Draco shook his head with the look of a man resigned to his fate. "Under the gnocchi noodles in the pantry, perhaps?" he suggested, looking smug.
Harry considered this idea for several seconds before nodding decisively and grinning widely at Draco. "Brilliant! That has to be where he is." He tugged at Draco's arm and led him back towards the pantry, chattering incessantly as they went.
"Would you shut up? What if he hears you talking about him and gets away?" snapped Draco as he watched Harry open the cupboard with the noodles.
Glaring, Harry stopped talking. He very quietly finished opening the cupboard and looked inside at the noodles. He glanced up at Draco and made a helpless noise in the back of his throat. Pointing his wand, he tried to remember the spell Draco had used earlier. Giving up, he shrugged and whispered, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." He looked at Draco apologetically before staring at the noodles and waiting for Voldemort to pop out.
Draco's facial expression curiously resembled pity. "Stand aside," he said to Harry, drawing his wand. "You're really useless, you know? Are you sure you defeated the Dark Lord all by yourself?"
Harry moved out of the way, growling. "Yes. It was all me! I did it all alone." Murmuring softly in the hopes that Draco wouldn't hear him, he added, "Well, Hermione told me what spell to use, but I cast it."
Draco snorted. "Granger does have her uses," he muttered, stepping into Harry's place and raising his wand. "Wingardium Leviosa!" he said importantly, and the packet of noodles floated up, revealing a slightly less dusty -- but completely bare -- bit of shelf. Draco lowered the packet back down and looked around at Harry. "I only used a spell to levitate them in case the Dark Lord was under there, you know," he said, looking smug again. "Any other brilliant ideas?"
"Not really," Harry admitted. "Wait," he said, once again struck by a brilliant idea. "I wouldn't be surprised if Kreacher was hiding him. We should find him and convince him to tell us where the last Horcrux is." Harry's eyes glazed over slightly. "We could force him to lead us there, if we had to."
Draco rolled his eyes. "You think the Dark Lord would entrust himself to a dirty old house-elf? Unlikely. Besides, I haven't seen Kreacher in weeks, not since he saw us fucking in the kitchen. Maybe he's crawled into his hole and died." Draco eyed the entrance to Kreacher's living space with an expression of extreme distaste.
Harry followed Draco's line of vision to where Kreacher lived. "It wouldn't be bad if he died," he said casually. "But we shouldn't discount him just yet! Voldemort may have found uses for Kreacher that we haven't considered. Besides, it is a bit suspicious that he has started avoiding us. Maybe he knows that we're on to him." He glared at the entranceway and took a cautious step towards it.
Draco's arm shot out to hold Harry back. "Wait," he whispered urgently. "If Kreacher's under the Dark Lord's will, he might be able to turn against us. We should first create a diversion. Here, you stand over here and call for Kreacher, loudly. I'll go over there and listen at the wall to see if he is muttering inside when you call him."
"Good plan," said Harry quickly. Following Draco's instructions, he moved slowly to the point of attack and prepared. Standing firmly in place, he shouted, "KREACHER! KREACHER! GET OUT HERE, KREACHER!" He glanced over at Draco to see if he was performing his part properly.
Draco crouched low next to the wall by Kreacher's hidey-hole. He appeared to listen intently for a few moments, then gave a little shrug. "I don't hear anything," he said in a carrying whisper. "I don't think he's inside, unless he's really soundly asleep. Or dead."
Harry smiled slightly at the thought, but he quickly cleared the expression from his face. "Let's go in then," he said, speaking softly so that only Draco would hear. "If he's in there, we can take him by surprise. If he's dead... well, then it doesn't really matter."
"Always a champion of stating the obvious, Potter," muttered Draco, and pulled aside the dirty washcloth that obscured the entrance to Kreacher's hiding place. He promptly released it and moved away. "It's slimy and it smells," he said. "You do it."
"Fine," said Harry with a huff. He put his hand on the washcloth, barely resisting jumping aside as Draco had. The door swung open, and he glanced inside. It was so dark that he couldn't see anything at all. "Isn't there a light?" He asked, as he moved his hands across the wall of the cupboard searching for a switch.
