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The first time Draco Malfoy turned into a cat, the moment had been one of great joy for him. Not many things brought Draco joy anymore and so for a second he was surprised by the sheer golden feeling of it welling up within him. Draco had had the foresight to do this in front of a mirror in the privacy of his bedroom and now he took the opportunity to admire himself. His animagus form was that of a snow white cat with long, luxurious fur. His gray eyes looked back at him in the mirror but he couldn’t read his own expression. Draco lifted a paw to touch the mirror and was astounded by the whiskers just above his pink paw pads. He hadn’t known that cats had whiskers on their feet too. He swished his tail with interest, watched the way it moved behind him.

     Then, among all of the white, something black caught Draco’s eye. Dread curled through his veins like frost through the forest. The Dark Mark on his left, er, leg was visible as a black spot on his fur. Draco couldn’t help the thought that it tainted his otherwise perfect image; a foul black stain on his snow white fur. Draco’s ears flattened against his skull in distress. He tore his eyes away from the offending mark...only to spot a new one. From his hip to his throat, a thick scar cut through the fur on his underbelly.

     The scar itself was still a reddish color, still fairly new-looking despite the several months that had passed since he’d gotten it. Fury rose within Draco, mingled with lingering feelings of desperation, shame, and worst of all, fear. Potter and his spell had scared Draco. He still had nightmares about it when his dreams could be bothered to make room for Potter.

     Draco dropped back down into a sitting position. He studied himself for a few more long moments. If he did say so himself, he was rather handsome and elegant. It was a suitable form though he couldn’t help but have hoped for something a little more...strong. Draco shook the thoughts from his mind. Then he slipped back into his human form.

     Screams echoed throughout the Manor and Draco’s heart gave a painful squeeze as terror enveloped him. He pushed the terror aside with an ease that greatly concerned him and sat down at his desk. Just because Draco was no longer at school, didn’t mean that he didn’t want to learn. Draco flipped open the old leather bound tome to a section about defensive spells. He started reading as though his life depended on it, resolutely ignoring the screams that wanted to sear themselves into his soul.

     Draco’s bedroom door burst open with a small explosion that destroyed one of Draco’s pillows and sent feathers flying everywhere. “Draco, sweetie, it’s time to come play with auntie Bella!” Her words were familiar from childhood but the tone Aunt Bellatrix used was vicious and vindictive just like the woman herself.

     Draco twisted around to see the face of his Aunt Bellatrix and his heart pounded. He slammed his mental shields up so fast that it almost hurt. She couldn’t be allowed back into his mind. Yes, Draco was grateful that his aunt had taught him Occlumency because it was a very useful skill to know when one lived with Dark wizards but Aunt Bellatrix hadn’t made it easy on him. Some days she acted like she didn’t even remember they were related and treated him like just another one of the people in the dungeons. Draco’s heart pounded furiously in his chest. “I was studying, Aunt Bella.” Draco was relieved that his voice didn’t waver. He waved his wand to fix his pillow.

     Aunt Bellatrix’s dark eyes turned darker at his refusal to run amok with her. Thanks to the Occlumency lessons, she knew most of Draco’s thoughts about torturing other people. He even had trouble with the mudbloods because though they were far lower in class and unworthy of their magic, it didn’t mean that he wanted them writhing on the floor in the throes of agony. Draco didn’t torture animals for the fun of it, he felt no inclination to do so to his own species either. Slowly, though, Aunt Bellatrix’s expression shifted from stormy to intrigued. This did nothing to ease Draco’s fear of her. “What are you studying, Draco? Anything I might find interesting?”

     Draco lifted his chin. He refused to glance back at his book because he’d learned the hard way not to turn his back on his Aunt. As a matter of fact, Draco did think that his research would interest her. He gestured for Aunt Bellatrix to look for herself. “If you ever get tired of living with mangy dogs, I believe this may be of some interest to you.”

     Intrigued, Aunt Bellatrix moved closer to read the text from the book. Her black eyes took on a dangerous glittering look as did the sharp smile she gave. Aunt Bellatrix often reminded Draco of a bottle of fine wine that had been broken and then reglued into something atrocious that would cut whoever tried to hold it. He could not fathom how the Dark Lord could spend so much time with Bellatrix nor the other way around. Aunt Bellatrix threw her head back and let out a whooping cackle that raised the hairs on the back of Draco’s neck. She put an arm around her nephew. “I was going to suggest that we get more torture lessons in, Draco, but I think we’ll try out this spell instead. Come on, then, let’s go play with the wolfie.” Her long black nails dug into his shoulder like talons.

     Reluctantly, Draco followed his aunt. He had no choice; if he didn’t she would force him. As he had painfully learned, Aunt Bellatrix was not above using Unforgivable curses on her family members. Malfoys did not drag their feet but it could be argued that Draco dragged his as they walked down the corridors in search of their prey. Draco clutched his wand so tightly in his hand that his knuckles stood out in stark relief.

     Their destination turned out to be the same anyway. The dungeons weren’t originally dungeons; they used to be an elaborate wine cellar. Since the Dark Lord had moved into the manor, the wine cellar had changed. There were no more shelves holding precious and ancient bottles of wine. Now there were chains on the walls and deep red stains on the stone floors. It was still kept at 12 degrees celcius with a humidity of 77 percent and everyone suffered for it. Draco wished very much that it would go back to being a wine cellar.

     Fenrir Greyback scared Draco almost more than the Dark Lord did. The werewolf had an affinity for children and it didn’t stop at just biting them. Greyback stood over the limp body of a Hufflepuff first year that Draco only vaguely recalled the face of. The boy didn’t look to be alive and surely it would be impossible to breathe when so much of one's throat was missing. He fixed his eyes on Draco and his bloody grin grew wider. “So you finally got the brat to come out of his room.”

     For a split second Draco panicked. Did Aunt Bellatrix trick him into coming down here so that they could both fuck with Draco? In a split second Draco lifted his wand and cast the Filigree spell. Silver flowed from Draco’s wand and flew at Greyback. It latched onto Greyback’s skin in ornate designs that snaked beneath Greyback’s clothing and continued down his body.

     Greyback screamed with pain. The acrid smell of burnt flesh filled the dungeon and made Draco’s nose prickle. All around the fancy filigree, Greyback’s skin turned a bright, blistery red as it burned him. Greyback’s claws came up to scratch at the silver but his fingers came away bloody and blistered and he howled once again.

     Draco’s eyes widened with surprise. It was one thing to read about the spell, it was another to see it in action. It was beautiful and torturous to watch. On one hand, if anyone deserved to be tortured so exquisitely, it was Fenrir Greyback. Greyback certainly hadn’t made life easy for Draco - though he hadn’t yet bit Draco despite threatening it every day - and so Draco took a certain amount of dark pleasure at watching this display. However, it was such a grotesque way to suffer and as far as Draco could tell there is no end to the curse except death.

     Beside him, Aunt Bellatrix laughed and laughed. Her laughter was as loud as Greyback’s howls of pain. She clutched at her sides and laughed with absolute glee.

     Out of nowhere a bony hand touched Draco’s shoulder. Its long fingers curled tightly and the blunt nails dug into Draco’s robes. “It would seem that young Draco is not as adverse to torture as you first thought, Bellatrix.” The voice was far too close to Draco’s ear and his breath was cold against the back of Draco’s neck.

     Aunt Bellatrix stopped laughing immediately though her smile didn’t quite vanish. She bowed low and murmured, “My Lord.”

     Draco shuddered. Surprise at their sudden proximity kept him from being able to hold it in. Normally he had some advance warning before the Dark Lord approached him. His skin crawled where the Dark Lord touched him and he desperately wished that he could squirm out of the Dark Lord’s grip without making matters worse. Cold spread from where the hand rested on his shoulder. Being touched by the Dark Lord was utterly revolting.

     With a wave of his free hand, the Dark Lord undid the Filigree curse. He didn’t spare a glance at Greyback nor the surely-dead Hufflepuff boy beyond that. His hand didn’t move from Draco’s shoulder. “Bellatrix, Greyback, with me.” The Dark Lord squeezed Draco’s shoulder one more time before pulling away. His fingers trailed down Draco’s shoulder blade as he left the dungeon.

     Draco pushed down his nausea. He stayed rooted to the spot, revulsion and nausea coursing through him. He didn’t move even when Greyback stumbled up the stairs and snapped his teeth at Draco. In the end, Draco was left in the dungeon with a dead boy and prisoners who would likely be dead sooner rather than later. He turned heel and strode from the dungeon though the foul stench of blood and charred flesh remained with him.

It was without any sort of shame that Draco used the Filigree curse on Greyback whenever the werewolf got too close. Which grew to be increasingly often as Greyback was hoping to get revenge for the first time. Greyback loved that he was always able to get a rise out of Draco. He never ceased to inform Draco that he could smell his sweat and taste the fear that rose within Draco whenever Greyback was around. The worst part of it was the glint that Greyback got in his disturbing eyes and the vile way he licked his lips while he said these things. Draco had started firing the curse whenever Greyback was in the same room as him.

     At first it had gotten some raised eyebrows but then Draco started to use it on the rest of Greyback’s pack and everyone assumed that he just hated werewolves. It wasn’t an entirely inaccurate statement. The only other werewolf Draco had known was Lupin and Draco had hated him vehemently. Greyback’s pack gained a healthy respect for Draco’s space - as well as permanent Filigree scars burned into their bodies - and the Dark Lord was especially pleased with Draco.

     The Dark Lord hated werewolves as much as Draco did and he made no secret of it. Nor did he make a secret of how much he approved of Draco cursing them. The praise made Draco hope that his family was finally starting to get back into the Dark Lord’s good graces. They were currently at the bottom of the ladder despite the fact that the Dark Lord was using their manor as his base of operations. Some days Draco suspected that his mere presence was supposed to be a punishment. The Malfoys had fallen and it was on Draco’s shoulders to restore their glory.

     Except.

     Except that the Dark Lord didn’t give Draco only his praise. He had developed the terrible, awful habit of touching Draco whenever they were in the same room together. In the beginning it was merely the shoulder squeezes. Those were bad enough. The Dark Lord had skeletal hands and he smelled like things in overturned, wet earth and vaguely of rot and snake skin. Every touch made chills of terror go down Draco’s spine and nausea twist in his gut.

     Ever so slowly, the Dark Lord’s hand made its way down Draco’s back until it rested between his shoulder blades and later against the small of his back. His touch always lingered, fingers pressed threateningly into Draco’s skin.

     Draco would stop breathing. He wouldn’t move a muscle except the ones in his hand when he gripped his wand. Logically, Draco knew that if the Dark Lord kept moving his hand down then there would only be one place left and that was Draco’s arse. Forget Potter and the prophecy. Forget bringing the Malfoy name out of the gutter. It was times like these that Draco thought that, maybe, he would be the one to kill the Dark Lord. It was times like these that a traitorous voice would list all of the reasons for him to do it. This entire operation would fall apart if the Dark Lord was gone, just like it had last time. He would be a hero - he would steal Potter’s spotlight - and then his family wouldn’t be in danger and their wine cellar could go back to being just that.

     In the end, Draco couldn't do it. The risks of failure were too high. Draco wasn’t a killer and his experiences with Dumbledore had proven it. His mother, his father, himself. They would all be killed. Or worse. There was always worse and that thought made Draco sick to his stomach. Draco had always been family oriented - it was his best Slytherin trait - and though he was on rocky territory with his father, Draco didn’t want anything unbecoming to happen to him either.

     So Draco put up with the lingering touches that slunk ever lower. He tried to keep his features schooled into neutrality so as to not alert anyone to his soul deep discomfort.

     The days passed and the Dark Lord found a reason to touch Draco every day, even if it was only for an instant. Draco hadn’t jumped since the first time even though he was startled by it every day. Though his arse had been the next logical conclusion for the Dark Lord to touch, it turned out that the Dark Lord was more interested in Draco’s hair. Much like the back touches, he started off simply. Just a pat here and there on the head. Then a stroke. Then outright carding his wormish fingers through Draco’s blond locks until Draco wanted to vomit.

     And he did. As soon as he was free from the Dark Lord’s sight. Draco would be released and dismissed - or the Dark Lord would leave - and Draco would find the nearest sink to vomit in. Not that he had much to vomit up except stomach acid. Constant fear and stress made Draco’s appetite wither away to almost nothing. More days than not his stomach was an empty, aching pit. Even when his mother offered him an apple - his favorite - Draco couldn’t bring himself to take more than a bite or two. And that usually ended coming back up a few hours later.

On particularly bad days, Draco would seek solace in his mother. She was the person that Draco loved more than anyone in the entire world and he would do anything for her. His mother being in constant mortal danger only made Draco more ill. Narcissa Malfoy was a blessing. She was his rock, his support. The only parent who would allow herself to be a shoulder to cry on should he need it. Not that Draco had taken her up on that offer since he first arrived back at the Manor the night Dumbledore died.

     The Dark Lord had stroked Draco’s cheek earlier that day and Draco hadn’t recovered from the absolute shock of it. He felt as though he were going to combust and he wished the floor would swallow him up or that he would really be able kill the Dark Lord this time. Instead, Draco had frozen and looked straight ahead without seeing anything until it was over.

     This was how Draco found himself outside of his parents bedroom in the early hours of the morning. He wore full robes because there wasn’t a day that went by where he couldn’t stand to do so. The idea of being undressed made Draco twitchy and for the past several months he’d been using magic to keep himself and his wardrobe clean. He doubted that anyone aside from his parents had noticed that Draco hadn’t changed clothes in a month. He raised his hand to knock on the door when voices stopped him.

     It was his father’s voice that he heard first. “What do you want me to say, Narcissa?”

     “He’s our son!” That was his mother’s voice and she sounded angry. “He isn’t even of age, Lucius!”

     His father tried again, “The Dark Lord -”

     Mother said something absolutely venomous about what the Dark Lord could do with himself.

     Draco’s eyes widened. He hurriedly cast a silencing charm. What if someone else had happened upon this conversation? His stomach churned.

     Mother spoke again, voice biting and bitter, “We can’t let him -”

     “What choice do we have, Narcissa? Do you think that I want this for any of us? But if we refuse to give Draco to him what do you think he’s going to do to all of us? We’re on thin ice as it is. If Draco hadn’t suddenly started on with the werewolves I don’t think we would be alive to have this conversation right now.”

     Draco’s breath caught in his throat. What? Who were they going to give Draco to? It sounded...it sounded like… NO. It couldn’t be that.

     “And Draco? You think he’s going to consent to this?”

     There was a long pause. Then, very slowly Father said, “You know that he would do anything if your life was on the line.”

     “But this is -”

     “We should be honored,” Father said firmly.

     Mother snarled at Father, a wordless vicious sound. “Take your honor and shove it up your arse, Lucius!” Her footsteps came towards Draco and the door. Draco didn’t have time to scramble away before Mother opened the door. She stopped when she came face-to-face with her son. All of the anger on her features melted away to a fear stronger than any that Draco had ever seen on his mother’s face before. Mother ushered Draco out of her way, out of Father’s sight. “I believe I’ll be taking up residence in the guest rooms tonight, Lucius.” Her voice was ice.

     Before Father could get a word in, Mother firmly closed the doors. She placed a locking spell on the doors. Then she took Draco’s hand and pulled him along the hallway back to his room. “I absolutely must check on your schoolwork, dear. Just because you aren’t there doesn’t mean I don’t want you to have an education. No son of mine is going to be uneducated. It’s terribly important to gather all the knowledge you can, don’t you know, Draco?”

     Draco was baffled. He desperately wanted to ask what that was all about. What were they talking about? But obviously Mother had other ideas as she marched them at a brisk pace back to Draco’s room. “Er, yes, mother.” He wanted to ask questions but it would be too dangerous out in the open like this and - of course! Mother said this nonsense in case anyone was listening. She didn’t really care about Draco’s schoolwork; which he had been doing because she did care and so did Draco. He should have been in his seventh year of Hogwarts right now and that made Draco’s heart clench uncomfortably.

     As soon as they reached Draco’s room, Mother began casting spells. She locked the doors with the strongest locking spell that Draco had ever seen. Her silencing charm blocked out all sounds from outside of Draco’s bedroom. Finally, his mother turned to him. Her face pinched with worry. As soon as they were locked in together, Mother threw her arms around Draco’s neck and pulled him in for a tight hug. “You need to leave.”

     Draco felt shock course through him once again. He was so shocked that he couldn’t even hug her back. What on earth? Why would Mother tell him to leave? “Mother, I don’t understand.”

     Mother pulled back. Her eyes were glistening with tears. “My precious son.” She stroked his cheek with the back of her hand.

     Unlike with the Dark Lord, Draco didn’t shy away from her touch. He grasped her hand in his and searched her eyes for clues. “What were you and Father talking about?”

     “The Dark Lord seems quite...taken with you, Draco,” Mother admitted quietly. She didn’t quite look him in the eye and her skin paled as she spoke.

     Draco felt like something was just out of his reach, some sort of understanding. “Isn’t that a good thing? We have to make up for...for our disgrace.”

     “My guileless son,” Mother smiled faintly but it held no humor nor joy. “The Dark Lord has taken a special interest in you, Draco. He...wishes to take you to his chambers.” This time Mother looked him in the eye. She was deathly serious though very pale still.

     “To his…” Draco repeated breathlessly. He understood, suddenly, exactly what everything had been all about. All the touches and praise. The look on the Dark Lord’s ugly face when he gazed upon Draco. His stomach heaved and Draco had to rush to the attached washroom in his room before he vomited on his floor.

     His mother followed him into the washroom and closed the door behind them. She added another layer of magic to lock them in. Her fingers were cool against Draco’s feverish forehead as she stroked his hair back from his face. With a flick of her wand, Mother cleaned him up as though he were still a child. Then she turned Draco’s face towards her. Her blue eyes were hard as ice. “You must leave, Draco. I will not let him defile you any more than he already has.”

