Well, this is just brilliant.

Draco Malfoy ran as fast as his legs would carry him.  Tall blades of grass smacked him in the nose and tickled his bare feet.  The hum of the night reverberated around him: predators on the hunt, crickets fiddling, and the timpani of his heart beating against his breast.  Overhead, the moon glowed brightly, making the starry sky appear midnight blue. 

His ears strained and his nose ticked, but he couldn’t tell if he was being pursued.  His surprise toss over the gates of Hogwarts had probably set off all sorts of alarms.  His only recourse was to run and hope he wasn’t caught before finding a place to hide.

When Snape had said he was sending Draco away for safety’s sake, Draco had pictured polyjuice maitais on the Côte d’Azur or hot butterbeer glamours in Interlaken.  Having a horrifying, remembered spell shot at him, side-along apparating to Scotland, and then being pitched onto school grounds didn’t factor into any part of his imaginings.  Snape had obviously had one too many crucios to be thinking clearly. 

Luckily, Draco’s mother was safe already at Azkaban.  The conniving witch got herself arrested purposely by the Aurors in order to escape the Dark Lord’s wrath for Draco’s failure to kill Dumbledore himself.  Unless the Dark Lord won, which Draco now believed would be a Very Bad Thing, his parents would be protected in prison.  Knowing Narcissa, she would be out the instant the war ended and somehow schemed a way for Lucius to be released with her.

Draco would’ve joined them in Azkaban, if given half the chance, but medical care had been necessary after reporting to the Dark Lord, and once Snape had him up and walking again, he’d been ensorcelled and thrown onto his enemy’s doorstep.  Just because the Dark Lord was no longer on his Ten People I Admire (Even Though I’m Better Than Them) list, didn’t mean the Dumbledore Cheer Team would welcome him with open arms.  After all, it was he who caused Dumbledore’s death and as faux pas went, that took the biscuit.

(Except for the time mother had dressed him in summer whites after Ministry Day.  He’d never live that down.)

Draco heard the screech of an owl and squeaked in panic.  He craned his neck back, searching the air for the winged beast.  Not watching where he was running, he tripped in a divot in the grass and tumbled forward onto the muddy shore of Hogwart’s lake.  He found his footing and looked at his coat.  Mud spattered the glossy white fur.  He scowled unhappily.

The still surface of the lake reflected the moon, the starry sky, and Draco’s pointed features as he approached the edge of the water.  His gray eyes widened and his whiskers twitched in dismay.  He dipped his paw in the water and began washing the dirt from his muzzle.  Ferret or not, a Malfoy was never filthy.

A rippling of the water drew Draco’s attention.  The paddle shaped end of the giant squid’s tentacle broke the surface of the lake not too far away.  Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust, hesitated over dipping his paw in the water again, but resumed grooming.  He hoped he wasn’t spreading squid slime on his fur.

Draco clawed and bit at the rubbery tentacle holding him captive as he was lifted over the lake.  He froze when he met the single black-eyed stare of the squid.  The squid rolled in the water, its pointed head disappearing beneath the surface as its mouth emerged.  The bird-like beak snapped several times. 

“Kek-kek-kek-kek-kek!”  Draco’s fast, vehement panicked noises echoed across the water.  He was going to be eaten!  He emptied his bowels in fright and resumed his terrified struggling.  “Kek-kek-kek-kek-kek!”

The squid’s tentacle lowered, bringing Draco closer to death.  The shorter, blunt arms of the squid churned the water around it.  Draco’s eyes rolled wildly in their sockets.  “Kek-kek-kek-kek-ke—”

Draco’s voice cut out mid-kek when he felt a squid arm poking in a private place.  He stiffened, horrified.  The shovel-shaped tip of the arm left, then returned.  He could feel individual comb-like fingers bump against him as the arm slid inside.  It didn’t register that the squid was probing a hole that shouldn’t exist; he was too focused on the fact that the squid was molesting him.

“Meep,” he whimpered, and promptly passed out.

The next thing he knew, he was sailing through the air, the wind whistling past his ears.  He landed in the shallows with a splash and sucked a litre of water into his lungs.  He broke the surface, coughing and wheezing, and ferret-paddled to shore.  Hoisting himself onto the bank, he collapsed in a wet heap, feeling violated and getting muddy all over again.

A loud snuffling lifted his head and he blinked fast at the hot gust of breath against his face.  A deep woof made him rise and back unsteadily away, hissing at the large, scarred dog standing in front of him.  Puffy slashes of pink slashed across the dog’s black muzzle, head, and forelegs, and a deformed pink blob sat where his ear should’ve been.

