#bc the stuff i suck at (plot; setting; actually threading things together) i simply did not do lmao

[fluxweeed]

Unfinished Friday

ahhh @tackytigerfic what a pleasure it was to get a peek at some hot unreleased tacky words! i'm so intrigued! ron's visions! temporal magic! underground brewing! sad boy dracooooo 🥺 delicious teasing perfection!!!

u were very kind to tag me!! i have a few fics that i know in my heart will never ever see the light of day; my favourite is a longfic that is my take on the classic auror partners trope. it's never getting done. i do not have it in me to write a 100k mutual pining casefic. i know this. we all know this. tragically i think it is also my favourite thing i've ever written – but perhaps that isn't so tragic, bc it means i get a chance to share some of it here now!

quick set-up: harry and draco are paired together on a case, which is going nowhere fast. in an attempt to bond w draco, bc their relationship can be described as awkward at best, harry invites him to his birthday drinks. instead, draco gets drunk and bonds with ron about how funny they think harry is (draco will regret this hugely when he's sober again). this is the immediate aftermath of the pub night.

“He can Floo from mine, the walk might clear his head a little bit.”

“My head is fine, Potty,” Malfoy insisted, tilting alarmingly sideways. Harry grabbed him and ducked under his arm.

“Or he can sleep in one of the spare rooms,” Harry amended.

“Probably for the best,” Hermione said, eyeing Malfoy. She was prevented from saying anything further by Ron planting his face directly into her hair.

“You’re my girlfriend!” Ron told the back of Hermione’s head, his voice muffled. Hermione patted him absently on the shoulder.

“Sure you’ll be all right, Harry?”

Harry thought he had it pretty lucky, actually, as Ron was, as far as Harry could tell, attempting to bury his entire self in Hermione’s hair. Hermione had a large volume of hair, but Ron was a very tall person. Harry didn’t think Ron was going to fit.

“Sure you’ll be all right?” Harry countered.

“Hermione Granger is my girlfriend!” Ron said into Hermione’s neck.

“Where is Weasley going?” Malfoy asked.

“We’re all going home,” Hermione said decisively. “Come on, you silly lump,” she told Ron, who whined when his attempt at nesting in Hermione’s hair was thwarted.

“I don’t want to go home,” Malfoy grumbled. Then he seemed to notice Harry propping him up. “Potter? What are you doing there?”

“I’m making sure you don’t fall flat on your face, you dickhead,” Harry said, trying to steer Malfoy out of the door.

“Oh,” Malfoy said. “That’s… oh.” He fell silent, frowning. Harry didn’t mind, as it left him compliant as Harry half-dragged him out onto Charing Cross Road.

Malfoy stayed quiet as they bade goodnight to the others, and stumbled along without complaint. It was quite a long walk back to Grimmauld Place. Harry usually enjoyed the journey, but it wasn’t long before his shoulders started to ache from hauling a stumbling Malfoy along. He briefly considered the Underground, or maybe a taxi – but Malfoy refused to put his wand away. Harry was hoping that at least if they stayed outside, nobody would notice or care. At least Malfoy wasn’t actually using it.

Harry huffed and shifted under Malfoy’s arm so he could get a better grip. He wished he could cast a feather-light charm, but with Malfoy in the state he was in, a sudden change in gravity wouldn’t do either of them any favours. And anyway – the last thing they needed was for Harry to make the charm too strong (he still wasn’t fully sober, himself) and have Malfoy go floating off over central London.

As they made their way further north, rowdy pubs and clubs gave way to sleepy rows of shops and flats. The difference in atmosphere was startling, and Harry found his ears were ringing from the lack of noise.

“Whatzat sound?” Malfoy demanded.

“Oh, awake, are you? Want to let your feet know?”

Malfoy ignored him and made no attempt to support himself. Instead, he frowned over his shoulder, his neck twisting awkwardly where Harry’s head was in the way. “Your back is screaming.”

“No s’not, that’s just my ears ringing,” Harry said, then realised how stupid that was. “Wait. That’s not right, is it?”

“Potty Potter.” Malfoy snickered. “I think there’s a pixie in your bag, Potty.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to awkwardly twist his neck, but with Malfoy’s arm still slung over him, it was quite impossible to turn his head at all. “He said there wouldn’t be any more pixies,” Harry mumbled, thinking of Seamus, but now Malfoy had pointed it out, Harry realised the noise was indeed coming from behind him.

Harry looked around and spotted a nearby lamppost he could lean Malfoy against while he dug through his bag. Buried under his work robes wasn’t a pixie, but instead –

“Izzat a Sneakoscope?” Malfoy asked. “Why do you even have that? They’re rubbish. Absolute tat.”

“Not this one,” Harry frowned at the twirling top, screaming its distress out of the palm of Harry’s hand. “Hermione charmed it for me. It only reacts to things related to cases I’ve been assigned.” He straightened and looked up and down the quiet street, half expecting to see a swirl of robes, hear the echo of Pansy Parkinson’s wicked laugh.