     Draco’s heart pounded fiercely in his chest once more. He worried that one of these days it would do something terrible - or wonderful - and just give out once and for all. “Where would I go? How would I leave?” Though Draco hadn’t tried to leave the Manor, it was heavily implied that he was under house arrest. The other Death Eaters would not allow him to leave the grounds and truthfully, Draco hadn’t even been outside in months. He gripped his mother’s arms. “What about you?”

     Mother bit her lip as she looked around the washroom. She undid her charms and pulled Draco back into the bedroom, looked around some more. It appeared that she didn’t have a way to smuggle her son out of the Manor. “You need to go somewhere safe.” Mother seemed to be speaking to herself. “To someone who can protect you.”

     Draco wanted to ask who on earth could protect him from the Dark Lord but he feared Mother didn’t have an answer. Dumbledore was dead. As far as Draco knew there wasn’t another soul on earth that could protect him.

     A strange expression crossed Mother’s face. She turned to Draco again and rested her palm against his cheek. “Oh my beautiful son. I can only think of one person who can save you and I do hope you forgive me.” With her wand hand, Mother cast a spell over him.

     Mother’s magic was soft green like the gardens in spring but it was strong as the coils of a snake. It washed over him with warmth and Draco felt something shift inside him. It was a persistent sort of tug that wanted him to go North. It was, as he discovered quickly, easy enough to ignore the urge to head North. “What did you do?”

     “Now you’ll be able to find him. Wherever he is.” Mother sighed deeply. She looked troubled. “That’s all I can do for now. I’ll think of how to get you out unnoticed.”

     Draco gripped his mother’s arms. “But what about you?” He couldn’t bear to leave her. He needed to know that she was safe and the only way to do that was to bring her with him. “We can go together.”

     Mother gave him a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She kissed his forehead. “You are a brilliant, clever boy, Draco. One day you will make a wonderful man and I hope that I can see it.”

     All at once Draco realized that his mother didn’t mean to come with him. “You have to come with me.” He tightened his grip then loosened it when he realized he could be hurting her. “Please come with me, mother.”

      “I can’t, Draco.”

     Draco Malfoy had never begged for anything in his entire life but now he begged his mother. “Please, please come with me. I can’t leave you here. I won’t go without you. Please.” He didn’t let go of her, held tight as though that would make her stay with him. He prayed that she would escape this hellhole with him. Mother’s expression was tight with pain but her eyes were determined. She was going to make him go without her. So Draco begged harder, pulled hard at the bond he shared with her, “Please, mummy, come with me.” Draco hadn’t called his mother ‘mummy’ since he’d been a very small child.

     Narcissa Malfoy’s tears finally spilled over her cheeks. She gathered Draco in her arms and held him so tight he couldn’t breathe. “I’m so sorry, love. I can’t come with you. Someone has to throw them off your trail.” The unsaid words hung between them ‘and your father won’t do it.’ “As soon as we think of a way for you to safely leave, you must. Promise me, Draco. Promise you’ll leave and never come back so long as he’s alive.”

     Draco swallowed around the lump of emotion in his throat. He buried his face against his mother’s shoulder. With great reluctance he said, “I promise, mum.”

Despite their conversation, Draco and his mother couldn’t figure out a way for him to get out of the Manor unnoticed. He couldn’t Apparate out because the wards had been modified to stop Apparition. The Floo networks were closely monitored and easily traced. They had tried to make a Portkey but that immediately summoned Aunt Bellatrix and only a complicated memory charm on an unsuspecting but conveniently nearby werewolf had gotten the two of them out of it. The werewolf was killed and the tensions in the Manor rose.

     Draco suggested that he leave under the cover of darkness, just walk off the property. His mother was sure that he would be spotted by the Death Eaters that kept watch and patrolled round the clock. Draco was a wanted man for the apparent assassination attempt of Dumbledore and therefore he would have no reason to leave his only safe spot. With the Dark Lord in control of the Ministry they had avoided Aurors knocking on their doors. Or rather, knocking them down. It was simply too suspicious for Draco to leave the Manor.

     He still felt that tug within that told him to go North. Draco resoutely ignored it since he couldn’t get out. He spent a surprisingly small amount of time trying to figure out who it was that his mother thought he would be safe with.

     Now that the matter had been pushed to the forefront of his mind, Draco could no longer deny that the Dark Lord was, er, interested in him. Every time he was touched, bile rose in Draco’s throat. He had completely stopped eating because he was tired of vomiting all the time. Dealing with the pain of hunger was a small price to pay for not throwing it all up later. He found that staying still was no longer an option, not when he knew that the Dark Lord wanted to get….inside of him. Now Draco positively shook with the fear, the apprehension. Every day could be the day. Cold panic filled him every time he was in the Dark Lord’s presence. His fingers went numb while adrenaline sent his heart into overdrive.

     Draco no longer amused himself by cursing the werewolves with Filigree. The first time he had used a killing curse on one of them, he hadn’t felt anything. Two werewolves died in a matter of weeks. Tensions rose even higher.

     Greyback glared hatefully at Draco and made snapping motions with his teeth. He wasn’t even being subtle about it.

     Draco was no longer afraid of Greyback. He would rather be a werewolf than be bedded by the Dark Lord. It turned out that there were in fact worse things than Fenrir Greyback and Draco just didn’t care about him any longer. Although he was starting to wonder if maybe the Dark Lord would lose interest in him if he was a werewolf.

     Every day Draco stayed in his rooms until he was forced from them by Aunt Bellatrix or the Dark Lord. Then he would put up with whatever tortures they wanted him to go through with; whether it was submitting himself to being touched by the Dark Lord or using Crucio on someone in the dungeon. Draco was better at using the curse now though he still didn’t feel any real hatred towards any of his unfortunate victims. When that terrible act had been completed to the satisfaction of his supervisors, Draco would be subjected to the touching and the whispered praise in his ear.

     A terror unlike anything that Draco had ever experienced filled Draco every time the Dark Lord touched him. He was so frightened and angry and disgusted that his teeth chattered uncontrollably. To make matters worse, his face would color with a blush of embarrassment. The Dark Lord became even more touchy. His fingers would slip into Draco’s shirt to splay against his bare skin. He didn’t necessarily touch Draco anywhere inappropriate - it was all inappropriate - but Draco knew that the Dark Lord was working up to it. Draco would rather be Crucio’d into insanity than deal with this any longer.

     And then it happened. The Dark Lord’s fingers dipped down below the waistband of Draco’s trousers.

     Draco pulled away from the Dark Lord’s unwanted embrace with a yelp. He didn’t stop moving away, was practically tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away.

     Behind him he heard laughter. “You’ll be mine, Draco Malfoy. You already are.”

     Draco ran from the drawing room. He skidded down the hallways at full speed. His heart was in his throat. He was going to be sick. He was going to die. Someone was going to stop him. Draco pushed past everyone who got in his way. He fired hexes and curses alike without thought of who he was hurting, just knew that he needed to get out.

     When he reached the kitchens, Draco jumped out the open window. He hid in the bushes outside and thought about what to do. There was no doubt that the time to leave was now. But how was he going to get past the Death Eaters? He needed to be inconspicuous. To not stand out. He wished he had Potter’s invisibility cloak. Draco’s attention was caught by one of the peacocks strutting across the yard. The white peacocks acted as security for the Malfoys and also showed off their wealth and prestige. For the most part they stayed on the grounds but once in a while they would wander off into the surrounding forest.

     That was it! Oh Draco was a fool to not have thought of it sooner. Except he would have to leave his wand behind. The thought of leaving without it terrified him. But not as much as being molested by the Dark Lord did. Draco dug through the dirt with his bare hands, winced as the dirt got beneath his fingernails. When the hole was deep enough, Draco buried his wand.

     From within the Manor he heard a telltale howl. Draco’s heart squeezed with terror. If he didn’t leave soon he would be caught. He focused and felt his body change. He shrunk down and dropped onto all fours. Fur sprouted along his body and his ears shifted on his head. It was a painless, easy transformation. And it was only the second time that Draco had ever been a cat. He slunk along the edge of the manor and kept a close eye on the grounds to make sure no one noticed him. When Draco deemed it was safe, he made a run for the fountain. After that he darted into the flowers that lined the driveway. Draco kept so low to the ground that his belly fur dragged. If he was found he would be killed. Or worse. And so would his mother.

     In the end it was shockingly easy to leave the Manor grounds. After taking cover in the flower beds, Draco just walked to the nearest fence and slipped between the wrought iron bars. He didn’t spare a last look at the Manor. Draco needed to leave before the Dark Lord found him. Or before Greyback got to him. Draco felt the blood leave his face as he thought of Greyback catching him in cat form. There wouldn’t be enough of him left to box up for the funeral.

     Draco padded into the forest that surrounded his property.

     Apparently Muggles used to live in this area but as the Malfoys took their properties, they started to plant trees. That was over ten centuries ago. Hence the very private forest. Very little remained of the Muggles who had lived there before. A few scattered bricks and once Draco had found a bronze key. That was the way the Malfoy family liked it.

     As a child Draco hadn’t found much reason to wander past his own enormous gardens. The forest was dark with thick, tall trees and dense underbrush. It did not invite play and Draco was not the type of child who sought out solitude. The bright, happy gardens of his home were plenty to satisfy him for many a summer and winters day. As such, Draco had very little idea where he was going. The Manor was South-facing, which meant that he was going in the wrong direction. However he didn’t want to just turn around and risk going past the Manor.

     Not that the forest was much safer. Greyback’s sizable pack wandered these woods and there was a camp of Death Eaters set up somewhere. Draco wished he knew exactly where - so that he could avoid them - but he hadn’t been paying close enough attention whenever it was mentioned. Draco had been otherwise occupied with his guilty conscience and trying to protect himself and his family by cramming as much magical knowledge into his mind that he possibly could. It all seemed a bit of a waste without his wand. His skill at doing wandless magic wasn’t that honed.

     As Draco briskly trotted through the forest, he became aware of certain scents. The blood-wet-dog musk of a werewolf. The mouthwatering warm meat aroma of a mouse. A dozen different scents he couldn’t quite place but thought ought to be familiar. It wasn’t until Draco smelled fire that he realized he had walked directly towards the Death Eater camp. Draco’s eyes widened in surprise and he froze beneath a holly bush. His tail curled around his feet as he peered out of the bush.

     Several metres out was a ring of stones that marked the boundary of the Death Eater camp. Draco’s feline eyes could easily trace the enchantments that had been cast to make it a safe, undetectable spot. No Aurors would stumble upon it accidentally. The spiderwebbed dome of magic seemed rather large to Draco’s small feline self. Beyond the veil of magic, were the hustle and bustle of people living in tents. It was a testimony to how safe they felt that they didn’t wear masks or hoods in the camp. Draco’s eyes picked out Crabbe and Goyle senior. He spotted a few familiar faces from the Ministry. Some of the wizards and witches were completely unknown to him. They interacted like normal people except that whenever they were brought to anger, someone got hexed.

     Looking on from the outside made it seem outlandishly stupid to be hexing people on your own side. Shouldn’t they be saving the hexes for Potter’s lot? Draco shifted as an uncomfortable sensation ran down his pelt. He was one of the people who used to hex his friends whenever they said something he didn’t like. Was this what it looked like? These people looked heartless.

     On the other side of the circle, Draco spotted something big and slender slinking along the edge of the bubble. Werewolf. Apparently they weren’t allowed through the bubble of magic but it looked like they crept along the edges.

     Suddenly the Death Eaters froze. Draco felt a burning sensation on his foreleg. The Dark Mark. They were being summoned. A chill went through Draco. His fur fluffed up in response to the fear. He needed to leave immediately.

     Draco pushed backwards and once he was free of the bush, he ran away from the camp. His direction was East this time. The tug inside him thought that this was better than South however it wasn’t the ideal direction. Draco continued running East. Brambles caught in his coat and Draco stepped in more than one stagnant pond. By the time he started to tire, his paws were sore and dirty. His muscles ached. He slowed beside a tree and panted at the base of its trunk. Draco was unsure of how far he had gone but he could no longer detect any sign of the camp nor the werewolves.

     After his breathing had returned to normal, Draco forced himself to keep walking. The more distance he put between himself and the Manor, the better. Several hours later, Draco finally dropped. His tail drooped and his ears pressed flat against his skull. He was sure that his previously gorgeous white fur was now filthy. Draco found a comfortable nook between the roots of a large tree and curled up with his tail over his nose. For the first time in a long time, Draco fell asleep right away.

The snap of a twig woke Draco from an unsettling sleep. He lifted his head and pricked his ears. Someone was nearby. Without waiting to find out who it was, Draco leapt to his feet and took off in a streak of white. It turned out that his little paws could carry him quite far and that he had quite the instinct for running through the forest. Aside from the occasional stagnant body of water - which was more of a problem yesterday - Draco found that he had no problem clearing fallen logs or finding the quickest path between the bramble bushes.

     Draco ran until thirst made him slow. His mouth was dry as parchment. If he didn’t find something to drink soon, then he would die before the Death Eaters could get to him. Imagine! Running away from the Dark Lord’s fury only to die of thirst. What a ridiculous way to perish. If he had his wand he could just conjure water. A stab of loss went through him. No. He couldn’t think about what he left behind. Right now he had to focus on finding water.

     He wandered a bit aimlessly. The farther into the forest he got, the less he knew where he was. It was by entire coincidence that Draco’s sensitive ears picked up the sound of moving water nearby. His relief was nearly tangible when he found the stream. Draco crouched down and lapped water directly from it. The water was cool and staved off the hunger in his belly but only just.

     His thirst satisfied, Draco now realized that he would need to eat. Unsure of what to do about his hunger, he crouched beside the stream. The dirt here was damp and cool against his aching paws. His ears swivelled with each noise the forest offered up but he didn’t feel the need to run from them again. Animagi were undoubtedly humans in animal bodies but the animal did tend to lend a bit of instinct to the mixture. Some animals had certain powers; such as cats being able to see through magic and crows seeing the souls of the dead.

     It took quite a while for the first water vole to come up out of its burrow. Draco froze at the sight of it. The round rodent had glossy brown fur and beady black eyes. It shuffled along the opposite side of the bank. If it was concerned by the great white cat staring it down, the water vole gave no indication. Almost before he knew what he was doing, Draco’s claws were out and he’d leapt across the stream. His teeth sank into the soft flesh and a quick, hard bite ended the water vole’s struggles almost before they began.

     Draco ate the water vole in several large bites. He resolutely did not think about how this had been a living creature and that he had killed it with his teeth. He did not think about how bloody eating the thing was, nor how he could feel strength pouring into his tired limbs.

     When he was through with his first meal as a cat, Draco followed the stream North. The tug he felt was still there but it seemed pleased with him rather than insistent. Draco hadn’t a clue what he’s going to do except head North. He didn’t even know how far he’ll have to travel before he finally reached safety. He only hoped that he reached safety sooner rather than later.

The Dark Mark on Draco’s leg burned more often than he would like. Draco resolutely ignored the way the Dark Mark tried to summon him. As a cat it is so much easier to ignore the pull of the Mark. Or perhaps it has something to do with the spell his mother put on him. No matter how much the Mark tried to pull Draco to the Dark Lord, the tug Northwards was that much stronger. After listening to the rants of the Dark Lord for so long, Draco had some idea that the power of a mother’s magic was much stronger than even the worst Dark Curse. Draco sometimes wondered if his mother would be the one to finally bring about the Dark Lord’s downfall.

     These were thoughts Draco had only when the Mark burned. The rest of the time, Draco was very focused on being a cat and surviving. It turned out that his first successful hunt had merely been luck. It took four days before he was able to catch more prey and the small mouse was hardly filling. There were far more failures than there were successes but each success meant that Draco got to live another day. Draco varied his hunting techniques and the prey he went after. He even tried to fish.

     That ended up in sopping wet fur that took forever to dry.

     Time seemed to flow differently as a cat. The afternoons were long and warm, the nights cold and short. He experienced the changing of the seasons through his whiskers and the thickening of his undercoat before he saw the landscape change. As the landscape changed to fiery colors and falling leaves, Draco noticed that there were more birds but less rodents. Fishing - not that he was very good at it - quickly became out of the question as the temperature dropped and the days grew shorter. He couldn’t risk a wet coat and catching a cold. Draco didn’t dare change back into a human and he wasn’t about to go groveling for help as a sick feline. Why, people were sure to put him down rather than deal with the bill from a Magical Caretaker. A Magical Caretaker who would be sure to notice that Draco was not an ordinary cat but was rather an Animagus.

     The hiding rodents and lack of fish didn’t bother Draco very much. Birds weren’t easy to catch - those wings always hit him in the face and talons scratched and, well, they could fly - but Draco did enjoy snatching a bird right from the air. The brief moment before his paws would hit the ground reminded Draco of flying, the moment he caught a bird in his claws or teeth was like catching the Golden Snitch. It was nearly euphoric.

     And Draco, when he could forget about his dark past and his uncertain future, had fun as a cat. He took the time to thoroughly groom himself and was finally free of debris. His pelt gleamed snowy white. No one was around to judge him in the forest and Draco found that chasing falling leaves was great fun. He would twist and leap to catch them between his paws and then tear them apart. He told himself that it was to help his hunting skills. But the first frosts of November had come and Draco had yet to starve completely - though he still didn’t eat every day - so his hunting skills weren’t terrible. However, Draco’s pelt still prickled with heat when he caught himself enjoying life as a cat. His family, his mother, were in danger and Draco had almost been raped and Draco didn’t have a wand and he had an impossible quest to find some unknown person and he was having fun like nothing was wrong.

     Draco would shake himself off and trot in the direction his instincts told him to. Though instinct may have been an incorrect term, Draco couldn’t think of another way to refer to the feeling his mother’s spell gave him. He hoped she was safe, that she was alright. Thinking about his mother, still in the Dark Lord’s clutches, made Draco sick to his stomach and terribly sad. Draco feared he would never see her again and that made him heartsick.