“Wha’cher got there, Fang?”  Hagrid lumbered up behind the dog, and Draco didn’t know whether to be relieved or scared.  He continued backing away and hissing until his rear paws touched the water’s edge.  He shuddered and hunched, hackles raised.

“A ferret, eh?  Good boy.”  Hagrid tugged lightly at Fang’s one ear, bent and snagged Draco with surprising swiftness.

Being seized again sent Draco into panic once more.  He let out a loud cry, wiggled wildly in Hagrid’s grip, and bit down on a meaty finger.  Hagrid seemed unaffected as he held Draco in the air.  “Best check ‘n see iffin’ ‘e’s a ‘e or not, first,” Hagrid said, and brushed his thumb against the fur at Draco’s groin.

“Eeeee-kek-kek-kek-kek-kek!” Draco screamed and thrashed.  First, a squid molested him and now he was being felt up by a half-giant!

“It looks like yer a miss, not a fella,” Hagrid said, drawing his hand away.  He rubbed his thumb against his fingers, the moonlight catching a glistening slime on his digits.  “Hmm.  Seems the squid’s been busy again, too.  Sorry ‘bout that, girl.”

Girl?  Girl?  Draco stopped struggling and glared at Hagrid.  How insulting.  He knew he didn’t have the biggest wand, had suffered through the laughter because of it, but he most certainly wasn’t a girl.

“Lucky fer you, though, eh?” Hagrid said to Draco.  “Iffin’ you were a fella, I woulda broke yer neck and fed ya t’Witherwings.”

Just call him Dracana.

New wood patched singed holes in the roof and fresh paint coated portions of the walls in Hagrid’s hovel.  Scorch marks blackened the stone of the floo-connected fireplace.  A few pieces of knocked-together furniture and stacks of half-opened boxes labeled ‘To Hagrid’ filled the otherwise Spartan rooms.  Fang slept on a pile of rags near a hinged dog door, and other beasts of various shapes, sizes, and viciousness sat in cages in the groundskeeper’s shack.

Draco’s solitary cage, with its food and water dishes and a tea towel for a nest, balanced on a three-legged stool near Hagrid’s bed.  Whilst eating regular meals and having a seemingly safe place to stay was good, it didn’t counter the horror of getting front row seats for Hagrid’s slap and tickle sessions with Madame Maxime from Beauxbatons.

“Oh, Olympe.”

“Ooo, ‘Agrid.”

It was so disgusting that Draco couldn’t turn away, each time it happened.  He didn’t know who was hairier: Hagrid or Madame Maxime, or that halfbreeds could contort in those positions.  And he wasn’t turned on at all by the size of Hagrid’s prick or Madame Maxime’s melons. 

The nights lengthened, snow piled on the ground outside, and Draco’s furry life took on a comfortable routine.  He ate, slept, taunted Fang and the other beasts, and explored the nooks and crannies of his new home when let out of his cage.  Hagrid left for periodic stretches of time and returned complaining about the war.  The Dark Lord held the wizarding world in a terrified grip, the other side waging a losing battle.  Hagrid mentioned Harry Potter’s name occasionally with a slight tone of contempt that caused Draco to smirk.  It seemed the Chosen Prat and his sidekicks went off repeatedly without telling anyone where they were going or what they were doing.  Apparently, it was a bone of contention with a majority of the Anti-Dark Lord followers.

As Hagrid nattered on about his latest trip to the City, Draco lifted his hind leg and licked at the swollen skin at his crotch.  The area felt hot.  He hoped he hadn’t gotten an infection from the tea towel from Madame Maxime’s last visit.

“Then ‘e goes, ‘I wish I could tell ya, Hagrid.  Here’s a new canary instead’,” Hagrid groused, clomping around the room, refilling water dishes.  The yellow canary rode on his head, twittering incessantly and streaking his hair with bird doo.  “Not that a canary isn’a lovely gift, but I’d rather be helpin’ than brushed aside.”

Hagrid reached Draco’s cage and opened the door.  Draco glanced at him, licking away, as Hagrid poured water in the water dish.  He was surprised when Hagrid picked him up next.  “Eee!”

“Easy, lil’ girl,” Hagrid said, exposing Draco to the light.  He massaged his thumb against Draco’s swollen groin area.  Draco would’ve bit him if it hadn’t felt kind of good.  “Looks like I need t’find a fella fer ya.”

“Ooo-dook-dook-dook-purrrr,” Draco replied, arching into Hagrid’s touch.

Hagrid chuckled and plopped Draco onto his broad shoulder, much to Draco’s disappointment.  The canary peered over the side of Hagrid’s head and twittered at Draco.  Draco shot the canary an evil look, climbed down Hagrid, and scampered off to explore the contents of the box Hagrid had brought home with him.

Ooh, shiny.