But nothing waited for him except shuttered shopfronts and closed blinds. Harry held the Sneakoscope up one way, then another, trying to figure out which direction made it wail louder. But his foggy brain was having trouble focusing on anything through the piercing noise. He shook his head to try and clear it.

“Should we call it in, d’you reckon? Get someone to come down here and take a look?”

“What, wake Robards up because someone kicked your bag at the pub and broke your trinket?” Malfoy wrinkled his nose. “It’s four in the morning.”

It was only just gone midnight, but Malfoy had a point nonetheless. “But if something is happening, and we miss it…”

“Look around, Potty!” Malfoy spread his arms dramatically, and nearly lost his balance. “There’s nobody here! Everyone is sleeping! Helloooo, Muggles!” he called.

“Shut the fuck up!” came a muffled yell in response.

The Sneakoscope was still whirring loudly. Harry wrapped his robes around it and stuffed it back in his bag. Unfortunately, silencing the Sneakoscope’s screech didn’t clear Harry’s sluggish thoughts as much as he’d wanted it to.

“I still think we should look into it,” he said doubtfully.

“It’s four in the morning!”

Still wrong, but they were hardly in the right state to be investigating. “Tomorrow, then. We’ll come back.” If Malfoy’s yelling hadn’t stopped the Sneakoscope whirring, it probably wasn’t reacting to the presence of a person, who surely would have Disapparated at the noise.

Malfoy shrugged, the movement somehow still elegant despite his drunken leaning. “If you like.”

Harry hesitated for a moment longer, but temporal inaccuracies or not, Malfoy was right: dragging Robards out of bed in the early hours of a Saturday morning because of a broken Sneakoscope was too great a risk. They’d come back tomorrow and take a proper look around.

He cast a tracking charm on the nearest shopfront – Mickey’s Motors – so they could find their way back tomorrow and stood, hoiking the bag back onto his shoulders. “Come on, then,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Malfoy held an arm out imperiously, and Harry rolled his eyes before ducking under it and letting Malfoy lean on him again.

“Where are we going?”

Harry snorted and hitched Malfoy’s arm more comfortably around his shoulder as they set off towards Islington again. “Where do you think we’re going, Malfoy?”

“I dunno. You’re doing all the walking.”

“You’re bloody right I am,” Harry grumbled. “We’re going back to my house. Lucky for you. I could have been taking you anywhere, you daft bugger.”

“I trust you,” Malfoy said distractedly. “We’re going back to… your house?”

“Yes, idiot.”

Malfoy hummed, and tilted his head so it was resting against Harry’s. “You taking me home, Harry?” he murmured. Harry was forcefully reminded of the Cupboard Incident; Malfoy’s voice was suddenly as low and silky as it had been then. Its effect on Harry hadn’t changed, and he shivered despite the warm evening.

They were a few streets away from Grimmauld Place when Malfoy finally piped up again. “Why have we been walking for hours? I’m hungry.”

“We’ve only been walking for ten minutes since we stopped,” Harry grouched. His back ached from the extra weight of a floppy pure-blood slumped over him. At least Malfoy was talking again, which made Harry feel as if he was slightly better than the lamppost outside Mickey’s Motors, but Malfoy hadn’t yet found it in himself to walk properly. “Although, again, you’re not doing much of the walking, are you?”

“You’re saving me,” Malfoy said, and dissolved into snickers. He didn’t stop giggling – nor did he make any effort to walk unaided – until they stopped in the middle of Grimmauld Place. Harry ducked out from under Malfoy’s arm, but kept a firm grip on him, just in case.

“Wotzat?” Malfoy said. “Are we here? Do you live in a park, Potter?” He looked at the gardens across the road and scrunched his nose.

“I don’t live in a park, Malfoy.”

“Then why are we standing in the street? It’s dark.” He raised his wand as if to ward off any would-be attackers.

Harry couldn’t help but grin. Malfoy was still unsteady on his feet, his hair a mess – hardly an intimidating sight. “I have to tell you something first,” Harry said, automatically glancing around for eavesdroppers. “C’mere.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened and he dropped his arm as Harry leant in to murmur, “I live at number twelve, Grimmauld Place.”

The light from the streetlamp glittered in Malfoy’s wide eyes. “Oh,” he breathed, “I live at number twenty-eight, Ennismore Gardens.”

A snort of laughter burst from Harry. “My house is under Fidelius, you prick.” He nodded his head towards number twelve. “Look.”

Malfoy turned to look at the front steps of number twelve. To Harry, they were as immobile as always, but he remembered how the house had squeezed itself into existence when he’d first seen it. “I’ve never been told a Fidelius secret before.” His voice was hushed.

“Well. I’m honoured to be your first.” Malfoy shot him a look and Harry cleared his throat. “Shall we?”

as ever, i have no clue where anyone else is at re: having done/not done this! please do take this as a sign to share ur hidden gems if you'd like, and if u do pls tag me so i can inhale them!!! ❤️