     Nights when he wasn’t moving were the worst. Those moments before he fell into a troubled sleep were plagued with thoughts of living in the Manor with the Dark Lord and of all the terrible things that vile thing could be doing to his mother. He sometimes dreamed of his narrow escape, of being captured and used and thrown to Greyback like an old bone. Those dreams always left him eager to move again once he woke from them. The fact that delicate but bitter cold frost now blanketed the ground and bushes in the mornings before dawn were also incentives to move. Part of him feared that he would freeze to death before he found this mysterious protector.

     Draco would have to find a place to hole up in for winter soon.

The thing about finding a place to hole up in during the winter season was that there weren’t a lot of good places to do so. Once again heading north was no longer Draco’s main focus. When he truly thought about it, Draco didn’t know very much about cats. He wasn’t sure what they did during the winter but surely they didn’t all just die when the snow fell otherwise the species would have gone extinct long ago. So finding a place to get away from the snow wasn’t easy.

     At first Draco thought that perhaps he could rough it in the forest. He found a collapsed tree and scraped out a sort of half den beneath it. The frost got to him that night and made his paws crack and his ears ache. His next attempt was to go into a rabbit warren and kill everything within. He ate well for several days and deposited the bones outside the warren. This attracted scavengers - foxes - to the warren and Draco was forced to flee out a back entrance while the vicious creatures dug out the front. The bushes were quickly losing their leaves and the hollows of trees were always too damp. The area didn’t have much in the way of caves but even if it had, Draco didn’t want to risk coming in contact with a larger predator again.

     As the days grew shorter and the frosts grew more bitter, Draco knew it was only a matter of time. His stomach was empty more often than not and he was almost constantly cold. On the day that he stopped to drink by a stream only to find it encased in ice, Draco knew for certain that the forest obviously wasn’t going to provide a safe place for Draco to winter.

     Then he lost the cover of the forest and only had the fields of Muggle crops to hide amongst. The fields were rather barren and Draco knew he stood out with his white fur. He slunk along the ground, belly fur nearly brushing the half frozen soil. The fields were much worse than the forest had been. There was no cover and no food. Not even the birds liked to hang out in the barren fields. A few irrigation ditches provided murky water that Draco reluctantly drank from but gone were the crystal clear streams. Part of Draco longed to go back into the forest but he was still too close to Wiltshire for comfort.

     Though Draco came across their fields rather soon, it was another few days before he came into the town itself. He didn’t know very much about Muggles but Draco didn’t think that they lived like this.

     The first signs of Death Eater presence were the magical crackle of energy in the air. It was the buildup just before a thunderstorm, the moment before lightning flashed. Barns and small buildings Draco thought might be houses were charred black with their roofs caved in and no signs of life. Draco crept onto one such farm and found the remains of a herd of cows. They had been slaughtered and Draco recognized the marks on the bones as imprints of werewolf teeth.

     Draco didn’t venture inside the buildings. He had a sickening feeling he knew what he would find.

     The damage was less the further into town he got but there was still an obvious Death Eater presence. No one tried to stop Draco as he padded down the streets past boarded up shop windows and abandoned cars. There were no visible bodies, which Draco chose to interpret as the Muggles having left on their own. It occured to Draco that there may not be anyone here left to stop a stray cat from wandering the streets.

     The only signs of life were the flocks of crows that watched Draco with beady black eyes. Their presence here made the fur rise along Draco’s spine. Crows were known for the ability to see and escort the dead to...wherever souls went after death. The details were a bit murky this side of the grave. One lifted its beak and cawed at Draco, flapping its wings but never rising from its perch.

     Draco hurried through the town. He didn’t feel welcome here despite the fact that he desperately needed to find shelter before the first snow fell. There were other towns and hopefully they had a little more life in them than just crows. Draco ran through the town and didn’t stop until he was well past it.

The very next day was the day that it snowed. Draco had taken shelter in the only place he could find; a rubber wheel on the side of the road. The thing smelled terrible and it wasn’t very comfortable to curl up in its center but Draco was too afraid not to take what little bit of shelter he could. Laying down, the wheel’s sides came up over Draco’s head and offered some protection from the early November winds.

     Draco’s hunger had increased, grown in strength and hollowness until it was a beast itself. Constant pain clawed at his belly. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d eaten. His hunger made him reluctant to move. Draco yawned and lifted his head to look around.

     There was next to nothing to see. A worn out road and barren fields. In the distance were lone buildings or small clusters of them. The air in this place didn’t have the same crackle of Death Eater magic that the last town Draco had gone through did. There were likely mice in the barns and hedgehogs in the gardens. Not that Draco knew how to eat a hedgehog but he was hungry enough to give it a go.

     He considered getting up to hunt. Instead, Draco laid his head back down and closed his eyes. His paws ached, his stomach ached, his heart ached, and it was cold. Draco did not want to keep going.

     It was several hours later, after Draco had fallen into an uncomfortable sleep, that he awoke again. The snow fell again in sticky white clumps that clung to his fur. He trembled with the cold and suspected that night had fallen though with the cloud cover it was difficult to tell. His stomach was an angry beast that growled at him to feed it. His limbs were heavy when he stood and clambered over the edge of the rubber wheel. Normally a good stretch would clear the stiffness from his joints but Draco found that stretching just turned stiffness into pain. He didn’t make a sound at the sharp pain that stabbed at his joints.

     Though he would like nothing more than to curl up into himself, Draco forced himself to stand on the rubber wheel to get a look around. He shook snowflakes from his fur as he scanned the fields and buildings. How far was it to the buildings? Did he have the energy to make it there? The weather was only going to worsen. Draco felt it in his whiskers. If he didn’t get out of the cold, Draco wouldn’t have to worry about the Dark Lord finding him.

     He...wouldn’t have to worry. Realization dawned slowly on Draco. He wouldn’t have to worry about being raped by the Dark Lord. He wouldn’t have to worry about being bitten by Greyback. He wouldn’t have to worry about his parents or upholding the family name or bother with the required heirs or any of that nonsense. Draco wouldn’t have to worry about what would happen if he were found by the Ministry, or worse, if Potter somehow found him. The future his parents laid out for him as a Malfoy wouldn’t matter. The future that the Dark Lord had in store for the Wizarding world wouldn’t matter. The future in which the Dark Lord doesn’t win wouldn’t matter. Draco wouldn’t be there for any of it. He would be blissfully dead. Nothing would ever matter again.

     It was tempting. So, so tempting to merely ignore his instincts and give in to his exhaustion. The snow muffled sounds and his breath came from him in a small cloud. What if the cloud of his breath just stopped? No one would even know if he were dead. Draco Malfoy would disappear from the world completely because only his feline body would be found and most likely by Muggles at that. Draco’s death would be chalked up as nothing more than another casualty of war. Perhaps. The only people who would remember him would be Mother...and most likely Potter. Mother loved him and would always believe in her heart that Draco was alive. And Potter. Well. Potter was his greatest rival and they had spent hours stalking each other in Hogwarts and Potter was always so suspicious of Draco that he would probably suspect Draco would still be alive.

     Would they look for him?

     Would Potter - if he was still alive - go to Narcissa Malfoy and question her about Draco? Would Potter hunt for Draco relentlessly as he had for five years in Hogwarts? Would Draco be an itch at the back of Potter’s mind, staying with him for the rest of his life? Would Mother and Potter team up to look for Draco together?

     Would they find him?

     The picture came clearly to Draco’s mind then: Mother and Potter scouring the world for Draco, never knowing that he died only a few towns over from the Manor in the skin of a cat back before the war was even over.

      Draco started walking. He couldn’t do that to Mother. She was risking her life for his. Draco couldn’t do that to them. Besides, he thought, I don’t really want to die. I want to rest. The smartest thing to do was to go to one of the Muggle buildings. They obviously didn’t freeze every winter so there was clearly something keeping them warm. Even if it was merely a fireplace that they all huddled around for the duration of the winter. A fireplace sounded heavenly right now. Draco forced himself to move faster.

     As he neared the Muggle buildings - what turned out to be a modest two story house and a barn - Draco slowed. He had no idea what might be lurking on a Muggle farm. He cast a worried gaze over the huge machinery with its spiky points and huge wheels. That was surely meant for crushing trespassing cats. Or something bigger. He gulped. Draco hurried past the machinery and slipped up the steps onto the porch. Here he paused to listen to the sounds coming from inside the house.

     He heard two sets of footsteps, heavy, probably adults. The laughter of a young voice. Something within the house whistled and Draco smelled freshly made tea. His mouth watered at the thought. How long had it been since he last had tea? Far too long. Draco strained his ears. He heard four breaths coming from within. A scratch that sounded similar to a quill. They were making food too, Draco picked up the scents of egg and bacon. His stomach growled fiercely. Before he could stop himself, Draco opened his mouth and let out a plaintive meow.

     The movement inside the house stopped for a moment.

     Draco meowed again.

     Footsteps approached rapidly. They weren’t as heavy as the other ones which meant… Two children opened the door. They bickered and shoved as they fought to get through the door and to Draco.

     Draco flattened his ears and backed up. Instincts warred within him telling him to run and to stay. He tensed, ready to bolt.

     Both children dropped to their knees. “Hullo, Kitty!” The girl said. She looked to be older than the boy, with blond hair. She held her hand out to him, palm up.

     The boy turned back into the house to shout. “Mummy! There’s a cat here! Can we feed him?”

     She didn’t know, did she? Was that why she was offering her hand? Muggles weren’t that intelligent, right? Draco hesitated before placing his paw in the girl’s hand.

     The girl’s jaw dropped. “Carter! Carter! This cat is holding my hand! He knows how to shake!” She slipped her hand out from beneath Draco’s paw.

     “Oh my gosh! Do me next!” The boy - Carter - shoved his hand in Draco’s face.

     Draco hesitated. He needed them to like him, to feed and shelter him. He could do this. It was polite, after all. Draco could...be polite. He set his paw in the boy’s outstretched hand.

     Carter squeezed his paw.

     Draco’s claws came out and sank into soft flesh. His heart seized with fear. Now he’d gone and done it. These Muggles weren’t going to take too kindly to that.

     Carter yelped. When he snagged his hand back it made Draco’s claws drag across his soft palm.

     Draco couldn’t help the way his fur puffed up or that he’d dropped down to his belly. His ears flicked back. He should leave. He should go right now. But the cold behind him and the tantalizing scent of cooking food kept Draco rooted to the spot.

     Heavy footsteps came towards him. Over the heads of their children peered two adult Muggles. The man could have used a good shave. The woman had startlingly vibrant blue eyes. “Carter, Cassandra, what on earth -” the man started.

     “The cat scratched me!” Carter sniffled. He clutched his scratched hand to his chest.

     Cassandra nudged her brother. “Yeah well I’d scratch you too if you squeezed me like that!” She turned her eyes onto her parents. “He looks right pitiful. Probably won’t last the winter if he’s left to his own devices. Can we keep him?”

     The Muggles resounding yes left Draco weak with the sudden relief that flooded his veins.

Living with the Muggles was unlike anything Draco had ever experienced. Draco had never been unfortunate enough to have to take a Muggle Studies class and so his education on the subject was very limited. All he knew was that he - and the other pureblood Wizards - were better than Muggles in every way imaginable. Truth be told, Draco thought of Muggles as little more than a semi-intelligent subspecies of human. They were in the same category - or quite possibly lower - as centaurs and other intelligent magical creatures but without the magic part.

     The Muggles spent their time constantly doing mundane things. Flicking switches on the walls to turn on lights before entering a room. Preparing and cooking their own food by hand. Drawing water from the tap and reheating their food in a metal box. They tended their farm without the aid of magic or house-elves. Stains were scrubbed out, clothes and dishes washed by hand. There was a wireless but the family didn’t use it much, preferring to gather around the picture box that they called a telly. The strangest thing was that though the pictures on the telly moved, none of the other ones did.

     There was a distinct lack of magic in the house that made Draco’s magic retreat further into him. As a cat he didn’t mind much. Draco couldn’t use the magic anyway.

     Training the Muggles who took him into their home was a fairly simple matter.

     He found that waiting patiently by the door to be let out did not work but that meowing at the top of his lungs until someone came to open the door for him worked splendidly. Unfortunately, they tended to close the door right after him so Draco would have to meow again to be let back inside. It was cold and though Draco had a lovely fur coat, he did not want to be left outside.

     The matter of what Draco would eat became a bit of a problem. They seemed to think that he would be happy with the revolting pellets they poured into a bowl on the floor. The first time Draco had seen this, he was so angry that he stormed to the parents bedroom and tore up one of their pillows. There was fluff everywhere. However, that only resulted in a sound scolding and the bedroom doors being closed. Draco did not want to eat pellets and he did not want to sit on the floor to eat. He was in a house and he would sit at the table as was his right.

     They kept giving him the disgusting pellets. Why the Muggles thought that Draco would eat something hard, dry, and foul-smelling was beyond him. Draco refused to eat what they put in the bowl and would have starved himself had Carter not come to his rescue. The boy took to giving Draco scraps underneath the table. Since it was real food, Draco cared very little that it was being given to him beneath the table as though he really were a cat.

     Eventually they were caught but Draco refused to eat anything but what the Muggles made for themselves and so the pellets were eventually replaced with actual food. Draco was pleased that he didn’t have any adverse reactions to eating human food as a feline.

     It took Draco quite a while to figure out that he needed to be friendly to be in their favor. After a few weeks of hissing and hiding beneath furniture, Draco finally allowed himself to be around the Muggle family and to be touched.

     It turned out that Cassandra adored running a brush through his fur and Draco adored being pampered and so he allowed it. Carter was much gentler with him, as though to make up for their initial meeting. The boy would creep up on Draco and slowly reach out to run two fingers down Draco’s spine. Then he would wait a second before taking off to leave Draco alone.

     The mother, whose name was Rosie, enjoyed having Draco sit next to her while she knitted. She would sit herself down in his proximity and gradually ease herself closer to him. Draco knew what she was doing but Rosie was such a kind mother figure that he didn’t mind too much. Sometimes he even went to her first, would jump up onto the couch and settle against her thigh. He wasn’t ashamed to say that he purred with contentment.

     The father, whose name was Richard, kept a close eye on Draco but he was never threatening. Richard clearly loved his family and his animals and he was warming up to Draco. So much so that when Draco decided to make Richard’s favorite chair his, it was only met with some grumbling before Richard accepted it and moved on to another seat. He didn’t often try to touch Draco but sometimes he’d lay a massive hand along Draco’s back and give him a firm stroke that would make Draco’s legs give out from beneath him if he were standing. These affections were never meant with harm in mind and so Draco bore them without complaint.

     As the days and weeks passed, Draco observed the family and one day was shocked to realize that he actually liked them. They were just fine for Muggles and Draco privately thought that they did rather well for themselves without magic. Not that he would ever admit it but clearly these Muggles had survived this long and they looked happy so that was more than Draco could say for himself. These particular Muggles were ones that Draco liked. He fell into the family’s routine and they modified theirs for him and it was a relationship of give and take.

     Like all good Slytherins, Draco was extremely family-oriented. He cared deeply for his family, possibly even more for his mother than he did for his own life. This feeling extended to his close friends Vincent and Gregory, and to Pansy and Blaise. Draco cared for them and would fight for them in ways he wouldn’t even fight for himself.

     So when Carter came home from school one day with an aura like he’d just been Kissed by a Dementor, Draco followed the boy to his room. He slipped inside before the bedroom door was quietly shut and locked. Carter face planted on the bed, pulled a pillow close, and sobbed into it.

     Like all good Purebloods, Draco was very bad at dealing with open displays of emotion. His first instinct was to run. His second was to run to find another of the household members to help Carter. But Draco was locked in the bedroom and Carter was sobbing as though he’d been tasked with killing the Headmaster of his school. Draco hesitated. Then he jumped onto the bed and gave a curious meow to get the boy’s attention.

     Carter rolled over to look at him through puffy, watery eyes. It was highly unattractive. He reached out a hand and ran it down Draco’s flank. He sniffled and then started crying all over again.

     Draco laid down to show that he wasn’t going anywhere. He might as well be comfortable if someone was going to have a break down around him. Questions bubbled up within him but Draco couldn’t ask a single one. It was one of the many frustrating things about being a cat around humans; their communication was extremely limited.

     Petting Draco seemed to soothe Carter and soon the boy’s blubbering stopped completely. He wiped his face with his sleeve - disgusting - and rested his hand on Draco’s back. “Can I tell you a secret?” Carter whispered.

     Draco flicked his ears.

     “I kissed the boy I have a crush on. Harry.” For an absurd moment, Draco thought that Carter meant he’d kissed Harry Potter. Then his senses came back to him and he knew he was being outrageous. There was more than one Harry in the whole of Europe. “H-he pushed me away and punched me and called me a-a fag.” Now that Carter mentioned it, Draco noticed that one of his eyes was significantly darker and puffier than the other.

     Draco felt rage within him. He lashed his tail with it. How could someone be so cruel to this poor boy who just wanted to be loved? If Harry wasn’t interested he could have politely said so. Punching, name calling. It was childish. Draco felt a trickle of unease at these thoughts. He had given his fair share of physical cruelty and verbal abuse. Mostly it was to Harry. Harry Potter, not Carter’s crush.

     Ever since the two had laid eyes on each other, Draco had been fucking things up between them. Now that he had some distance and age, Draco could very clearly see how offending someone’s heritage and then offering to be their friend while offending their friends was not a good idea. He had known it then, the second he saw Harry Potter in the train, the second his words from the robe shop flooded back to him. Draco had been embarrassed and furious with himself and when he was upset he got prickly. Still, he’d offered his friendship to Potter and Potter had looked him in the eye and told Draco under no uncertain tones that he was better than Draco. That still smarted and it had set the course for their entire relationship.

     But Draco couldn’t dwell on the past - it hurt too much and he had a boy here to take care of - so he started purring. Purring was a thing that comforted him and he knew that the Muggles absolutely loved it when he purred. Draco could feel their tension melt away when he decided to grace them with his purring company. He gave Carter’s hand a friendly headbutt and stayed with the boy.