Two days later, Hagrid took away the scrying crystal Draco’d nicked and gave Draco a roommate, instead.

“Dook-dook-dook!” the brown and beige ferret said loudly and sniffed the air.  “Dook-dook!”

Just because Draco had been turned into a ferret, didn’t mean he automatically knew the language.  “Dook,” he said, and sniffed the air, too, then sneezed.  The other ferret had a very strong odor, heavy on the musk. 

Stinky came closer, sniffed Draco, and laughed excitedly in his ear.  “Dook!  Dook-dook-dook-dook!”

Draco winced at the noise.  He shot Stinky a withering glare and turned his back dismissively.   He yelped when he felt a nose nudge his posterior.  “Eeeep!”

“Dook-dook-dook!” Stinky exclaimed, spun in a spastic circle, and advanced on Draco.  His nose twitched rapidly as he sniffed the air some more.

Draco panicked, backing into a corner of the cage.  “Kek-kek-kek-kek.”

“Dook-dook!”  Stinky leapt.

“Eee-oof!”  Draco lost his breath when Stinky landed fully on him.  Stinky laughed and turned around and sniffed at Draco’s crotch. 

A pair of ferret balls rested on Draco’s nose.  Draco sniffed them before he could stop himself.  The musk was concentrated heaviest there and he felt his groin tingle in response.

Oh, no.  No, no, no, no, no.  A ferret was not turning him on.

“Dook-dook-dook-dook-dook-dook-dook,” Stinky chuckled, sniffing away.

“Kek-kek-kek!”  In a panic, Draco scrabbled against Stinky, throwing him off.  Leaping to his feet, Draco bolted, but there was nowhere to run in a cage.  Stinky gave merry chase, with a dooking jungle cry.

Stinky tackled Draco from behind and they tumbled around the bottom of the cage.  Draco ended up with his face in Stinky’s crotch again and he got a deep whiff of musk.  The tingle intensified, his lower body heating in the still swollen area.  “Dook-dook-dook,” he found himself saying before his eyes widened in dismay.

“Dook-dook!” Stinky exclaimed joyfully, jumped around, and clamped his teeth on the scruff of Draco’s neck. 

Draco tensed in fear, but Stinky only started pushing him around the cage.  The hold on his neck was too strong to break.  Draco slunk in circles, feeling the vibration of Stinky’s soft chuckles against his back, and gradually, he relaxed.  The musky scent permeated his fur, surrounding him.  His swollen groin began to itch and throb with heat.

By the time he felt the poke in the place he wasn’t supposed to have, the pleasure at having the itch scratched outweighed any lingering repulsion.  And really, what was there to be repulsed about?  It wasn’t like a squid was molesting him again.  Stinky was a ferret; Draco had the body of a ferret; and Merlin, that feels good.

Stinky rode him slowly, mouth clamped on the back of Draco’s neck, continuing their lazy circling around the bottom of the cage.  Draco lost himself in a haze of bliss.

But all good things eventually came to an end in thrusts and spurts, and Draco’s moan of dismay rose from his throat when Stinky released him.  He wobbled to his feet and faced Stinky.  “Dook,” he implored softly, hoping for more.

Stinky ignored him and continued licking at the pink protrusion of his penis.

Draco huffed at the dismissal, slinked under the tea towel in the corner, and settled in for a nice, long sulk.

When Draco eventually reemerged, Stinky was gone, but Hagrid brought him back later that night.  Stinky dooked and sniffed Draco’s crotch, wanting another go.  Draco gave it up readily and got shagged for much longer as a result.  The sex was better than what he’d had in the past, squid and human alike (though, he still had to put up with the laughter).

Hagrid took Stinky away again as soon as he’d finished, leaving Draco satiated and alone.  He snuggled in his nest and fell soundly asleep.

“Swellin’s gone,” Hagrid commented, rubbing the fur at Draco’s groin.  Draco peered over the hand around his middle, curving his lower body upwards to see.  Sure enough, everything looked normal again, for a ferret.  “Congratulations.”

Draco tilted his head curiously, wondering why Hagrid was congratulating him on being rid of an infection.  “Dook-dook.”

Hagrid scratched behind Draco’s ears with a smile, then shifted his gaze as an owl knocked on the window.  Hagrid set Draco on his shoulder.  Draco scrambled for protective cover under Hagrid’s beard.  “Hedwig!” Hagrid said, opening the window.  “Come in.  Come in.”

The snowy owl coasted through the window and landed on a perch.  The canary flapped down from the rafters, settled beside Hedwig, and whistled.  Hedwig barely gave him a glance and extended her leg to Hagrid.

“A letter from ‘Arry?”  Draco poked his nose out further from the bushy beard at Potter’s name.  “Seems Witherwings’s bin called inta service.”