"Lumos," said Draco exasperatedly, and held his wand next to the entryway. The scant light illuminated the inside of the cupboard. There didn't seem to be anyone inside, but the smell was decidedly putrid.
Harry felt something sticky under his hands as the cupboard was filled with light, and he jumped backwards with a shriek. "Just a sock," he said with a sigh of relief. He crawled back inside, searching for any sign of life, but aside from the smell, there was no sign of the house-elf. Crawling back out, Harry looked at Draco for confirmation. "Not in there. Should we try the attic, then?"
Draco frowned. "Why is there a sock in Kreacher's bed? He's a house-elf. They're not allowed clothes." He moved closer to the entrance, pinching his nose with his wand-free hand. "I say, look at that thing!" he shrieked. "Are those... underpants?"
Fearfully, Harry yelled, "don't touch them, Draco! If they're Kreacher's underpants..." he trailed off with the look of one finally understanding what they had always failed to grasp. "Kreacher's underpants are Voldemort." He gazed at Draco, trying to instil the seriousness of the situation on him. "Don't you see? It's Voldemort!"
Draco's eyes widened. "Oh my God, you've gone completely mental," he said. He lifted a hand to feel Harry's forehead and made a clucking noise with his tongue. "What the hell was in the quiche that Granger made yesterday?"
Harry batted Draco's hand away. "I'm serious," he said fiercely. "It was right there all along. And of course we wouldn't think to look here." He grabbed onto Draco's arms, desperate to convey the truth to him. "This is it." He stepped back after giving Draco a significant look. He raised his wand, thinking of the best curse to use on Voldemort hidden inside Kreacher's underpants
"Magus Revelio!" cried Draco, pointing his wand at Kreacher's underpants. There was a blinding flash of light and a loud banging noise, and in a puff of lavender-coloured smoke, a tiny figure rose into the air above the dirty, smelly underpants. It was, indeed, Lord Voldemort and he appeared to be doing a kind of hip-swivel-and-butt-shake movement on a little purple cloud.
As the tiny figure rose higher, it seemed to have noticed Draco and Harry. It stopped and raised a fist in Harry's general direction. "How dare you interrupt my morning dance routine?" it squeaked. "I almost had my new strategy for taking over the world, code-named "Voldemort's Dance Party", practised -- and... and... you've gone and ruined it!" Voldemort sat down cross-legged on top of his cloud and began to cry weakly into his hands.
Harry stared at the crying Voldemort, as he opened and closed his mouth, completely unable to form any words. "Voldemort's Dance Party?" he repeated incredulously. After a few moments of incomprehension, he shrugged. "On second thought, I don't think I want to know," he muttered. He glared at the Not-Dead-Dark Lord. "Sorry to ruin your routine," he said, "but I'm afraid we're going to have to dispose of you now." He glanced at Draco and whispered out of the side of his mouth, "What's the spell again?"
Draco shrugged. "Don't look at me. I was in Maui, remember?"
"Right." Harry began searching through all the spells he had used at one point or another, knowing that this one had to be there. "It was something like..." He trailed off and pointed his wand at Voldemort. Summoning up all the hatred and fury he had, he yelled, "ARMUFFLISECTDAVRA!"
Draco began to roll his eyes, but the tiny Voldemort gave a little desperate squeak and vanished in a puff of rainbow-coloured smoke that smelled distinctly of cloves and cinnamon. Draco prodded Kreacher's underpants cautiously with his wand, then cast a quick revealing charm, but the underpants just lay there and stank as before. "Well then," said Draco, turning to Harry. "Now that that's over, what was it that you said you were going to give me for helping you?"
Harry glared at Draco. "You didn't believe me," he said, raising his chin defiantly. "I told you it was Kreacher's underpants." He turned away as though he was planning to leave Draco standing there. Just before he passed out of sight, he turned around expectantly. "Coming?"
"Yes, please," muttered Draco, and hurried after him.
Voldemort's Dance Party was suggested as a plot for Book 7 by one (or more) of the various members of The Spice Rack, who participated in the scene re-enactments and general cosplay during the Witching Hour 2005.