     Eventually Carter’s tears dried and his forehead smoothed out. He watched Draco and ran his hands over the fur along Draco’s spine and smiled when Draco purred. Carter was still heartbroken but at least Draco could help someone, even if it was only in a small way.

The weather took a turn for nasty in early February but Draco and the Muggle family weathered it together. By early March, the snow was beginning to melt and things started blooming. Draco was anxious from having been inside for the past three months; he had only wandered out of the house to relieve himself while it was snowing. As it warmed up and the entire family spent more time outside, Draco tried to tell himself that it was just because he’d spent so much time in the Muggle house that he didn’t want to go back inside.

     The truth was, the draw pointing him Northward was getting stronger. It was also changing direction. Whomever Draco was supposed to seek refuge with was on the move. For the most part they were stagnant but occasionally the directional pull Draco felt would swing wildly. Draco wasn’t sure what to make of it. He was no longer sure that following the pull would benefit him but as the days grew warmer, Draco found himself going farther and farther away from the Muggle house. It was usually only his stomach that prompted him to return to the Muggles but with the warm weather came an influx of new wildlife just waiting for Draco to sink his teeth into. He spent his days practicing his hunting skills.

     It was mid-March when Draco left the Muggles behind for good. He walked along the fields and then just kept walking. Now he was headed Northeast. Draco hoped that he would find this person soon. He didn’t know who or what he was expecting but all of Draco’s hopes were pinned on them.

One day in late March, the direction of the tug completely spun around. Suddenly Draco knew that the person he was supposed to find was somewhere South of him. The distance was just as great as it had been when the person was Northward. Draco froze with indecision. Should he try to go South again? Should he continue heading North? The person had mostly been to the North of them for all these months.

     Draco sighed. He would sleep on it tonight. Then, if they were still to the South, Draco would begin to backtrack. Draco caught a sparrow for lunch and settled down to wait. The nights were much warmer now though there was still a predawn chill that made his ears ache. Draco’s Dark Mark burned but he ignored the call just like he had all the other times. He felt the Dark Lord’s rage and seriously questioned whether going back the way he’d come was wise.

     Draco fell into a restless sleep. When he woke up the next morning, the pull told him to go to the Southwest. It seemed that the person had moved again during the night. Draco stretched out his limbs then began to head towards the coast. He would follow it down and completely avoid Wiltshire.

The pull to the Southwest stayed strong for several days before it did another complete flip. Now it pulled Draco to the North again. Draco growled out his frustration. Obviously whoever he was supposed to find was apparating at a fast pace. The only thing Draco could deduce from this was that whoever it was, they were on the run as well. And they weren’t expecting Draco to be looking for them.

     He hunted well that day, took out his frustrations on his prey. Then he turned towards the North again. And followed the tug again.

On a cloudy morning in early May, the pull completely vanished. The lack of its presence made Draco’s fur bristle in alarm. Until it was gone, Draco hadn’t noticed just how much of a presence it had. The worst went through Draco’s mind - his mother was dead - before he forced himself to calm down. Draco sat down and stared at the knots in a tree and thought it through. A mother’s love kept Potter alive even after she was dead. Draco hoped the same would work with him and his mother. So, assuming that it did, Narcissa Malfoy was not dead. Which left only one alternative: the person she was sending him to was dead.

     Fear trickled through Draco’s veins. Who would protect him now? Who would protect his mother? What’s worse was that Draco now had to ask himself questions he hadn’t let himself think of. Namely, what was he going to do next? If he wasn’t going to find this mysterious person what was there for Draco? He ran away from the Dark Lord, he was a traitor and a coward. He was wanted by the vast majority of Wizarding Britain - and possibly the rest of the Wizarding world - for his hand in the death of Albus Dumbledore. The slim sliver of golden hope vanished among the shadows of dread. They would find him and there was no one on earth to protect Draco and he would die.

     Unsure of what to do now, Draco laid down among the tree roots and curled his tail over his nose. He stared at the bright greenery of spring grass popping up from the ground and wondered if it was to be the last thing he ever saw.

     It was a short while later that the pull started up again. Draco leapt to his feet in absolute shock. His tail fluffed out in alarm. What had happened? Why was the pull back after having disappeared? Draco couldn't be bothered with the details. He took off running, a small white streak through the forest. Every bone in his body demanded that he find this person. His life depended on it. And, if Draco was honest with himself, he was afraid that the pull would stop again.

Draco didn’t stop moving. When he was too tired to run, Draco walked. Sometimes he was so exhausted that he dragged his paws. Fear of losing the pull, fear of being caught, kept Draco mobile. Draco had no idea if he was close or not and that concerned him too. What if the person kept moving? What if Draco was doomed to running North for the rest of his life? How far North would he end up? Iceland? The Arctic?

     Draco couldn’t read the pull very well but he was sure that the person hadn’t crossed an ocean. It didn’t matter if they had. As long as the Dark Lord was alive, Draco wasn’t safe and neither was his mother. He stopped that train of thought in its tracks. Thinking of his mother was painful and as a cat Draco wasn’t able to cry out his feelings.

     As the days grew warmer Draco was able to hunt on the move. All around him, animals were having babies or their young were crawling out of the den after being born in the winter. He slept in short stretches, only for an hour at a time before the itch in his paws made him get up and keep going. Aside from the need to sleep, there were only two things that stopped Draco: predators and humans.

     Predators were a minor problem. Draco had human intelligence coupled with the instincts of a cat. He did fairly well avoiding predators but the few times he couldn’t, Draco made short work of them. The worst encounter had been a run in with a badger. It left him with a knick in his ear that stung for days and dripped blood down the side of his head. Draco wasn’t entirely sure that his ear wouldn’t still be mutilated when he turned human again. If an Animagus lost a limb it would transfer over to the human form. Tattoos didn’t tend to transfer over forms unless they were full of Dark power, like Draco’s Dark Mark. Even most scars were hidden in Animagus form unless they were made with Dark means, which spoke volumes about Potter’s Sectumsempra.

     Humans were more difficult to avoid than predators. As he passed through towns farther away from Wiltshire, Draco noticed that they were in much better condition. It seemed that the Death Eaters were working closer to home before branching out. Draco had been a shit Death Eater and so he’d never really been in on the others plans. Draco’s problem wasn’t with Death Eaters. It was with Muggles, of all things.

     It seemed that most Muggle communities had problems with cats running free. They came at Draco with nets and loops on the end of long poles. Only once had Draco almost been captured; then he wisened up. He didn’t know what they wanted with him, but Draco was not going to allow capture. He carefully side-stepped the mesh cages baited with something that would only smell good if Draco was on the brink of death. And even then it was questionable if he would actually be so desperate.

     That wasn’t the worst of it. The worst part were the cars. They moved so fast and held no regard for a small white cat who just wanted to cross the street. Draco had had several close encounters. He’s come inches from having his tail removed or becoming a splat on the side of the road. As witches and wizards don’t typically own Muggle cars, Draco wasn’t sure about the statistics of cats surviving altercations with cars but he didn’t count on them being very high.

     It was summer when it finally happened. Draco was running from a Muggle with a net and not paying attention to where he was going. It was careless. He ran right into the street. A car let out a screech like a banshee and the next thing he knew something hit him. Pain tore through Draco’s hips and leg. He cried out in pain and shock. The car didn’t run him over, only hit him, but it was enough for Draco to feel the shattering of bones. He lay on his side, breathing hard, in pain. Until he realized that the Muggle driving the car had gotten out and the Muggle with the net was catching up. Draco tried to drag himself away. His back legs wouldn’t move.

     Both Muggles stood over Draco and argued. Draco wanted to cry but he couldn’t cry as a cat. He tried to get to his feet but sharp pain stabbed through him and Draco collapsed. Oh Salazar, Draco hoped he wouldn’t turn back into a human. He didn’t know if trauma would do that and wished he had read up on it more.

     Eventually the Muggle with the net bent over to scoop Draco up.

     Draco hissed, ears flat and teeth bared. He didn’t want to go with the Muggle. He needed to find...to find the person who would protect him.

     The Muggle picked Draco up anyway. He was clearly trying to be gentle but it still hurt. “It’s alright there, pretty one. I’m going to get you some help.”

     Draco wouldn’t need help if this idiot hadn’t been chasing him in the first place. But he didn’t respond; he couldn’t as a cat. He found himself missing the Muggle family he had stayed with over winter. If he had to be around Muggles, Draco would rather be around them. Instead of fighting, Draco went limp in the man’s hands. It wasn’t like he could run away. He couldn’t even heal himself; he didn’t have his wand.

     Draco was placed in a small silver box that smelled like fear. There were tiny slits in the box to let in some air but that didn’t help. Draco gagged on the powerful scent of fear from dozens of animals. He closed his eyes. Were they going to kill him? The Muggle had said he would help Draco but Draco didn’t believe it. This box wasn’t helping. Then the box rumbled and started to move. It wasn’t like riding a broom or even the Hogwarts Express. Draco’s stomach rolled. He tried to hold it down but he was in so much pain and the movement was too much on top of it; he sicked up.

     It seemed to take forever for the box to stop moving. By that time, Draco was beyond miserable and was just thinking that death might not be such a bad option. He didn’t lift his head as light flooded into the metal box.

     The Muggle carefully lifted Draco from the box and took him into a low building. It smelled like other animals and sickness and sterilizer in the building. Everything was white and the staff all wore teal uniforms. It was easy to deduce that Draco had been taken to some sort of hospital for animals. A veterinary clinic. Draco was surprised to find that Muggles had things like those or that they care enough about animals to have clinics like this. “He was hit by a car. Probably has a shattered pelvis and a broken leg.”

     Draco was laid on a cold steel table. His skin twitched with the cold. Almost immediately a light shone in his eyes and Draco could only make out the shadowy figures of Muggles standing over him. If they were going to kill him, Draco hoped they would get it over with. And if they were going to attempt to heal him, well, Draco just hoped their medicine wasn’t too primitive.

     A mask was fitted over Draco’s face. The air inside tasted faintly of grapes. Draco’s eyelids grew heavy. He didn’t resist as sleep tugged him under.

When Draco woke up he was in a cage. Well, he thought, it was only a matter of time before he was in a literal cage. He sighed. His head was a bit fuzzy and though his back half didn’t hurt anymore, it wasn’t entirely comfortable either. Draco lifted his head and was somewhat surprised to see that his back half was covered in bandages. He tried to wiggle his toes and found that he could still do that at least. It was good to know that he hadn’t been paralyzed by either the car or the Muggle’s incompetence.

     His throat and mouth were dry and scratchy and Draco was pleased to find a bowl of cool water near his head. He didn't touch the food that was in an identical bowl next to it. What was it with Muggles insisting on giving him pellets? Draco laid down and closed his eyes. As soon as he could move without pain, he would leave. He was probably safe here for the moment; no one would expect to find Draco Malfoy in a Muggle veterinary clinic.

     Footsteps stopped outside of Draco’s cage and a face peered in at him. The woman smiled to see him awake. “Glad to see you’re awake, Snowbell.”

     Snowbell?

     “You’re going to be alright, boy. We’ll get you all patched up.” She opened the cage door and reached inside.

     Draco flattened his ears. He hissed but it sounded half-hearted even to his own ears.

     “You’ve got a bit of a reputation. Four different counties have been trying to catch you. We wanted to name you Houdini but that name isn’t very conducive to finding homes for cats.” She felt along his legs and hips. The woman’s hands were gentle on Draco’s bandages.

     It didn’t quite hurt but it also didn’t feel very good. Draco blinked through the pain. He tried to process that the Muggles knew and recognized him enough to have been talking about him amongst themselves. It didn’t bode well for Draco. At least they didn’t suspect that he’s anything other than a cat.

     Over the next few days, Draco allowed himself to be taken care of; more or less. He refused to touch the pellets they left in the bowl for him to eat and he knew that it worried the Muggle Healers. His lack of eating led to all sorts of uncomfortable, invasive tests. They drew blood and held him down for what they called an x-ray. They poked and prodded and invaded his space. Several times the type of pellets were changed and once there was something that almost resembled real meat if not for the chemical smell wafting off it and the fact that no real meat looked like that mush. Still, Draco refused to eat.

     He had gone hungry before and even though he’d eaten better during winter, Draco would hazard a guess that he’s still rather underweight and skeletal.

     Eventually they inserted a needle beneath Draco’s skin and let some odd clear fluid drip into his body. He eyed the thing but didn’t try to take it down. It looked like water. Draco didn’t think it was. As something of a potions master, Draco knew that just because something looked like water, that didn’t mean it was. Whatever it was, the Muggles seemed to think that it would help him. They still left the pellets in his cage but they didn’t try to coax him to eat them anymore.

It was several weeks later before Draco ate anything. One of the Healers had brought in chicken for their lunch. The smells as it warmed up in the hot box were amazing. Draco’s mouth watered. His stomach tightened. By now he knew that he was being fed liquid nutrients via the tube they’d connected to him. It was not the same as eating. Draco pushed himself into a sitting position. The pain was quite tolerable compared to the initial break. He opened his mouth and meowed.

     The meow was the first noise that Draco had made since coming here.

     It startled everyone. The Healers all paused in what they were doing. They knew the meows of the other cats and they knew that this was not their voices. Four pairs of eyes snapped to Draco’s cage. “Was that Snowbell?”

     Draco meowed again. He couldn’t take his eyes off the prize of meat on a plate. Saliva filled his mouth and he worried that he would drool. If his mother could see him now she would be ashamed of him.

     “It was him!” the Healer with the food exclaimed. He wandered over to Draco’s cage, plate of chicken still in hand. “You must be feeling better.”

     “Or he’s in more pain,” one of the other Healers said as they joined the Food Healer.

     Once again Draco was stuck with the inability to use his words. He didn’t want to incite another round of invasive tests so he couldn’t just keep meowing. Instead, Draco crouched down and slid a paw through the bars of his cage. He dabbed at the plate of chicken, claws out, but was unable to snag a piece.

     “I think he wants your food, Jeff.”

     The Healer - Jeff - laughed so loud that it startled Draco. He held the plate a little closer to Draco’s reach. “All this time we’ve been giving him cat food and he’s probably some spoiled brat who only eats human food.” Jeff opened the cage door and set his plate on the floor of Draco’s cage. “Here ya go, boy. It isn’t seasoned but enjoy it anyway.”

     Seasonings were more or less lost on Draco’s feline palette. He crouched and began to eat. It was mouthwateringly good. Draco had never had a finer meal. The chicken was rich and juicy; not quite the same as eating live prey but still very good.

     After that, they started to give Draco cooked meat. The drip came out and Draco slowly got his strength back. Another week, maybe two, and Draco would need to think about escaping this place.

Escaping from the veterinary clinic was more difficult than escaping from the manor had been. These people were seriously dedicated to animal welfare and there was always someone on duty. The few times that Draco had been able to jump from his cage, he was always caught again quickly. Each recapture was a blow to Draco’s ego. This should have been as simple a thing as eating cake. He was healed by now and there was next to no pain whatsoever so Draco should be able to outrun these silly Muggles.

     After a week of failed escapes, Draco was forced to think of another plan. He wouldn’t be able to leave during the day, that much was clear. The night guard mostly stayed at the front desk, reading whatever paperback novel he had brought in for the night. He would have been easy to sneak past had Draco figured out how to open his cage. Therein lay the real problem; Draco couldn’t open the cage door.

     He knew that he was a very intelligent young man - cat - but he could not for the life of him work out the dexterity required to open the lock on the cage. The Healers always did some sort of wrist flick that lasted a split second and then the cage door would swing open. Draco was not familiar with this type of lock. Indeed, his family didn’t ever use physical locks because they had magical ones. If Draco’s magic hadn’t retreated so far into him that he could hardly feel it, then Draco would have suspected that all of the Muggle Healers were squibs.

     It took Draco another week before he figured out that he needed to pull the knob on the latch up before sliding it over. His paws just weren’t suited to this type of thing but Draco worked at it over and over, long into the night, until finally the door swung open gently.

     Draco hesitated only for the moment it took to check that the guard was indeed engrossed in the novel before he jumped down. His hindquarters were a bit stiff but by now Draco knew that he had had a broken pelvis and a broken leg. According to the Muggle Healers, both were rather common injuries on cats and Draco had healed up marvellously since the breaks hadn’t been terribly serious. Draco was under the impression that spending six weeks on bedrest for broken bones was outrageous but he supposed that he shouldn’t have expected anything else. Muggles didn’t have magic, after all.

     Draco crept around the office on silent paws. He kept close to the walls and furniture, belly low to the ground. If he made himself smaller, he would be harder to spot. An open window provided Draco’s escape into the outside world.

     It was the first breath of fresh air Draco had gotten to experience in six weeks. The night was cool for early July and it smelled faintly of coming rain. Draco only took a moment to enjoy his freedom. He took off as fast as he could for the woods. From now on, Draco would avoid towns. He couldn’t afford to lose time like that again. His mother, oh Salazar, Draco had to save his mother. He hoped that she was doing well. Oh how he longed to speak to her again, to be held by her again.

The tug that Draco followed didn’t significantly move again after May. It was a constant presence Northward and Draco was relieved at that. He was also relieved by the fact that the bond never faded for a moment after that first time. That meant that his protector was somewhere safe enough that there was no need to leave.

     Draco stayed away from towns, both magic and Muggle, as much as he could. The only times he went near other humans was to cross their bridges. Bridges were still the safest way to get across fast moving bodies of water. Though Draco didn’t mind getting his fur wet in a stream during the summer, the nights were beginning to take on a cold edge again. His whiskers felt the changing of the seasons before the leaves changed color again.

     With the changing of the leaves this year, Draco was forced to think about Hogwarts. Last year there had been too much terror to think about it but now he realized that he’d missed his seventh year. Draco Malfoy would never graduate from Hogwarts. He was likely to be the first Malfoy to not graduate in thousands of years. The shame of it made his pelt warm. There would be a new group of first years this September. They were probably already sorted into their Houses and getting into mischief. Draco took a moment to mourn for the Slytherin House. There likely wouldn’t be many new or returning students for it this year.