Draco laughed at the bitterness he heard in Hagrid’s tone.

Hagrid sighed and tucked the letter in his pocket.  “Reckon I’d best get ‘im ready.”

He removed Draco from his beard and put him back in the cage.  The canary started singing the moment Hagrid walked out the door.  Hedwig looked startled, as the serenading canary snuggled against her side.  She inched down the perch.

So, Potter needs a hippogriff.  Draco caught his reflection in his water dish, twitched his whiskers at the mussed fur behind his ears, and groomed it smooth.  He contemplated what Potter would want with such a vicious beast.  Sharpbeak, or Buckshot, or whatever that creature had been called, had nearly torn Draco’s arm off back in Third Year.

“TaWEEEEEEEETadeedleeedleeedle-tweet-tweet-tweet,” the canary sang, causing Draco to turn and see the canary cozying against Hedwig again.

Hedwig tried to move further away, but her foot fell off the edge of the perch.  An expression of dismay crossed her face.

Hagrid came back inside, thumped the snow from his boots, and shut the door behind him.  The canary fell silent, but continued staring up at Hedwig with moony eyes.  Draco watched as Hagrid retrieved ink and a quill and scratched a reply on the back of Potter’s letter.  The letter was tied to Hedwig’s leg.  “Take tha’ back t’Arry.  Witherwings’ll be right behind ya.”

Visibly relieved, Hedwig launched immediately into the air.  Her wing knocked the canary from the perch and into an open bag of floo powder.  Hedwig’s hooting laugher followed her out the window.

Hagrid closed the window, and then came over to Draco’s cage.  Draco watched as he stuck a peg in the door lock.  Confused, Draco pressed his front paws against the door and rattled it slightly.  He glanced up concernedly at Hagrid.  Hagrid smiled sadly and rubbed one of Draco’s paws.  “No worries, girl.  I’m sure ‘Arry’ll letcha out once you’ve arrived.”

Arrived?  Draco had a sinking feeling in his stomach. 

The canary rose from the bag covered in powder and flew blindly into the fireplace.  “Tweet!” the canary exclaimed, and vanished in a green flash of smoke.

Hagrid placed Draco’s cage in a bag and, from what he could tell, tied it to Witherwings, which was rather stupid considering hippogriffs ate ferrets.   Draco spent the rocking, jostling trip burrowed under the tea towel, hoping not to become the mid-flight snack.  Witherwings landed, however, without Draco becoming a meal, but he stayed under the towel as a precaution until he heard disgustingly familiar voices.

“It’s really that far?”

“If my calculations are correct, then yes.”

“I reckon we should Apparate as close as we’re able before using Witherwings.”

“We’ll have to Apparate in stages, especially with a side-along.”

“We risk picking up a tail that way.”

“I don’t know if we have another choice,” Potter said.  Draco felt the cage dip and rise, and then Potter sounded like he was standing right beside him.  “Hello, boy.  Did you have a good flight?”

Witherwings made a noise that could have been an affirmative, or it could have been gas.  The cage moved again.  “Here, Ron.”

“Which is the bag with the girl ferret?” Weasley asked.

“I’d definitely say the one in your hand.”  Potter sounded sickened by something.

“I cannot believe Hagrid would think we’d condone breeding ferrets just to send them to their deaths,” Granger complained.  “It’s barbaric.”

“Witherwings has to eat,” Weasley said.  The cage thumped on the ground beneath Draco’s paws.

“I don’t care what Hagrid says, we won’t be feeding him any of the kits when they’re born.  Witherwings can have food bought from the grocers like the rest of us.”  Light appeared at the top of the bag and Draco backed further under the tea towel when he saw Granger’s bushy head of hair.  He heard the brush of heavy cloth against the side of the cage and the light grew brighter.

“I don’t see any ferret,” Weasley said.

“She’s probably afraid and hiding.”

Afraid?  Draco sniffed haughtily.  He wasn’t afraid of anything, especially not these three gits.  He poked his head out from beneath the tea towel, chin tilted imperiously.

“Eee!” he screamed in fright.  Granger and Weasley’s hideous faces were pressed up to cage.  They were horrifying!  He darted back under the tea towel.  “Kek-kek-kek-kek-kek.”

“Brilliant.”  Potter laughed, a light, girly sound that Draco didn’t think he’d ever heard before.  “Give the poor ferret a fit, why don’t you?”

“I’m sure she’s merely shaken from the trip,” Granger said snootily.  “I’ll fetch her some water.”

Draco peeked out from beneath the edge of the tea towel when he heard the cage door open.  Granger’s beefy hand reached inside.  “Kek-kek-kek.”

“I’m only getting your water dish, sweetie,” Granger’s tone became syrupy, “Would you like some food, too?  Huh, pretty girl?”