     Or perhaps there would be plenty but they would all be terrible children or children with issues because of the ongoing war. The last Draco had heard, Hogwarts sounded like an awful place to be for anyone who wasn’t Slytherin and even the Slytherins weren’t safe from prosecution and punishment. His home and his school had been tainted by the Dark Lord’s influence. The two places he loved more than anywhere else and they were stained with blood and dark magic. Draco wondered if he would ever walk the Great Halls of Hogwarts again. The idea that he may not return to Hogwarts, that he may not want to, was a stone in his chest.

     There was another thing that he was forced to come to terms with; Draco had been a cat for a year. Perhaps not to the day, perhaps a few days over. Still, the fact remained. Draco hadn’t been a boy in a year and he hadn’t done magic in a year and he hadn’t seen his mother in a year. As a cat, time slipped away like fish through a stream or sand through fingers. It didn’t feel like a year and yet the air was chilled and the leaves were dying yet again. Did his mother still hope that Draco was safe? Did she think he was dead? Or worse, that he had abandoned her? His stomach twisted at the thought.

     Draco pushed those thoughts away and the ones of his precious mother. Thinking about such things only depressed him. He put one paw in front of the other and focused on nothing except where he was putting his paws. If he was to survive another winter, then Draco would need to find another shelter and that should be his priority.

Draco stared across the way at a pair of yellow eyes. He didn’t blink. The fur along his spine rose faintly with magical static. This was the first time during his travels that he had come across a magical animal in the flesh. Previously all he had seen were signs of them, felt the remaining charge in the air after they’d left an area. Now that he was face to face with one, Draco couldn’t help but stare.

     She looked like a normal cat aside from the large ears and lion-like tail. Her orange fur was spotted with darker markings. When she looked at him, she didn’t blink either. What's more was she didn’t seem very impressed with Draco as a whole. That may have been a feline trait rather than her personal opinion of Draco.

     As odd as it sounded, this was Draco’s first feline encounter outside of the veterinary clinic and that could hardly be counted. Kneazles could see through all magic and he wondered how he looked to her. Did she see the boy or the cat or both? Draco didn’t have a way to ask her. In this body he was limited on vocalizations and though he knew what those things meant to humans, he had no idea what they meant to other felines.

     The kneazle blinked slowly at him before affecting not to look at Draco. She relaxed her muscles and got more comfortable.

     Draco twisted around to lick flat the fur along his shoulders. He watched her from the corner of his eye the same way she watched him. In a way it was similar to attending a Pureblood function except that this kneazle was radiating much less hostility than the Pureblood guests normally did. Something within Draco told him to stay with her. She appeared to be healthy and she probably had a place to hole up for the oncoming winter.

     Some time later, the kneazle rose to her paws. She began to walk away from Draco.

     Draco stood up at once. He hesitated to go after her.

     She peered back at him then deliberately blinked.

     Draco took that as acceptance and followed her. He wasn’t quite sure what the slow blink meant but she hadn’t tried to fight him and she hadn’t run away so it must be something good. Perhaps she trusted him.

     The kneazle led Draco through the cold woods without stopping or slowing down. She didn’t look to see if he was following but he knew she was aware of him because her ears kept flicking back towards him. It took nearly an hour before the kneazle’s pace picked up. Looming ahead of them was a black barn. The barn cut through the trees and rose high up into the cloudy sky. It gave off a musty smell like old hay and disuse. The kneazle didn’t hesitate to slip through a gap in the siding.

     Draco barely hesitated before following her. Inside it was only just warmer. His nose twitched as the scent of hay grew stronger and tickled. His nose caught the scent of fast heartbeats deep within the barn, which meant there were mice here. His ears caught the rustle of feathers and the gentle coos and chirps of birds in the rafters. This was a good spot and she was lucky to have found it. Draco was lucky that she had shared with him.

     His eyes only took a moment to adjust to the darkness and when he looked around he saw there were stacks and stacks of hay barrels. They extended all the way up to the loft. Above that, in the rafters, were the dark shapes of nesting birds.

     The kneazle trotted through the barn until she had found a place in the hay that she liked. She sniffed the area then laid down and began to purr.

     It was still cold within the barn although not nearly as chilled as outside. The living bodies and the insulating hay helped with the temperature. Still, Draco fluffed out his fur to keep warm. His undercoat was only just coming in and would still need to thicken as autumn turned into winter. Acting on instinct again, Draco inched his way over to the kneazle until he was pressed against her orange side.

     She radiated heat and purred all the louder for having Draco there. This close, Draco noticed some things about her that he hadn’t before. Her stomach was rounded and hard. Her scent was familiar to him in a way that kept slipping from his mind. It reminded him of safety and of his mother. The kneazle twisted her head around to lick behind Draco’s ears.

     Draco purred for the first time in a long time. He was safe here. At least for now. He let his eyelids slide closed.

Life with the kneazle was good. They hunted and ate their catches outside. The birds and mice in the barn were allowed to stay for the moment. As winter came and worsened, they would need the supply of easy food. She was a proficient hunter, far better than Draco himself was. She taught him her tricks and Draco picked them up quickly. They never went hungry.

     When they weren’t hunting, they were mostly sleeping. They curled up beside each other and groomed each other. It was calming and Draco felt that she was a good friend. Draco slept beside the kneazle for every nap. He watched as she found soft things around the barn and dragged them back to their nest in the hay. He didn’t understand it but didn’t try to stop her. Their nest was much warmer and much softer.

     It wasn’t until several weeks later that Draco found out what was going on with the kneazle. Her milky scent is what gave her away to him and he was embarrassed that it took him so long to realize. The kneazle was with kit. She would have kittens here in this barn. This knowledge made Draco reevaluate everything about their setup and relationship. She trusted him to be around her kits. It was mind-boggling that she would trust someone like Draco to be around her young. He wasn’t worthy of her trust even though he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her or her kits.

     Draco spent some time away from the barn during the days. He needed to think, to tell himself that he was worthy of this honor she was giving him. He wouldn’t betray her or abandon her like he had his own mother. Draco just needed to believe that.

     Draco’s ears picked up the flapping of wings and Draco followed the source to a blackbird. He made short work of the bird but instead of eating it, he brought his kill back to the barn. They would share or the kneazle could have it all. Draco would find more.

     She purred when she saw him, as was her habit now. When she saw the bird, the kneazle hauled herself from the nest. Her stomach was round and full of kit. It wouldn’t be much longer now. She didn’t go out as often anymore and she constantly rearranged their nest.

     Draco let her eat the bird all by herself. He would go out again to find more. He waited until she had eaten it all and was settled back down before slipping out the gap in the wall and hunting for himself. All he found was a scrawny mouse that was gone in two bites but he would take what he could get. When he was done eating, Draco went back inside the barn and curled up behind the kneazle. He licked her belly and felt the kits moving inside. He hoped that all would be well with them.

     Several hours later, the kneazle dragged herself from their nest and threw up the bird that he’d caught for her. Her body heaved and shuddered as she sicked it back up. When it was over, she went back to their bed and laid down in an exhausted heap. Her belly rippled.

     Concern shot through Draco. He licked between her ears and gave a rusty purr. It was the only way he knew to show his concern. Was she sick? Was something wrong with the kits?

     The kneazle lay on her side panting. Her body rippled again. Her stomach was taut. She closed her eyes and pressed back against Draco.

     Once again, Draco was slow on the uptake. He didn’t realize that the kneazle was in labor until she had already given birth to one kit and was forcing herself up to lick it clean. How was it that she managed to make Draco feel so stupid? He peered over her body and saw the little wet thing that she’d given birth to.

     It was small and helpless and smelled strange. It made soft rasping meows as it squirmed its way over to its mother's teat to nurse.

     The kneazle licked at her kit until it was clean then lay down again. She birthed eight healthy kittens over the next several hours. To Draco’s limited knowledge, this was the usual amount of kittens that a kneazle had. The kneazle cleaned every one of them and once they were all warm and dry and pressed to her belly, she fell asleep.

     Draco stayed awake to watch over the new family. He groomed the kneazle and purred to help her relax. He sniffed at her kits. They smelled healthy. Or rather, they didn’t smell sick. That was good. He would have been heartbroken if something was wrong with them. He couldn’t tell what colors they were but he would find out in good time.

     One kit lifted its face up and touched noses to Draco.

     Draco’s heart squeezed tightly in his chest. He was full of love and pride. They were perfect. Everyone one of the kits was perfect and he had been there as support for their mother. See? You can do good things, a voice in his head told him. Draco kept watch over the family for the rest of the night. He would do everything he could to make sure that they were well fed and safe and warm.

The kneazle was a good mother. She mostly stayed with her kits those first few weeks, only leaving to use the bathroom before coming right back.

     Draco made sure that she was well fed. He watched the kits whenever she wanted to leave the barn. Draco loved the kits. He couldn’t quite explain how or why they had grown on him but they had. They were the only good thing in Draco’s life right now and the only thing to keep his mind off his circumstances.

     Draco’s chest felt like it was going to burst with pride at every milestone the kits reached. They were well into winter before the kits began to walk. They tumbled about on unsteady paws and looked up at Draco with curious yellow eyes. They played in the feathers of the birds that Draco brought back for their mother and they batted at his tail. When it was nap time they piled on top of each other in a pile of orange and black fur.

     As the weeks passed and winter worsened outside the barn, the kneazle weaned her kits. They were none too happy about this new development and cried to her as she hid in the loft. During these days, Draco was on babysitting duty more often than not. The kneazle went out to hunt while Draco stayed in the barn. As it was still very cold, Draco didn’t have a problem with this. Once the kits were weaned, Draco was busy teaching them how to hunt. Rather, he was assisting the kneazle in teaching her kits how to hunt. She was still better at it than him, more graceful and faster. Draco didn’t take offense to it; she had been doing it her whole life and Draco hadn’t.

     The little family didn’t give Draco much time to think beyond whatever activity they were doing at the time but Draco liked it that way. He liked not thinking about what his friends would have said if they could see him now, of his narrowly avoided fate with the Dark Lord, or of what his mother and Potter thought about his disappearance.

     Though it was very different from living with the Muggles for the winter months, living in the barn with the kneazles was just as enjoyable. Maybe even moreso. Draco almost wished he could keep one of the kits for himself when he was human again. However, they were still young and Draco didn’t know when or even if he would be human again.

By the time the February storms had calmed and the icicles began to melt off the barn roof, the kneazle kits were restless. They had spent the entire winter in the barn learning the skills they would need to survive. Needless to say after having ten hungry felines in the barn, there were no more mice or birds. Though there was still snow on the ground, all ten of them hunted outside exclusively.

     Now that he didn’t need to be in the barn, Draco was getting restless as well. The kits had been an adequate distraction but they were self sufficient and didn’t need him anymore. Draco had no distractions from the tug telling him to head North. At the first hint of a warm breeze, Draco knew that he couldn’t stay any longer. He would be warm enough if he was smart and his paws were itching to get going.

     His goodbyes to the kneazle family was in the form of headbutts and grooming and nuzzling. He touched the nose of every kit with his own. Before he left, Draco paused in front of the kneazle mother and touched her nose gently. Then he slowly blinked. He understood that now. It was all he could do to tell her thank you.

     She slow blinked back at him, giving him a gentle purr. She didn’t try to stop him.

     Draco padded into the forest for the last time. He would not be returning to this barn. It felt as though the person he was heading towards was closer than they had been before all of this, though Draco couldn’t have said what made him feel that way. The fact that it had taken a year to get this close nearly evaporated in his anticipation to get somewhere that was finally safe.

If it hadn’t been his mother who had cast the spell, then Draco would have thought that someone was playing a trick on him. Hogwarts was the last place he had expected to end up. He crouched beneath a bush at the edge of the forest and stared out over the great lawn at a looming castle. His tail twitched. His eyes traveled over the wards and protections on the castle. Draco had read of some of the spellwork placed on Hogwarts but it was another thing entirely to see all of it. He saw defensive spells, sleeping offensive ones, anti-apparition spells, benevolence spells. Spells that watched the occupants and the forest, and spells that cloaked the castle from Muggle eyes. There were so many spells and they were so complicated and tangled up in each other that Draco could barely see the castle itself.

     Looking directly at it and seeing three different images hurt his eyes. There was the castle as he remembered it from his school days. The rather unimpressive ruins that Muggles saw when they wandered into the area. And the spiderwebs of glowing, overlapping spellwork. Draco wondered how stupid the Dark Lord had to be to attempt to storm Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was impenetrable. In fact, Draco realized as he studied the castle, he didn’t think that he would be able to get through the wards. This wasn’t like the Death Eater camp in Wiltshire; this was layer after layer of ancient and powerful magic that had stood there for centuries and only been added to with every headmaster.

     The wards let students and professors inside, as well as anyone approved by the headmaster. Ex-students were not permitted to return to the safety of those stone walls. Draco could get this close because the castle didn’t prevent people from coming directly onto the grounds. Although, Draco strongly suspected that the castle was only allowing him to be there because he was an ex-student and because he was currently a cat. His instincts told him that he would need to get into that castle. Somehow.

     The easiest way would likely be to be brought in. If he could get an invitation into the castle, it probably wouldn’t set off the wards. It seemed highly unlikely that a student’s invitation would work for this. Draco would need to endear himself to a professor. That idea did not sit well with him. Surely they would want to know about this strange white cat and Draco wasn’t sure what was happening with the war anymore. He was so out of touch with the wizarding world. He rose to his feet and stretched the stiffness from his joints. This was just one angle of the castle. Draco would keep looking and perhaps he would find another way in.

     Draco spent the entire day poking around the grounds and searching for a way inside the castle. He found nothing. Not even a cat-sized hole for him to slip through. In his original spot by the Forbidden Forest, Draco sat down again. This time he was in plain view because he needed someone to pick him up and take him into the castle. He stared at the castle and twitched his tail in thought.

     His thoughts slid from how to get in to why he wanted to. Who was here? Who was strong enough to ward off the Dark Lord’s wrath? Who would even want to keep Draco safe? Draco had more than less burned his bridges here. Blaise was his only friend by the time the events of sixth year happened. And Blaise, well he hadn’t really been a friend. It couldn’t be Blaise because Draco hadn’t told his mother about him and because Blaise was beautiful but beauty couldn’t defeat the Dark Lord. His mind flashed over Pansy but that was just as ridiculous. Vincent and Gregory, bless their souls, were laughably out of the question.

     Perhaps it was a professor. Draco’s parents hadn’t wanted him to go to Hogwarts to begin with - Draco had convinced them to send him there - so he didn’t think a professor was right. Then again, his mother was an adult with her own life and perhaps she had made friends with a professor who would help Draco. The only professor who ever managed to scare Draco was Professor McGonagall. She was a fierce one and she was never swayed by status. A trickle of unease prickled down Draco’s spine. She was also an animagus...a feline one. Was she watching him now? Would she see through him?

     He cast his gaze around for a tabby feline but he didn’t see any other cats in the area. It was preposterous because he knew that students owned cats and that those were able to run about freely. Though from what he remembered, all of the people who had brought cats had managed to find cats who looked completely different from each other. Millicent had a black cat. Granger had that orange half-kneazle tabby.

     “Hullo,” a voice came from Draco’s right. It’s tone was gentle but all Draco could think of was hearing it shout and the excruciating pain that followed.

     Draco didn’t even look. He bolted into the Forbidden Forest as fast as he could go. Brambles and thorns caught at his pelt. The tug in him told him to turn around but Draco could ignore it and he did. Only when he was safely hidden among the trees, did Draco stop for breath. He curled up on himself and looked behind him.

     Potter wasn’t following him. That was something at least.

     But now Draco had a new problem. Because the person that his mother sent him to, the one who would keep Draco safe, was not a friend to Draco. Potter didn’t even like Draco and he’d spent years making that clear. Though, so had Draco after the initial burn from Potter on the train. Draco twisted around to groom himself. It was a comforting action.

     How could mother have gotten this so wrong? Draco licked his paw then dragged it over his face. Why would she send him to Potter? She knew how Draco felt about Potter. She knew what Potter had done to Draco. His underbelly twitched with phantom pain at the memory of getting the scar that cut across it. No, his mother didn’t know that Potter had left his mark on Draco. There was no getting around telling his parents about the bathroom duel - though he’d made it sound grander than it was - but Draco had sworn Severus to secrecy about the scar. Since the night it happened, Draco had been using a glamour to hide the scar.

     He gave his chest a few comforting licks. It was possible that Draco was wrong about the situation. Perhaps his mother didn’t send him to Potter. Draco couldn’t be sure what it was he had felt, all he knew was that it was different and it scared him. That may have just been the fear brought on by a confrontation with Potter. Draco wasn’t ready.

     Though he wasn’t fond of the idea, Draco decided to stay in the Forbidden Forest for the night. Tomorrow he would figure out the mystery of the castle and the business with Potter.

The Forbidden Forest was foreboding even as a cat and therefore Draco did not sleep deeply. Every so often he was startled into consciousness by the sound of something moving nearby or the howl of a wolf. The Forest was cursed, Draco could sense it though he couldn’t pinpoint any specific magic that cursed it. When dawn came, Draco was unable to stay in the Forest any longer. He stood up and stretched before going back to the spot he’d been observing from yesterday.

     It was a risk to return but Draco was willing to take it. He needed a plan but nothing was coming to mind. He supposed that he could turn back into a human boy but the idea made his paws cold with panic. Draco wasn’t ready to be human again. He felt absolutely no inclination to turn back.

     Draco was pondering this when he saw a figure cut across the slope towards Hagrid’s hut. Two more figures followed at a distance and Draco would recognize the Golden Trio no matter the distance. He followed them with his eyes then he got up and followed them with his paws. It wouldn’t hurt to find out what they were doing. Besides, they shouldn’t even be at Hogwarts. Seventh year was over and at least Granger was intelligent enough not to have to repeat a year.

     The Golden Trio knocked on the hut door and were joyously greeted by Hagrid. The half-giant let them in and offered some sort of cake that they all politely declined.

     Draco crept along the garden fence. He found a loose board and slipped into it. The garden was in a sad state except for some herbs growing beside the window. Despite the lack of plants, Draco could smell the seeds in the fertile earth and knew that they would sprout as the weather turned warmer. He darted across the garden and came to a stop beneath a window. It was a familiar window; one that Draco had used to spy on Potter before. This time he didn’t peer through it, but kept his gaze out on the slope of green grass.

     They chatted about classes - why on earth were they taking classes - long enough for Draco to get bored. From what he understood, there was a new Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher. None of them mentioned the names of any Death Eaters. Draco felt as though he were missing something important. The longer they spoke, the more uneasy Draco became. Because there was a war going on and they were acting like it was still first year and nothing was wrong. He laid down and put his chin on his paws.

     “So, Hagrid,” Potter began in a tone that implied he’d spoken of this topic quite a bit.

     Granger and Weasley groaned in unison. “Harry,” Granger started.

     Hagrid spoke over her, “Yeah, Harry?”

     Potter continued as though Granger hadn’t spoken, “Have you seen a white cat on the grounds lately?”

     There was a deep rumbling from Hagrid as he thought about the question. Draco only barely refrained from rolling his eyes. Of course he hadn’t been seen by that oaf. “Can’t say I have, Harry.” There was the sound of a chair scraping across the floorboards. “Ya didn’t find a replacement fer Hedwig, did ya, Harry?”

     Draco bristled at the thought of being Harry Potter’s pet. Then he wondered what had happened to Hedwig.

     “Oh. Er, no.” Potter’s voice was laced with sadness. Draco could imagine the kicked puppy look he was giving his cup of tea. It didn’t take much stretch of the imagination; Draco had seen Potter sullenly looking into any number of beverages over the years. “I just saw a cat yesterday. It was all white. No one I asked knows where it came from.”

     Draco was thrilled to find out that he was the only white cat at Hogwarts. It made him feel that much more unique. Like his white hair had done. There weren’t any other students with hair like his….except for his cousin Lovegood. But he was also annoyed that Potter asked about him even when he was a cat. Could he get no rest from this boy’s relentless obsession? Draco’s pelt prickled uncomfortably. Some of his Slytherin housemates had accused Draco of the same thing towards Potter.

     “I’ll keep an eye out fer it, Harry,” Hagrid promised.

     Weasley changed the subject to Quidditch as the sun crested over the hills.

     The sun warmed Draco’s chilled fur. As the temperature rose, Draco’s eyelids drooped. Though he normally enjoyed talk of Quidditch, Draco was tired from his long journey, the constant stress, and being awake most of the night. He got more comfortable in the dirt and then gave a silent sigh. His fur was warmed by the sun and for the first time in a long time, he felt truly relaxed.

     “Hermione! Ron!”

     At the sound of Potter’s excited voice, Draco’s ears flicked in his direction. He was relaxed and briefly his mind wondered why the hell he cared about Potter and his friends. Hogwarts was his home away from home and if Draco wanted to nap on the grounds then he would. But then it all came flooding back to him. He wasn’t just a boy dozing on the lawn; he was a cat dozing in Hagrid’s garden. Draco cracked open an eye and tried to pretend he was still asleep as he searched for a way out. It wasn’t difficult to find one if he didn’t mind jumping - he didn’t - and before Potter could approach, Draco had nimbly leapt onto the flower box outside the window. From there he jumped onto the thatch roof, scampered across, and jumped to the ground on the other side of Hagrid’s hut.

     Draco dove into the forest and hid behind a yew. He peered out from behind the trunk but couldn’t see Potter and his ragtag gang. That was close. Draco would have to be more careful.

     Though he couldn’t see them, Draco could hear them talking. Potter sounded excited. “See? I told you that there’s a white cat!”

     “We never argued against there being a white cat. It’s just unusual, Harry. Where on earth did it come from? There’s no one living near the castle grounds.” Granger’s tone was somewhat concerned, somewhat suspicious. There was no surprise there, Granger was always suspicious of the things that Potter got into. Though to be fair, Potter was usually chasing trouble.

     “You remember the last time a strange animal showed up?” Potter’s tone had changed slightly. There was a twinge of bitterness, of sadness, and of caution.

     Draco crept closer, drawn in by curiosity. He stayed out of sight and so did the Golden Trio.

     He heard the clap of a hand on a shoulder. “Mate, I don’t think this is like Sirius.” Weasley sounded tired. “I know you and Malfoy had this weird thing going on and you want some closure but you've got to move on.”

     Draco’s heart stuttered. He curled his tail around his paws. Draco didn’t know very much about his cousin Sirius but he did know that Black had been an animagus and he knew that that wasn’t common knowledge. In fact, Draco hadn’t learned until long after Sirius’s death. It was the one time that Draco had ever seen Severus drunk and he had confided in Draco that Sirius got away with so much at Hogwarts because he was an animagus and that it was suiting that Sirius was a big black dog because he was that werewolf Remus’ bitch.

     How had Potter already figured Draco out? Maybe that was part of his Chosen One gig. He just knew everything all the time.

     “I don’t think it’s him, Ron!” Potter snapped. “Would it be nice to find him? Of course it would be. It would be great to know that he’s not just another casualty of the war. But that doesn’t mean that I’m looking for him in random cats. Malfoy wasn’t even an animagus. I would have known.” There was a pause, tense and uncomfortable for everyone. “I’m not thick. I just want to know what happened to him. Should I be angry? Should I be mourning? What do I tell her?”

     Draco’s tail lashed behind him. He would need time to digest this. That was it. He just needed time to adjust to everything again. Draco would take his time. There was no need to rush into anything.

For the next several days, Draco watched Potter. He followed Potter everywhere the boy went outside of the castle's walls. Potter spent a lot of time outdoors. He visited Hagrid frequently and took tea with him. He worked in Professor Sprout’s greenhouses - which Draco couldn’t get into but he could peer through the glass - with Longbottom. Granger and Potter took walks out to the hippogriff paddock, where Draco was shocked to see Buckbeak still alive; though they weren’t calling him by that name anymore. When he went into the Forbidden Forest with Lovegood, they visited a clearing that the threstles gathered in regularly. Weasley - both the girl and the boy - often played against Potter on the Quidditch pitch.

     It was like he was watching a completely different boy from the one he knew in school. When Potter was outside, anyway. Draco suspected that Potter was peacocking his comfort and safety within the Hogwarts walls. Somewhere out there the Dark Lord was watching and seething. Potter was probably the same person as before when he was out of Draco’s sight.

     It seemed that everywhere Potter went, he went with someone else. That made sense because there was safety in numbers. Most of the students travelled in groups. They seemed ill inclined to break the rules by staying out after curfew or straying into the Forbidden Forest. School really had gotten boring after their class graduated. That was probably a good thing, though. For a moment he wondered if it was him that was different - he wasn’t there, after all, and everyone seemed well behaved - but then dismissed it. No, if anyone was the troublemaker it was Potter. Always breaking the rules and setting a bad example for the rest of the school.

     Draco couldn’t tell if Potter was still breaking the rules. He seemed allowed to come and go as he pleased, as did most of the returning students from their year. Draco watched it all from beneath bushes, around corners, and high in tree branches. Though he mainly watched Potter, Draco also kept an eye on the other students as well. The students only sometimes talked about the war. They spoke of it in whispers and there were several very public breakdowns on behalf of the students; both the new students and returning ones.

     Draco always felt like an intruder during those breakdowns. He rarely stayed to watch them. With the exceptions, of course, of Potter’s crew and Draco’s Slytherin mates.

     He watched Blaise cry behind the Quidditch broom shed and then immediately seduce the first person to walk by. He got a sloppy blow job from a third year and then sent the boy on his way. When the bewildered boy stumbled away, Blaise broke down into sobs again. It only lasted a moment before he wiped his eyes and cleaned up his face. Then he walked out from behind the broom shed and strutted up to the castle.

     Blaise was always a slut. He would fuck anyone he found attractive. But he never cried about it. Draco felt like he was missing something.

     Pansy took her breakdowns farther away from the Castle. She walked clear around the lake, crouched beside the shore, and then silently sobbed. Her tears rolled off her face into the lake and attracted the merfolk. Pansy moved her hands in fast sign language, telling them her woes.

     With her back to him, Draco could only make out that she was distraught. He longed to comfort her but she didn’t need him; the merfolk had always been friends to Slytherins and now was no exception. They comforted her as best they could and Draco was unneeded.

     Gregory spent a lot of time outside the Castle walls. Unlike the other two, he wasn’t getting blow jobs or conversing with merfolk. Gregory put himself to work for the half-giant, Hagrid. He would walk down to Hagrid’s hut and ask for a job to do.

     Hagrid would assign him something simple and physical. It was usually disgusting like mucking out the hippogriff’s corral or something tedious like convincing Fang to go for a walk around the grounds.

     Gregory worked and worked and worked all day long. When one task was complete, he asked for another one. He even worked in the greenhouse for Sprout, doing whatever Longbottom didn’t want to do. He was exhausting himself, Draco realized after the fourth day of observing this behavior.

     Of their sad trio, Gregory was the one who ran into Potter’s lot most often. He didn’t try to interact with them. Just kept his head down and his mouth shut unless they spoke to him directly.

     None of Potter’s lot seemed overly concerned with his presence near them. It was clearly awkward for both sides but they were strangely civil...if ignoring someone could be considered civil. Except for the Weasley girl.

     Ginny Weasley had always been explosive. As a cat, Draco could see what he hadn’t before; Ginny’s magic was dark and thorny. It was the color of pooling blood and it was designed to hurt. One day she hexed Gregory so viciously that he had to go to the infirmary. Watching her spell work, Draco was struck by how her magic flowed like an extension of her and he winced when it hit Gregory.

     Potter gave her an annoyed look but he didn’t speak up to reprimand girl Weasley. So much for being a hero.

     Draco wanted to check on Gregory but he couldn’t risk being found. Instead, he watched from a distance and felt frustrated. He needed to get into the castle before the weather turned.

As soon as Potter saw Draco, he froze like someone had cast a spell on him. He did that often, his breath hitching and his body going completely still. His green eyes would widen and he would stare into Draco’s gray ones for long minutes at a time.

     It always made the fur along Draco’s spine raise. It felt like Potter was looking into his soul, peeling back the layers of cat to see the boy beneath. Usually, Draco was the first to break eye contact, running back into the forest for a fierce grooming session to calm himself.

     This time though, once Potter had caught Draco’s eye, Potter’s eyes slowly closed. They stayed closed for a heartbeat before opening again.

     Draco flicked his ears forward. The slow blink. He recognized it from the Mother Kneazle. Draco shifted on his feet. He didn’t run away into the Forest.

     Potter stared at Draco for a bit, but this didn’t feel as intense as before. More like he was waiting for something rather than trying to see Draco’s darkest secrets. Then he smiled and his entire face lit up with happiness. Potter moved on.

     Draco stayed where he was. His mind was racing. He would have to think about this too.

     After the first time, Potter used the slow blink every time he saw Draco. No matter what he was doing or who he was with, if he spotted Draco then he would take the time to lock eyes and slow blink at him.

     When Draco finally returned it, Potter’s smile was brighter than ever.

     Potter’s interest in Draco didn’t go unnoticed. And how could it, when Potter was the opposite of subtle? The student body began to take an interest in Draco too. They began to point out “the cat” whenever they saw a flash of his white fur. Some of them tried to catch him. None of them succeeded. Draco could evade magic and grabbing hands.

     This went on until the evening that the weather turned bad. Roiling storm clouds towered like gray castles in the sky. The winds kicked up, cold and fierce. It ruffled Draco’s fur and bothered the fine hairs in his ears. There were places to hide from the rain, of course, but Draco was tired of being outside. He longed for the dry security of laying by the fireside.

     Draco heard Potter before he saw him, calling for the white cat. The tip of his wand glowed but the light reach didn’t stretch far thanks to the rain. Draco almost didn’t think before getting to his paws and running across the open grassy lawn. He slunk low to the ground, fur clinging to his body.

     Potter spotted him almost immediately. “There you are! Want to come inside?” Water ran down his glasses. It was a wonder he could see anything.

     Draco meowed plantatively. He put his paws on Potter’s leg and left little muddy prints on his trousers.

     Potter bent and scooped Draco up. He held him like one would hold a baby over their shoulder, supporting Draco’s back legs and butt with the wide palm of his hand. “There we go. Please don’t scratch me. I’m only trying to help you.”

     This was said because Draco’s front claws unsheathed, popping into the shoulder fabric of Potter’s robes. He did not resheath his claws.

     Potter sighed but didn’t complain any further. He carried Draco up to the Castle.

     This was the moment that Draco had been fearing since arriving at Hogwarts. Would the wards let him through? Would he be turned back into a boy? Salazar, how embarrassing to become a boy and find himself being held by Potter.

     They approached the large, ornate doors.

     Potter walked through them.

     Draco remained a cat. Nothing happened except that they were now out of the rain. Draco sheathed his claws.

     Potter used his wand to dry them off. “I can put you down here, or I can take you to the eighth year common room.”

     Eighth year common room? Draco didn’t understand. Then again, he knew that something was going on and he was missing a lot of information. Very deliberately, Draco put his chin on Potter’s shoulder. He made no move to jump down.

     “Alright,” Potter said, a smile in his voice. He kept walking, moving through the Castle with familiarity.

     Draco looked over Potter’s shoulder, observing the changes to the Castle. Now that he didn’t need to watch Potter, Draco watched the other students.

     The students appeared a little more relaxed inside the castle walls than outside of them, but there was still a nervous undercurrent. The youngest students appeared skittish. The older ones were on edge. A lot of them bore physical scars that could be seen peeking out from beneath robes.

     “Hey, Harry! You caught your cat!” Seamus from Gryffindor called. He joined them, falling into step with Potter.

     “Turns out he doesn’t like the rain,” Potter said.

     “Nah. Cats usually don’t.” Seamus walked with them for a while longer. “Listen, Harry, did you check to make sure that isn’t a magical cat? You remember what happened with Sirius Black.”

     Draco felt the pounding of Potter’s heart against his belly.

     “‘Course I did, Seamus,” Potter lied. He did so smoothly, voice so confident that there was no room for doubting that he'd put the cat through every magical test he could. “I wouldn’t bring something dangerous into the Castle.”

     “I know, mate. I know.” Seamus patted Potter’s shoulder.

     Draco extended his claws.

     Seamus yanked his hand back. “Feisty, that one is.”

     Potter ran his hand along Draco’s back. “He’s just spooked is all,” he said defensively. “He’s never been in the castle.”

     Seamus shook his head. “If you say so.” He split off from them as quickly as he came.

     Potter carried Draco to a part of the castle that looked recently renovated. It appeared to be where one of the lesser used floors was. He stopped before a blank part of the wall between two portraits and said the password. “Hopscotch.”

     The stone moved, shifting until there was a person-sized hole revealed. A veil that hung from floor to ceiling prevented anyone from seeing past a few feet. Potter sighed as he moved it aside and walked into a common room.

     The eighth year common room was twice the size of the Slytherin common room and three times as warm. It was divided into four sections, each one looking like a parlor that was decorated with House insignias, as though they decided to take a little from all of the Houses. The different aesthetics clashed terribly. Each section had a fireplace and three of the four were lit; only Ravenclaw had the sense to put out their fire lest everyone suffer heat stroke.

     In each corner was a doorway that led, presumably, to the dormitories. The common room may have been a disaster but at least the dormitories were separated.

     Draco was unsurprised to see members of his House sitting around their fireplace. But there were so few of them. Only Pansy, Blaise, and Gregory. Now that Draco thought of it, he couldn’t remember seeing any other Slytherins his own age. What happened to them all? Draco wanted to jump from Potter’s arms and show his support for his Housemates...but something stopped him.

     Gregory’s dad was a Death Eater. If it got back to Voldemort that Draco was here at Hogwarts… Draco shuddered to think of it. No. It was much safer as a cat.

     Potter carried Draco to the Gryffindor side of the common room. Granger and Weasley were snuggled up on the couch together, Granger with a book in her lap and Weasley’s hands around her middle. They looked comfortable as two peas in a pod.

     But Draco’s attention quickly shifted when he saw Luna Lovegood. Luna sat upside down in a chair, her long white blonde hair touching the floor. She read a magazine, the cover of which was rightside up. On the floor beside her was Longbottom, his cheek pressed to the armrest and one hand gently running back and forth over Luna’s ribs. He had a look of reverence on his face, a gentle and affectionate worry etched into his features. Luna wasn’t a Gryffindor but that wasn’t what made Draco stare at her. The last time he’d seen her, his odd cousin Luna had been in his wine cellar at Malfoy Manor. She looked better now that she was free, but her face was still terribly pale and her eyes were haunted.

     “Still don’t like the veil,” Potter announced as he perched on the armrest of the couch.

     “You know it’s for our own protection, Harry.” Granger glanced up then did a double take. “Oh, Harry. The cat again?”

     Draco twisted around to glare at her. How dare she use that tone when referring to him?

     “It’s storming, Hermione,” Harry said. He stroked Draco’s back again, his large hand smoothing down Draco’s bristling fur.

     “Will he get along with Crookshanks?” Weasley asked.

     Potter shrugged.

     It took Draco a moment to recall who Crookshanks was and he did, he almost groaned. Granger’s cat, the half Kneazle. Surely the cat would give him away. He was loyal to his mistress. Really, there were a lot of cats to be worried about at Hogwarts. Mrs. Norris would undoubtedly cause Draco no end of trouble. Not to mention, the queen of cats herself, Professor McGonagall. If the professor got ahold of Draco, she would probably eat him.

     “Well, what are you going to name him, mate?” Weasley asked.

     “He’s a handsome cat,” Lovegood said quietly. She stared directly into Draco’s eyes. “I think he’ll be a good companion for you, Harry.”

     “Thank you, Luna,” Potter said. He rubbed beneath Draco’s chin with two fingers.