Draco saw Weasley mock-gagging behind her head.  He heard Potter stifle another laugh.  Granger’s face screwed up and she huffed as she withdrew her hand, holding the dishes.  She shut the cage door and glared at Weasley.

“What?” Weasley said, all innocent.

“You know exactly what, Ron,” Granger said, rising to her feet.  She shot a dark look at Potter and then stalked from the room.

“You’re going to get it now,” Potter said. 

Weasley smiled dreamily.  “I know.”

Draco retched.

“Oi, you don’t think the ferret’s sick, do you?” Weasley said, peering into the cage.  The tip of his big nose poked between the wires.  It was too good of an opportunity to pass up. “Yeow!”

“Dook-dook-dook-dook-dook,” Draco laughed and jumped in a circle.  Weasley clutched his hands to his bitten nose.

Potter laughed again, and Draco spun to a stop, facing him.  Arched attic beams and a straw covered floor filled the room.  Potter stood beside Witherwings, petting the beast’s gray-feathered neck.  He looked pasty and worn around the edges.  His smile split his chapped lips and gave him premature wrinkles.

“Sod off,” Weasley said, wiping his bloody nose with his sleeve.  “Hagrid didn’t say she was vicious.”

“You’re right.  His letter said she was very docile.”  Potter tilted his head, as Witherwings began combing his hair, the sharp beak sliding through the mid-length strands.  “Hermione’s probably spot on about her being shaken from the trip.”

“Yeah.”  Weasley leaned close to the cage again and retreated before Draco could take another bite.  “Uh, Harry.  Does this ferret look familiar to you?”

Potter glanced at Draco and his brow furrowed.  “Now that you mention it, yeah.”

Uh-oh.  Draco backed casually towards the tea towel, a thread of panic weaving through him.

“You don’t think Malfoy’s been turned into a ferret again?”  Weasley grinned maliciously.  “That would be wicked.”

“Kek-kek-kek,” Draco chattered fearfully.

Potter drew his wand in a blink and aimed it at Draco.  “Finite.”

“Eeeee!”  Draco dove for his nest, but he was too late.  He felt the spell hit, the slight burn running along his skin.  He slammed his eyes shut and waited for the curses to be thrown.

A bird chirped.

“Guess not,” Potter said, and Draco opened an eye cautiously.  He was still at foot height. 

The spell to cancel other spells hadn’t worked.  Draco slumped in relief when he saw he had four paws and perfect white fur.  Either Snape was a brilliant caster, or Potter really sucked.  Neither boded well for Potter’s side of the war.

“She really does look like Malfoy did when Moody- I mean, Crouch cursed him, though.”  Potter walked around the cage and knelt beside Weasley.  He peered through the wires.  Draco stared back.  “She has Malfoy’s gray eyes and everything.”

Potter knew the colour of his eyes?

Weasley gave Potter a funny look.  “You know the colour of Malfoy’s eyes?”

“Well, yeah.  Don’t you?” Potter said.

“I don’t even know what colour Hermione’s are.”

Potter’s cheeks pinked, making him splotchy.  “I reckon I’m just more observant than you.”

“Uh-huh.”  Weasley’s lips twitched.

Potter shoved his shoulder.  “Sod off.”

Weasley snickered, and Potter stuck his wand up his sleeve.  He opened the cage door, placed his hand on the lip, palm up, and wiggled his fingers.  “Come here, girl.”

Draco gave Potter’s fingers a glance and arched a ferrety brow.

“I guess that’s another reason we probably should’ve known it wasn’t Malfoy,” Weasley said. 

“What’s that?”

“She’s a chit,” Weasley said.  He rubbed his tooth-marked nose and winced.  “Even if she’s got the same attitude as Malfoy.”

“Hagrid could’ve been mistaken,” Potter said, wiggling his fingers again with a doe-eyed expression.

“Yeah, but I doubt Malfoy would’ve let himself get buggered by a ferret, with Hagrid watching.”

Draco cringed.

Weasley’s mouth stretched into another malicious grin.  “Then again, he might’ve, the freaky pillow-biter.”

Hey!

“A-hem.”  Potter cleared his throat and leveled a hard glare at Weasley.

Weasley put up his hands  “Not that all pillow-biters like getting off with ferrets.”

Potter snorted and shook his head.  He clucked his tongue and tried to get Draco to come to him again.

Draco sniffed in Potter’s direction.  His hand smelled like hippogriff, but that didn’t provide an answer as to what to do.  Since the finite spell hadn’t worked, Draco was safe in his ferret disguise.  That meant if he wanted, he could move about freely, perhaps find out what Potter and his chums were up to that had them at odds with Hagrid and the Ministry.  He only had to allow Potter to touch him.