     As good as it felt, Draco could not suffer this indignity. He flattened his ears and batted at Potter’s hand with a paw, keeping his claws sheathed. Of course he thought of using his claws to really send the message home...but Draco was surrounded by enemies and his mother had trusted Potter enough to send Draco to him in his time of need. There was no need to scratch the hand that protected him.

     “He’s just like Malfoy,” Potter said.

     Draco’s spine stiffened. His fur fluffed out without his consent. This was it, he was sure, they were going to find out that he really was Draco Malfoy. And he was sitting on the Chosen One’s lap.

     There were groans from the Gryfindors.

     “Harry, no,” Granger began.

     “Looks like I owe you five galleons, mate,” Weasley said to Longbottom.

     “You bet on this?” Potter said, sounding a bit outraged.

     “Your obsession with...with you-know-who is out of hand,” Granger insisted, dropping her voice low so that the other Houses couldn’t hear her.

     “Hermione, you can’t be calling Malfoy you-know-who. That name is kind of already taken,” Wasley pointed out mildly.

     “I think you should call him Draco,” Luna said. As quiet as her voice was, something about it made them all look at her.

     Potter tore his gaze away to look at Draco once more. He was quiet for a long time. “Yeah. He kind of acts like Draco.”

     Draco flattened his ears. What did that mean? He wasn’t sure that he liked the implications. He meowed. Loudly.

     To his surprise, Potter laughed. “Well, that settles it.” He picked Draco up, holding him to his chest. “We’re going to go to bed. Good night, everyone.”

     They left to a chorus of good night, Harrys.

     Potter went through a door and up some stairs. At the landing, there were two more doors; one for girls and one for boys. Just like in all of the other common rooms. Potter went into the boy’s dormitory. Everything was gleaming oak wood with lion heads carved into the bedposts and bedding that was red and gold. Even the curtains were a garish red. Potter made his way to one of the beds and set Draco onto it. “This one is mine,” he said unnecessarily.

     Draco jumped down off the bed and slid beneath it. He was not hiding. He simply didn’t wish to share a bed with Potter.

     Potter had nothing to say about this. He changed into his pajamas, leaving his robes in a heap on the floor, and climbed into bed. The sound of his breathing told Draco that it took a long time for Potter to fall asleep.

     As for Draco, he curled up and fell into sleep rather easily. This warm, safe place was not the worst place he’s slept.

Within a week, Draco came to find out that Potter had chronic nightmares. He thrashed about in bed, causing the mattress to squeak. He cried out in his sleep; sometimes in anger, sometimes in fear or pain. His bed curtains were enchanted to prevent the noise of his nightmares from reaching the other sleeping Gryfindors...but Draco could hear him. Just like he could hear the nightmares of the other boys in the dormitory. He was a cat and cats could penetrate all magic.

     After a few sleepless nights, Draco slipped out from beneath the bed. He jumped onto Potter’s mattress and hesitated, unsure of what to do. Finally, he decided on laying on Potter’s chest. Draco settled himself and peered at Potter’s scrunched up face. If Potter was a kitten, then Draco would have licked him. But there was one other thing Draco could do in this form. He began to purr.

     This was not an instant cure, but between the weight of a cat on his chest and the purring, Potter did eventually calm down again. He did not have nightmares for the rest of the night.

     Draco resolved to sleep on the bed from now on, so that they could both get the undisturbed sleep they needed.

Draco could smell Potter’s magic as he was using it. It smelled like warm honey and it had the same color to it. He peeled open an eye to see Potter with his wand illuminated, standing over an old piece of parchment.

     Potter stared down at the parchment with a furrow in his brow. His body was rigid with tension. Suddenly he looked directly at Draco. “Nox.” The light went out. Quieter, Potter said, “Mischief managed.” There was a rustle of parchment.

     By then Draco’s eyes had adjusted to the dark. He watched Potter advance, body losing tension as he got closer to Draco. Draco stretched out his forelegs and kneaded the comforter. What was all that about?

     Potter climbed into bed, careful not to disturb Draco. He ran a hand between Draco’s ears then settled down. “Sorry for waking you, Draco.”

     Draco got up and adjusted himself against the curve of Potter’s body. Just because it was more comfortable. He yawned, laid down his head, and put the incident from his mind.

The cats did not give Draco away and Professor McGonagall was, apparently, now Headmistress McGonagall. She didn’t have time to go snooping around the castle, inspecting strange cats in case they were animagi. Which was just fine with Draco.

     Normally, pets weren’t allowed to attend classes with their humans. Normally, pets were left in dorms or allowed to roam as they pleased. The place that pleased Draco the most was being by Potter’s side. It seemed that his infatuation with Potter did not diminish just because he was a cat. Besides, all of the interesting things happened around Potter and almost everyone vied for his time; even if it was just to say hello or get an autograph.

     Potter didn’t like signing autographs. He always went tense when someone asked and sighed harshly through his nose. But he did always sign whatever item was shoved into his face. The younger ones called him The Boy Who Lived Twice.

     Potter didn’t seem to mind having Draco along, whether Draco was riding on his shoulders or padding along beside him. Potter’s stride was much larger than Draco’s, so Draco had to run practically everywhere, but he didn’t mind. Not really.

     Piecing together the story of what happened after Draco left Malfoy Manor took weeks. He heard it in snippets, spoken about vaguely, or shouted about by students in the middle of breakdowns. But he did eventually find out what happened to all of the Slytherins in his year, how Luna got out of the wine cellar, and that Voldemort was dead.

     Life and the war had moved on without him. There was no one hunting Draco anymore. No evil, perverted old man who wanted to use Draco as a sexual object. However, there was no word on his mother and that scared Draco so much more than he thought possible. When he realized what this meant, what the story of Potter going into the woods meant, what The Boy Who Lived Twice meant, Draco had a small breakdown of his own.

     But he was a cat. So no one knew what it meant when Draco suddenly refused to come out from beneath Potter’s bed and stopped eating.

     Those were bad times for both Draco and Potter. Potter tried to help Draco and entice him with many delectable things that cats shouldn’t eat, with toys and with promises of whatever you want, Draco, just please come out. He left a bowl of water just beneath the bed.

     When he was in a particularly bad mood, Draco responded to this with a low growl that warned Potter he would use his claws if he wasn’t left alone.

     Potter’s green eyes were always sad. Without Draco there, a weight on his chest and a comforting purr, Potter had nightmares again.

     It was several weeks before Draco could be persuaded to come out again. His fur was straggly and patchy from overgrooming. He’d lost so much weight that he was skin and bone. He almost didn’t have the energy to crawl out. His voice was a rasp.

     Potter scooped him up and held him gently. “Oh, Draco,” he sighed. “You’re too stubborn for your own good.” He carried Draco to the kitchens, holding him like one held a baby. His eyes kept straying to the ugly scar that cut across Draco’s belly. There was no way for Potter to know that he was the one who put it there...but it made Draco feel better that his eyes went very sad when he looked at it. In the kitchens, Potter secured food for Draco; only the finest of meats.

     Draco ate gratefully. He couldn’t eat much - his stomach was so small now - but he ate as much as he could. Then he drank some butterbeer put out in a bowl and let it warm him from the inside out. His patchy fur did not help regulate his temperature.

The first time that Potter went down the hallway that held the Room of Requirement, Draco almost balked. He only had bad memories of this place. Memories aside, the Room of Requirement was so full of magic that it made Draco a little sick to look at it. Not all of the magic was good, either. In fact, most of it was bad. Spells that went wrong, cursed items, things of that nature. And one thing...one thing that had been in here and was so evil that it left a dark stain in the room from the sheer proximity.

     The fur along Draco’s spine bristled whenever Potter brought him to this room.

     What made things worse was that Draco didn’t understand what Potter was doing here. Whenever Potter entered the room, a writing desk was waiting for him. It held a small portrait of Sirius Black. He went to it, sat down, opened a letter, and wrote a long response letter in green ink. Before sitting down, Potter would set Draco on the floor. If Draco tried to jump onto the desk to see, he’d be scolded and gently shoved back onto the floor.

     It only made Draco want to know what was being written on the parchment. And who were the letters from?

Potter liked to go outside and spend long hours with his friends, as Draco already knew, but now he made more trips outside alone. One day, Potter took Draco to the Quidditch stands and sat down on the wooden bleachers. He told Draco about the first time he rode a broom, and the first time he got into uniform, and how it felt to fly. Potter couldn’t tell the story without including Draco himself in it and his tone would change from annoyed to amused to wistful with each sentence. “It’s not really a secret,” Potter confided in Draco, “but I really miss Malfoy. Hermione says I’m looking back through rose tinted glasses, but I don’t think I am. I’d give anything to fly with him again.”

     Draco thought about turning human again, about challenging Potter to a one-on-one match. Something stopped him. He didn’t know what. Instead of revealing himself to be the boy that Potter missed so much, Draco just put a paw on Potter’s lap.

     Potter smiled down, a sad little smile, and petted Draco. “Thanks. It’s nice to have someone who doesn’t judge me for liking him. And, I’m sure he’ll come back when he’s ready.”

     Through little moments alone, Draco learned a lot about Potter. Potter liked confiding in him. So much so that Draco wondered if he talked this way to his owl, Hedwig. It had been two years since she died...maybe Potter had been bottling everything up and now that he had Draco, it was all spilling out like ink across the page.

     Potter told him of the Dursleys and how horrible his life had been with them. Draco never knew before this moment. For all the thought that he gave to Harry, that his home life might have been terrible never even crossed Draco’s mind. He’d always assumed that Harry lived similarly to him. And then he learned that Harry didn’t have to live that way, with those awful muggles, but that Dumbledore had arranged it and refused to let Harry move. It made Draco sick.

     Harry told Draco about his adventures, which sounded much less adventurous being retold and more horrifying and scary than Draco ever realized. He talked about Ron and Hermione with a great fondness and a tiny bit of wistfulness in his voice when he spoke of how Ron and Hermione wound up a couple. “I love them both very much. It feels a little like I’ve been...pushed out, though. Like they’re moving on without me and I’m being left behind while they plan their life together.” Harry spoke of Ginny. “We weren’t really a good match to begin with. It was a relief that she dumped me. I’ve seen her with Neville and Luna a few times, and I think that they’re going to wind up together. Polyamory, you know? But I still wish I had someone.”

     They sat in the grass beside the lake. Wind blew Harry’s black hair from his eyes. He looked out at the lake, feeding Draco little bits of fish while he did. “If he’s alive, he won’t leave me alone forever, you know. That’s just the kind of relationship we had. He’ll find me, and probably do something annoying, and then everything will be fine. Like the last piece of a puzzle falling into place.”

     Draco licked the fish oil from his whiskers and watched Harry from the corner of his eye. Sometimes Harry spoke of a he without naming names. But Draco thought that Harry was talking about him because Draco would have known if there was another boy in Harry’s life. It could only be Draco himself. He was beginning to suspect that Harry was in love with him.

Months passed, from spring into summer. Draco was Harry’s constant companion. Partly this was due to his mother’s wish that Draco stay with Harry for protection. He still wasn’t sure whether or not his mother was dead, but either way, Draco wanted to honor her wishes. If by some miracle, Narcissa Malfoy had made it out of the war alive, then she would come to Harry Potter and she would find Draco waiting for her. She would recognize him for who he was.

     The other reason? Well. Draco was quite fond of Harry. He said as much to Crookshanks, in the way that cats speak to each other.

     Crookshanks always rolled his eyes. He thought Draco was an idiot.

     Everyone in the castle knew that his name was Draco and that he was Harry’s cat and this made Draco’s chest puff out with pride. Though in his mind, he didn’t know what he had to be proud about. He was a coward. He’d run away from the war and now he wouldn’t even reveal himself to the boy who very much wanted to see Draco Malfoy in his human skin again.

“I want to be a professor,” Harry confided. “Teaching Defense Against The Dark Arts.” They were walking along the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

     Draco flicked his ears to let Harry know he was listening. He remembered that Harry had once been a teacher during their fifth year, showing the other students how to defend themselves and fight. Draco’s pelt burned with shame as he remembered how he’d behaved at the time.

     “I really enjoyed teaching everyone. And...even if there isn’t another war for a long, long time, I want the kids to be able to defend themselves,” Harry said. He paused to wipe at his eyes, knocking his glasses askew. After a few moments, Harry straightened his glasses and continued walking. “Not all of my students made it, but most of them did and I feel like if I had more time to work with them, then all of them would have survived the war.” He shook his head and gave a short, unamused laugh. “That sounds conceited but I don’t mean it like that. I just want to help them.”

     Draco rubbed against Harry’s leg. He thought that Harry becoming a professor was a good idea. Harry has always loved Hogwarts and magic. It made him wonder about his own future and what options he would have when he decided to shed his feline skin. The dark patch of fur on his foreleg was a constant reminder that his future wasn’t going to be good or easy just because Voldemort was gone.

     No one wanted a Death Eater.

Changing back was an accident. They were alone in the Room of Requirement once again. Harry was writing another mysterious letter. And Draco just...changed back. “Potter,” Draco said. The sound of his own voice startled him. He hadn’t heard it in so long.

     Harry twisted around in his seat. He raised an eyebrow. He gave Draco a slow once over before meeting his eyes again. “Oh come on. I’ve been calling you Draco for months. You could at least call me ‘Harry’.”

     Draco scowled at him but didn’t argue the point. “You aren’t surprised.”

     Harry adjusted his glasses. He moved to a wardrobe that wasn’t there a second before. “Well, I’m a bit surprised that you aren’t wearing anything. But as for you being the cat, no. I’m not surprised.” He came out of it with a green silk robe, which he passed to Draco.

     “This is transparent,” Draco pointed out. He put it on regardless because it was beautiful and he was cold without fur. And it was the only thing in the room that wasn’t in Gryffindor colors. He narrowed his eyes. They were in the Room of Requirement which meant that Harry had asked the room for this garment. Which meant it was transparent on purpose. Draco supposed that he shouldn’t have been surprised.

     “Yes it is,” Harry agreed easily. “So is this your way of saying that you’re ready to tell everyone?”

     Draco stared at him. His hands felt cold with the idea of telling people. He shoved them under his armpits, holding the robe tighter around him.

     Harry watched Draco, green eyes peeling back the layers of boy to his core. He nodded. “Then we’ll keep it just between us.”

     Draco nodded. He wasn’t sure what to do now that they were at this point. What did he say? He was beginning to regret his transformation back into a boy.

     Harry watched him for a few more moments before going to his desk. He unlocked the spelled drawer and took out papers that Draco had only glimpsed before. “I’ll keep your secret from everyone but I think Narcissa deserves to know that her son is alive.” He blushed. “I mean, beyond my speculation.”

     Draco moved forward to take the letters. The green ink shimmered. His mother’s signature was familiar and sent a pang through his heart. She was alive. She was looking for him. “Look at you, expanding your vocabulary.”

     “Your mother has that effect on people.” Harry’s fingertips brushed Draco’s.

     Draco read the dates and quickly realized that they were in order of newest on top and oldest on the bottom. He started with the bottom letter from his mother.

Mr. Harry Potter,

I sincerely hope that this letter finds you well. In light of recent events, it should come as no surprise to you that my beloved son, Draco, will not be attending Hogwarts for his seventh year. However, he also won’t be at home. He’s in danger, Mr. Potter, and you’re the only one who can save him. I’ve sent him to you in the hopes that your bond will entice you to keep him alive and safe. I understand that you have no reason to honor this request but I believe in your character, Mr. Potter. And if you are as taken with my son as he is with you then I have no reason to doubt your willingness to protect him from the Dark Lord.

Gratefully,

Narcissa Malfoy

     Draco read responses, only getting half of the conversation but he only needed half of it to understand what they were talking about. Draco’s mother didn’t tell Harry what went on between Draco and the Dark Lord, only said that there were some things Draco wasn’t willing to do. Looking at the familiar handwriting made Draco ache with how much he missed her. “I wasn’t sure she was alive,” Draco admitted. He skimmed the letters, saw how they became more familiar with each other and the encouragement to hang in there as they both struggled to survive. Harry was on a first name basis with Narcissa Malfoy.

     “She saved my life,” Harry said casually. He’d sat down in his favorite armchair.

     Draco glanced at him before looking down at the letters again.

     “You’ve heard about my death march into the forest,” Harry said with a small smile. It was not a happy smile. “Voldemort was there with a group of Death Eaters. Narcissa was with him. I let Voldemort kill me so that everyone else could live.”

     Draco snorted. Harry was too self-sacrificing.

     Harry smiled at him again and this time it almost reached his eyes. “I know. But Voldemort had made me a horcrux and Dumbledore raised me like a lamb for the slaughter.”

     Harry’s words rolled around in Draco’s head for a few moments. He digested them slower than he normally would and once what Harry said sank in, Draco suddenly very much wished that he had killed Dumbledore himself. He set the letters down so that he didn’t wrinkle them and gripped the front of the robe instead.

     “I lived, clearly,” Harry looked out the window at the raining sky. They hadn’t figured out if the windows were real or not but the weather they showed was always accurate. The corners of Harry’s mouth tightened. He was hiding something. “But your mother was the one who checked to make sure I was dead and she lied to the Dark Lord about it.”

     Draco felt a rush of pride towards his mother. He puffed his chest up. She was looking out for him, as she always did. Draco loved and missed her fiercely in that moment. “I want to see her.”

     Harry nodded. He stood up and took out a quill and parchment. “Maybe you should write to her.”

     Draco sat down at the desk - it was still strange not sitting on it - and stared down at the parchment. Holding a quill again was strange. Draco’s hands had forgotten how to make letters. He concentrated hard on making his letters legible and in his spelling so that there were no errors. The more he wrote, the more his handwriting improved and soon he was hunched over the desk writing furiously. He told her about the Muggles he wintered with, about the Kneazle family, about breaking his bones and being held captive in a veterinary clinic for weeks. He thanked her for sending him to Harry Potter and he apologized for having been safe without sending word to her for so long. Draco ended it by telling her that he loved her and would like to see her soon.

     When he was satisfied, Draco handed the letter to Harry. “Seal it with a Slytherin stamp after you read it.”