“Come here, girl,” Potter said softly.

Draco slinked forward, sniffing reflexively.  He could smell broom polish under the hippogriff.  He supposed if he survived being molested by a squid, he could handle Potter touching him.  It wasn’t too much of a step down.

A slight curve rounded Potter’s lips, as Draco bumped Potter’s hand with his nose.  Potter opened his palm flat.  “You can come out,” he urged.  “Come on, Draco.”

Draco?

“Draco?” Weasley echoed his thoughts. 

Potter lifted a shoulder.  “She needs a name, and she does look like ferret Malfoy…”

Weasley eyed Potter like he was barmy.  “You’re barmy.”

“So I’ve been told.”  Potter grinned stupidly.  “Besides, Malfoy’d have a fit if he knew we’d named a ferret after him.”

Draco would, indeed, have a fit, if he weren’t the ferret in question.  And it was his given name.  He’d know if anyone was talking about him if they used it.

“Draco,” Potter sing-songed quietly.  The name sounded odd coming from his tongue.  “Come out, Draco.”

Draco decided to take the invitation and darted out of the cage.  Potter caught him around the middle with a laugh, as Granger re-entered the room.  “Hey, Hermione, meet Draco.” 

“Draco?” Granger set down the water and food dish on top of the cage. 

“Harry’s gone barmy,” Weasley said.

“Have not.”  Potter scratched Draco behind the ears.  Draco squirmed in his grip and pretended the petting didn’t feel good.  “She needed a name, so I gave her one.”

Granger bent and peered closer at Draco.  Draco hissed in her face.  “She does have Malfoy’s eye-colouring.”

“Ha!”

Weasley rolled his own eyes.  “Forgive me for not having stared long enough at the git to know his eye-colour, like you two apparently have.”  He paused, and then gave Granger a sharp look.   “Hey!  What are you staring at Malfoy’s eyes for?”

“It’s called being observant, Ron.”

“Ha!”

“Shuddup, you.”  Weasley knocked into Potter’s shoulder.  Potter merely grinned.

“Hmm.”  Granger leaned even closer to Draco.  “You don’t think…” She drew her wand.

Draco’s gaze widened in alarm.

Potter pulled Draco close, suddenly.  “We checked already.”

“You’re sure?” Granger said.  Potter nodded, as did Weasley.  Granger slid her wand back in her belt.  “All right.”

“Dook-dook-purrrr.”

Okay, maybe he liked it a little.

“We should probably bring her stuff downstairs,” Potter said, rising to his feet, Draco cradled against him.  “Witherwings might get the cage open and Draco will end up hippogriff chow.”

“Where do you want to keep her?” Weasley said.  He picked up the cage, after Granger lifted the food and water dishes.

“My room, I guess,” Potter said.  “I can keep an eye on her at night, since you two are usually busy with each other.”

Granger coloured slightly.  Weasley waggled his ginger eyebrows.  Draco was going to be ill.

They headed out of the room, leaving Witherwings behind, and went down a set of stairs “How long before I need to start checking for babies?” Potter said.

Granger and Weasley were breeding?  Now, Draco really was going to be ill.

“In forty days,” Granger replied.  Draco curled his lips derisively.  It figured she would have it calculated out.

“Good.  We won’t have to worry about being gone, then.”   Potter nudged open a door along the dark corridor with his foot.  He carried Draco into a rather sad-looking bedroom.   A double bed with blue and gold threadbare curtains stood near a tall window.  A writing desk crammed a corner next to a wardrobe cabinet.  Clothing lay in piles on the carpeted floor.

“Where d’you want this, mate?” Weasley asked, raising the cage.

“On the night table, I reckon would be the best place,” Potter said.  He rubbed Draco’s ear between his thumb and forefinger.  Draco tried not to coo.

“If we’re still going tomorrow, we’d better get back to work,” Granger said, setting the water and food dishes inside the cage.

“Yeah.”  Potter came around side Granger and stuck Draco in the cage, too.  Draco harrumphed unhappily.  Potter didn’t care, closing the door.  “See you later, Draco.”

“It’s so weird to hear you say that name,” Weasley said, as they headed out of Potter’s bedroom.

Draco was left alone.  He glanced around at his new living quarters.  Shabby, but doable.  He drank some water, fixed his nest in the corner, and settled down to plot how use the situation to his best advantage.

Potter stumbled into the room and collapsed face-first onto the bed.  A small, tacky-looking cup fell from his Quidditch-gloved fingers and settled against the pillow.

Draco pawed at the wire door, wanting out.  He’d been stuck in the cage and ignored since he’d arrived three days ago.  Potter had been in the room once, to sleep, and had mumbled a “Bye, Draco,” before leaving again.  Draco joined the ranks of people who were annoyed by Potter’s disappearances.

Potter lifted his head wearily and squinted in Draco’s direction.  His glasses rested crookedly on his nose.  “Oh.  Hi.”

‘Oh. Hi.’  That was it?  Draco’s nails clicked impatiently on the cage door.

Potter blew out a heavy breath of air, pushed himself to his knees, and straightened his glasses.  He inched to the side of the bed and opened the latch.  He caught Draco mid-leap from the cage to the bed.

“Tssss,” Draco said irritably, wiggling in Potter’s grasp.

Potter flopped back onto the bed, carrying Draco with him.  The cup rolled towards Potter, a wrought handle bumping against his shoulder.  He gave it a disgusted glower and knocked it onto the floor.  “Bloody Horcrux.”

Draco paused his escape attempt and looked in the direction the cup had fallen.  A Horcrux?  What was a Horcrux?

“It’s evil,” Potter said, making Draco wonder if he’d spoken human English until Potter tapped his nose in warning.  “Ferrets shouldn’t play with that cup.  No cup.”

Draco scowled.  As if he would listen to Potter.  That cup is mine.

“I probably shouldn’t leave it around where you can get to it, then, eh?”  Setting Draco on his chest, Potter pulled off his Quidditch gloves and threw them on the floor, as well.  He began petting Draco, a pensive expression settling on his face.

Draco kept still, lest Potter move the cup.  If Potter could be lulled into a sense of complacency, he’d forget about it being on the floor and Draco could nick it.  He only had to wait, and suffer through the petting while he did so.

“Dook-purrururr-dook-dook-dook.”

Who knew Potter could be so good with his hands?

Potter’s lips quirked and his eyes fell shut.  He seemed to relax more and more with each stroke of his fingers.  His hand smoothed the fur down Draco’s back over, and over, and over, and over.  Draco’s eyelids drooped.

Potter’s hand stilled, and Draco’s head jerked upright.  He blinked the drowsiness away.  Potter’s full lips parted and he let out a soft snore.

Potter was asleep.  Draco stared at his school nemesis.  Potter was completely vulnerable.  Great Salazar, the things Draco could do… if he were human.  Draco cursed.  Potter was at his mercy, and all Draco could do was possibly smother him with fur. 

Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea.

Draco slinked from under Potter’s heavy hand and crept cautiously forward.  Potter didn’t stir.  Draco’s paws slid against the curve of Potter’s cheeks and chin.  Potter continued snoring. 

Smirking, Draco curled his body and settled right over Potter’s nose and mouth.  The snore cut off.  He could feel Potter’s warm exhale against his underbelly.  He knew the next inhale would be blocked—

“Ah-choo!”

—but he hadn’t factored in his fur tickling Potter’s nostrils.

Potter’s head flung forward with the force of his sneeze, and Draco tumbled off his face with a squeak.  Potter swiped his hand under his nose, grunted, and rolled onto his side.  Draco scrambled not to be crushed and waited for the yelling or stuck back in his cage.

Neither happened.  Potter was still asleep.  His glasses magnified the fan of his eyelashes against his skin.

Draco sighed in relief and then perked up.  The cup!  He jumped from the bed and scurried around to where it lay.  The fading sunlight coming through the window glinted off the gold rim.  Ooh, shiny.

Draco stopped his approach abruptly, as a wave of unease washed over him.  He sniffed in the cup’s direction.  The fur on the back of his neck rose.  Lowering his body close to the ground, Draco crept nearer.  His discomfort grew the closer he got to the cup.  He sniffed again.  The cup smelled… evil.

Draco knew about dark arts objects, had a manor full of them, and was smart enough not to touch.  He caught sight of Potter’s Quidditch gloves.  Black streaks marred the brown leather of the palm and fingers of one glove.  Potter obviously knew not to touch, either, but that didn’t explain its presence.  What was Potter doing with a dark arts object?  Why would he risk whatever curse had been put on the cup? 

Draco recalled Hagrid’s griping on Potter’s unknown adventures.  If obtaining the cup was one of the results, what else had Potter collected?  And why?

Draco’s curiosity grew tenfold.  Spying on Potter took on a higher level of significance.  Messing about with dark arts items wasn’t something he’d pictured Saint Potter doing.  Potter was too noble to stoop to that level.  He might use his fists like a brute, but he always fought face-to-face.  It’s why Draco thought the Dark Lord would win; a Slytherin didn’t have qualms about cursing someone in the back.

What are you up to, Potter?  Draco glanced at Potter’s elbow, sticking out over the side of the bed.  The material of the robe was nearly worn through at the point.

Taking a final sniff of the cup, Draco went prowling in search of other dark arts objects.  His nose twitched rapidly as he sniffed his way through the room.  He found a lot of dirty laundry, empty chocolate frog packages, an uncapped inkbottle, which he knocked over, and a tattered copy of Quidditch Through the Ages.  Under the bed, a dust bunny bared its teeth at him, but no evil-smelling items (aside from Potter’s pants) crossed Draco’s sensitive nose.

Potter had mentioned removing the cup from the room, Draco recalled.  If he had a collection, it had to be kept somewhere.  Draco trotted across the bedroom to the door.  Potter hadn’t closed it completely and Draco was able to squeeze through the gap.

Shadows bathed the hallway outside Potter’s bedroom.  Draco remembered coming down a set of stairs from one direction, so he set off the opposite way.  Light shone from a cracked-open door further along the corridor.  He could hear Granger and Weasley’s voices coming from inside.

“I still think we should get rid of them now,” Weasley said, as Draco slunk into the room. 

Granger sat on the edge of a bed with a burgundy duvet.  The bedroom was larger than Potter’s and cleaner.  Twin wardrobe cabinets bookended a writing desk stacked with books and scrolls.  A lit candelabrum stood on the night table.  Burgundy draperies hung closed over the tall window across from the door.  A laundry basket stood in a corner, which Draco darted to hide behind.  “We’ve discussed this, Ron.  We don’t know if Voldemort—oh, honestly, stop flinching.  We don’t know if he’ll feel a backlash and figure out what we’re doing.”

“But what if something happens to us before we can destroy them?”  Weasley pulled his robe off over his head and tossed it towards the laundry basket.   It landed partially in the basket, partially on Draco’s head, blinding him.

“Fred and George know the Horcruxes must be destroyed,” Granger said.  “It’s pointless to worry otherwise.  Nothing can be done until all of them are found, and we’re still missing one.”

There was that word again: Horcrux.  Draco wormed from beneath Weasley’s smelly robe and promptly wished he hadn’t, when he saw the pale, freckled globes of Weasley’s arse. 

Weasley picked up his pants and threw them over his shoulder.  They landed right in front of Draco.  Draco repressed a gag and retreated back behind the basket.

“Don’t remind me,” Weasley said.  “I was nearly toast getting Helga Hufflepuff’s cup.  What’s gonna happen when we go after the last one?  Me becoming jam, is what.”

Draco’s ears flickered.  The evil cup in Potter’s room had belonged to Helga Hufflepuff?

“Good thing I love jam, then,” Granger said.

“Oh, really?”

“Mm-hmm.  Especially brave, heroic jam.”

“And where do you like spreading this jam?”

“Lock the door and I’ll show you.”

Draco’s stomach churned in dread.  Did he just hear what he thought he’d heard?   Creeping forward, he peeked from behind the basket.

A naked Weasley sauntered from the door to the bed, his burgeoning erection swinging with each step.  Draco’s stared in revulsion as Weasley and Granger began devouring each other’s faces.  He glanced at the door, hoping to escape, only to see it closed completely.  He was trapped.

Two thumps drew Draco’s attention back to the horror unfolding in front of him.  Weasley had dropped to his knees in front of Granger.  He grinned, lifted the hem of her robe, and ducked his head beneath it.  A moment later, a pair of knickers sailed in Draco’s direction.  They landed on top of Weasley’s discarded pants.

Draco spun around and dove back under the robe.  He heard Granger gasp, followed by moaning and slurping, and he tried covering his ears with his paws.  It didn’t work.  Curled in a ball with his eyes tightly shut, he listened to Weasley and Granger rutting and wished he were still with the Dark Lord; anything done to him would’ve been less torturous than this.

“Mornin', Harry.”

“Good morning.  Have you guys seen—”

“Kekkekkekkekkekkekkekkekkekkekkekkekkekkekkekkekkekkekkekkek…”

“Never mind.”  Draco heard Potter say behind him, as he bolted down the hallway, getting as far away from that bedroom as fast as he could run.  The portraits along the corridor craned their necks, watching as he flew past.  He hit the edge of a set of stairs, took a tumble, but caught his footing and kept on running.

“Eee!” he squawked, when a strong hand grasped him abruptly about the middle.

“Hey, there,” Potter said, tucking his wand in his belt.  “Where d’you think you’re going?”

“Kek-kek-kek-kek-kek-kek-kek!” Draco stated, stricken by what he’d been forced to endure.

“Sh-sh-sh.”  He was cradled against a solid chest that smelt of pine and laundry soap.  “It’s all right, lovely one.  I won’t let you get locked in Ron’s room again.”

Potter petted Draco soothingly.  Draco buried his nose in the crook of Potter’s elbow and let himself be coddled.  After the horror of the prior evening, he deserved it.