     Harry tucked the letter into his robes. “What makes you think I’ll read it?”

     Draco leveled a look at Harry that said ‘as if I don’t know you.’

     “To be fair, you were always up to no good.” Harry’s tone was light but his expression was serious.

     Draco wondered how someone could know him so well and yet not at all. His face turned red. “You think I was up to no good when I wanted to be your friend?” He spat. Draco didn’t give Harry a chance to answer. “Just deliver my letter to my mother, Potter.” One heartbeat he was a boy and the next he was a cat. He ran under the wardrobe where Potter couldn’t easily get to him. It was his way of storming out of the room.

     Harry cursed under his breath. He had some choice words for Draco. Then he turned heel and left the room.

     “So you’re an animagus,” Sirius’ voice called out from his portrait.

     Draco ignored his cousin.

     “What is it with my godson and attracting trouble?” Sirius lamented. “You had better not hurt him, Draco Malfoy.” After that Sirius fell silent.

     Draco peeked out and saw that he was gone from his portrait. He crawled back under the wardrobe and curled up with his tail over his nose. Why was it that no one cared about Draco being hurt?

Harry returned for him, of course. Draco didn’t want to out himself and opening the door would require him to be human. When he returned, a couch was added to the room, as well as a tray of food. “Quit being a brat and come eat with me.”

     Draco snorted. Potter was so annoying. But he did crawl out from beneath the wardrobe. Draco stretched and shifted to human form. The fact that he was still wearing the robe pleased him. He padded over to the couch, carefully sitting down on it. “How long have you known it was me?”

     Harry ran a hand through his hair. He reached into his robes and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. He laid it on the table and tapped it with his wand. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” Ink appeared in the crease of the parchment and spread across the page. Harry opened it before Draco could read what was written there. The map just kept opening and opening, ink spreading across the pages to make up the floorplan of Hogwarts itself. There were little footprints that moved along the map, with little name tags attached.

     Draco’s hands trembled. He couldn’t take his eyes off it, scanning the map and reading the names. It told where every single person within Hogwarts’ walls were and when they were moving. There were even ways to sneak out of Hogwarts without being caught. The map was one of the most powerful magical items to exist. And Draco knew exactly what Harry had used it for. “This is how you always found me?”

     Harry nodded. “We won’t show up on the map because we’re in the Room of Requirement. But every other room shows up.”

     Absurdly, Draco thought of this map in his own House’s hands. How they would have used it to gossip about who was caught with who. How it would have fallen into Voldemort’s hands. Draco pursed his lips, thinking. “You used this to know it was me...but how long have you known?”

     “I’ve been waiting for you for a long time,” Harry said, wringing his hands together. He was nervous, Draco realized. “Narcissa wrote to me months ago, telling me that you were on your way. I’ve checked the map almost every night. I thought...when I first saw you, I thought that maybe this was another Sirius situation. The black dog that turned out to be my godfather. The white cat that turned out to be...you. But I wasn’t sure until after you were inside the Castle walls.”

     Draco remembered the night he woke to find Harry with his wand illuminated and parchment paper before him. “Mischief managed,” Draco said. It was absolutely foolish, because he didn’t have a wand so the spell wouldn’t work.

     But Harry tapped the map and repeated the words. The map folded up, the ink vanishing, until it looked quite unassuming.

     Draco shivered.

     A fireplace appeared, a warm hearthfire crackling within. It gave off a pleasant heat. Draco wasn’t sure which of them made it appear but he was happy to have it.

     “Must be cold without fur,” Harry offered, flashing Draco a nervous smile.

     “It’s strange,” Draco murmured. He looked down at his hands. They were pale and he could see the veins underneath. His nails had grown but were nothing like his feline claws. And there was the Dark Mark, a stain on his skin. Draco pulled his sleeve down and then clamped his other hand over it, hiding it from view.

     Harry put his hand over Draco’s. “I already know about it.”

     Draco’s face flushed. “That doesn’t mean I want you to see it!” he hissed. He pulled his arm away...but left his hand beneath Harry’s. “Is this for me? I’m starving.” Draco reached for the tray and found fish beneath it. This was definitely for him. Harry knew how much Draco liked fish.

     Harry rolled his eyes. “I just fed you a few hours ago. You’re hardly starving.” Then he realized what he said and his face turned bright red.

     Draco huffed. He straightened his spine. “Well, you can feed me again.”

     There was a beat of silence, of stillness. Only the fireplace moved and breathed. Then Harry reached for the fish and cut a little piece off. He brought it to Draco’s mouth and pressed it to his lips, like he did when Draco was a cat. His green eyes were intense and somehow warm at the same time.

     Draco found himself parting his lips and snatching the piece of fish from Harry’s fingers. His face was red and he could feel the heat spreading down his chest. Being hand fed when he was a cat was nothing...because he was a cat and it was his right to be spoiled. Draco still felt that he should be spoiled but being hand fed as a human came with...different connotations. He subtly crossed his legs. “Well,” he demanded. “Are you going to eat the rest yourself?”

     Harry’s smile was fond. He cut off another piece and fed it to Draco. “Even if I hadn’t had the map to know it was you, I would have known because you’re spoiled rotten.”

     Draco shot Harry an unamused look, which may not have been very effective with fish stuffed in his cheek. After chewing and swallowing, Draco said, “You of all people should know that I would only choose a mate who was capable of spoiling me.”

     There were different ways to say mate. You could say it in a friendly way, meaning that you cared about the person you were talking to. You could say it in an ironic way that meant you didn’t care about the person you were talking to. Or, you could say it as Draco had, which was to imply that he’d chosen Harry as his romantic partner.

     Harry’s eyes went wide. “Can I kiss you?”

     Draco’s eyes widened. He knew what he’d said, he knew what Harry had confessed to him months ago. But now it was happening and Draco was not prepared. “My breath smells like fish,” he said, which was probably the stupidest thing to come out of his mouth.

     Harry popped a piece of fish into his mouth and swallowed it without bothering to chew it first. “Yeah. So does mine.”

     Despite himself, Draco laughed. The sound surprised him. He hasn’t laughed in...years. Then he put a hand against Harry’s chest. “I...I’ve only had two legs for a very short amount of time. This is the first time I’ve been human in two years.”

     Harry gazed into Draco’s eyes, searching. “I didn’t think of that,” he admitted. “I’ve waited so long for you. Waiting a while longer won’t hurt anything.” Then he smiled, happy and mischievous and hopeful all at once. “Besides, we’ve got our whole lives ahead of us now.”

     Draco found himself laughing again. “Yes. We do.”

Harry took Draco’s desire to stay in the closet very well. Possibly better than Draco himself would have taken it if their positions had been reversed. There were differences in his behavior, most notable that he walked around with a pep in his step and a dopey grin on his face. He spoke to Draco more often too, disregarding who could overhear. Though he was always careful to keep Draco’s secret.

     Draco used the Room of Requirement to get used to being human again. He relearned how to put on clothes properly, how to maintain his hygiene, how to move. After being a cat for so long, some things he just needed practice doing. Like using his hands. Hands with thumbs were very different from paws with claws. He wrote letters to his mother and read the ones she sent. His penmanship improved with every letter.

     To his surprise, Harry continued to write letters to Draco’s mother. When questioned about it, Harry just smiled and said, “I like your mom. She’s a good person and it’s fun to talk to her.”

     If he wasn’t so sure that Harry was head over heels for him, Draco would worry about Harry Potter making moves on his mother. But Draco was sure that Harry was head over heels for him because Harry made sure that Draco knew it. Harry was the type of person to be openly affectionate and very liberal with his compliments and words of love.

     Some people might have believed that Draco couldn’t match that energy, that he was too reserved to love fully. But loving with your whole self was a Slytherin trait and one that Draco employed often. It was only that his group of loved ones was small and his love was for them alone, so most people never saw this side of him.

     It was in the Room of Requirement that Draco kissed Harry for the first time. He finished his letter to his mother, sealed it in an envelope, then walked over to Harry. He settled himself in Harry’s lap, carefully removed Harry’s glasses, and kissed him. Draco has never kissed anyone before, but he did his best.

     That seemed to be enough for Harry. He kissed Draco sweetly, guiding him, lips moving against Draco’s. Harry knew what he was doing. Draco suspected he should send Ginny a gift basket or something as a thank you for teaching his boyfriend how to kiss so well.

The first time that Draco shifted outside of the Room of Requirement, it was in Harry’s bed, on July 31st. Harry’s birthday. They were both nineteen years old. There had been a party between Harry and his friend's earlier in the day. Now it was time for him and Draco to celebrate. Draco straddled Harry’s lap, naked except for the transparent green robe. Draco kissed Harry until they were both breathless and panting. “We haven’t consummated our relationship yet,” Draco said in a whisper even though he knew no one could hear them outside of the curtain.

     Harry groaned. His hands roamed over Draco’s skin until he was cupping Draco’s ass. “We should fix that,” he said, voice husky with want. He kicked the blanket down to the edge of the bed where it would be out of the way.

     Draco rolled his hips, grinding against Harry, acting more on instinct than anything else. He ducked his head and kissed Harry again. “Yes, we should.”

     And they did.

The new year passed before Draco felt comfortable telling everyone that Draco the cat was actually Draco Malfoy the wizard. He and Harry stood in Harry's private room. Now that the school year had begun, Harry was being trained in earnest to take over the teaching position of Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was a modest room with a bed, a desk, and a wardrobe. There were a few potted plants and some touches that Harry had added; photographs of loved ones, some Quidditch memorabilia, things of that nature. They did not have to share the room with anyone except each other, and both of them liked it that way.

     Harry adjusted Draco’s robes and straightened his tie. It was a Slytherin tie, striped green and silver. Draco had no clue where Harry got it.

     “Draco, they’re not going to blame you,” Harry said gently. “You really weren’t even part of the war.”

     Draco rubbed the brand on his forearm. He wished he could hide it but no matter what spells they tried, the Dark Mark remained. The only thing that covered it was long sleeves. “I have his Mark.”

     “You were a kid, Draco.” Harry took Draco’s arm and lifted it to his mouth, kissing the Dark Mark.

     Draco hated it when he did that, when he acted like it didn’t matter at all that Draco had done terrible things and was a bad person. He gazed into Harry’s green eyes, seeking reassurance and finding it. “You’re lucky that I love you.” he said. What he meant was I’m lucky that you love me.

     Harry seemed to hear it anyway. He kissed Draco’s lips and then both cheeks and then his forehead. “If you want to wait longer, that’s fine.”

     Draco closed his eyes and basked in Harry’s touch. Then he sighed and shook his head. “No. It’s...a new year. A new beginning. Now is a good time.” He took Harry’s hand and held it tightly.

     “Then let’s go,” Harry said.

     Hand in hand, they left the room. They walked Hogwarts’ great halls, Draco with his chin raised and Harry with a smile on his face. Knowing that Harry accepted him wholeheartedly gave Draco the confidence to go into the library where Harry’s friends and hopefully Draco’s friends were waiting. This was a meeting that they’d preplanned and they had booked the library for this purpose. When Draco had suggested the Room of Requirement, Harry had quietly told him how Vincent died and how he thought Gregory wasn’t quite over it. So it was the library.

     They heard their friends talking before they saw them, a murmur of polite voices. Then Draco and Harry came around the corner.

     Pansy saw him first. Her eyes went huge and she vaulted herself over the table to reach Draco. She threw her arms around him so forcefully that Draco's hand was ripped from Harry’s and he actually fell backward against the bookshelf. “Draco!”

     “Draco!” Blaise echoed a split second later and then he too was crashing into them. He held both Pansy and Draco in a tight hug. Blaise smelled like sex and pomegranates, a delicious combination.

     Gregory stood up slowly. He didn’t take his eyes off of Draco as he carefully walked around the table to the group. When he reached them, Gregory wrapped his arms around all three of them - and he was big enough to wrap them all in his strong embrace - and promptly burst into tears. “I thought you were dead,” he blubbed.

     Draco tried to hug all of them at once but he was small and his arms were trapped around Pansy’s waist. His throat closed with emotions, tears blurring his vision. His friends, his very dear friends, were alive. They’d made it and they missed him as much as he missed them. “I’m not dead. I was just...on the run. And...and I wasn’t sure...that it was safe to reveal myself.” In a whisper, Draco said, “I’m sorry for deceiving you.”

     Blaise pulled away first and punched Draco’s arm. “Well don’t do it again!” He wiped at his eyes, smearing his eyeliner. “Shit.”

     Pansy squeezed out of their embrace next, her makeup immaculate but her eyes shining. She gave Draco a once-over. “Your parents are getting divorced.”

     Draco winced even though he already knew about it, thanks to his mother’s letters. He gave a half shrug. Now that Gregory was the only one left, he could hug him properly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when Vince -“

     Gregory shook his head and stopped Draco. “It isn’t your fault, Draco. He was being stupid and he only would have dragged you down with him.” He jerked his head toward Harry, who had snuck around and was quietly talking to his friends. “He saved me even though Vincent tried to kill him.”

     The burst of love that Draco felt for Harry was almost too much to contain. He rubbed his cheek against Gregory’s cheek, felt the rough stubble there. “I’m happy that you’re safe.”

     “The same to you, Draco.” Gregory let go and wiped his face with a large handkerchief.

     Draco stood before the table, where two Gryffindors and a Ravenclaw sat staring at him. “I was the cat,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster.

     Hermione got up and moved around the table until she stood beside Draco. There was a scar across her throat that Draco never noticed. It looked at least a year old. “Draco, we’ve been friends with Harry for so many years and for all of those years, he’s been obsessed with you. Of course we know the face that Harry makes when he’s thinking of you. He’s been making it a lot lately. But instead of having frustrated undertones, he’s been having happy ones,” Hermione explained. She patted Draco’s shoulder sympathetically.

     “What she’s saying is that no one who knows Harry is surprised,” Neville chimed in. He didn’t get up from the table, just gave Draco a wary look that said he was reserving judgement and withholding forgiveness. He sighed. “I owe Ron thirty galleons.”

     Luna and Harry had been sitting facing each other, holding hands and speaking quietly. Now Luna stood up. She went to stand beside Draco and Hermione. Her hand was cold when she put it on Draco’s arm, over the spot they both knew he had a Dark Mark. “I’m glad that you escaped and found a place where you’re loved.”

     Draco pulled his cousin into a hug. “I am also glad that you escaped and found a place where you’re loved,” he whispered.

     They sat in the library and talked for a long time. Harry’s friends would tell the rest of their friends, the ones who didn’t stay to become professors. It was nice, Draco had to admit, talking to other people again. Laughing. Smiling. Even crying felt good.

Draco expected word to spread and it did. Soon the whole Castle knew that not only was the white cat actually Draco Malfoy, but that he was also Harry Potter’s boyfriend. The tactical part of Draco’s mind told him that being Harry’s paramour would provide some protection because Harry’s presence sort of canceled Draco’s mistakes out. But he was still very careful not to let anyone except Harry - who still insisted on kissing it - see his Dark Mark.

     He also expected to receive a visit from Headmistress McGonagall. Draco just wasn’t expecting her to be a cat when she came to see him. But he recognized the spectacled tabby when he spotted her outside of the room that he shared with Harry. She stood, looking prim, only a few gray hairs around her muzzle. Her eyes were piercing.

     Draco barely even thought about it before he shifted. The Headmistress was no less intimidating as a feline than as a human. He approached with caution, eyes down, tail up in a friendly flag. He paused a foot away, nostrils flaring. She smelled of elderly she-cat and nutmeg. Draco kneaded the ground anxiously, claws scraping against the stone.

     Headmistress McGonagall got to her feet and padded away, flicking her tail to beckon him.

     Draco followed after her, keeping pace but letting her lead.

     They went through the halls, past students who whispered when they realized who the two cats were. In the center courtyard - the one where Draco had once been turned into a ferret - the tabby queen leapt and clawed her way up the trunk of a tree. She navigated higher into the tree, then settled on a branch and waited to see what Draco would do.

     Draco could climb a tree no problem, whether he was a boy or a cat. He followed her with ease, taking half the time Headmistress McGonagall had. He stopped on a lower branch.

     They stared at each other.

     Headmistress McGonagall practically flew down the tree again. When she hit the grass, she took off running across the courtyard.

     Draco hurried to follow, leaping down from the tree and sprinting after her. He had no idea what was happening but he thought she might be testing him somehow. This was a test that Draco very much wanted to pass.

     When they came to the great doors that led outside, Headmistress McGonagall swerved and went through a very tiny door that swung up just before she hit it.

     Draco had never noticed the little door but it was just the right size for a cat to go through. He followed her and the door swung shut behind him.

     They ran all the way to the Forbidden Forest, turning to run parallel before entering it. The world was a dangerous place for a cat...that forest even more so. When she finally stopped, they were at the lake. Headmistress McGonagall dipped her head and drank from the lake.

     Draco crouched beside her and quenched his thirst too. He was winded from running so much. When he looked up again, Headmistress McGonagall was human again. Quickly, Draco shifted too. He’s never been more happy that he mastered how to do it and keep his clothing; he did not want to be wearing a translucent green robe that hid nothing in front of his old professor.

     For a few moments, they merely sized each other up.

     Then Headmistress McGonagall said, “Usually when I interview someone to become part of the staff, we do it over tea and biscuits in my office and I ask about their credentials and references.”

     Draco blinked. What was she talking about? Interview? Staff?

     “However, I know you, Mr. Malfoy. I’ve been your professor for many years now. I taught your parents and your peers and their parents.” Her eyes were cold, her tone giving away nothing. “And I’ve just seen that you have mastered transfiguration. I know that I didn’t teach you how to become an animagus. So tell me who did.”

     Draco swallowed. But he lifted his chin and met her eyes. “I did. I taught myself.”

     To his surprise, Headmistress McGonagall snorted. If she still had a tail, it would have flicked. “Somehow I’m not surprised. All the best animagi taught themselves. Tell me how you taught yourself. Spare no details.”

     So Draco told her. He explained everything, the technical and the emotional, the rationale for leaving, how he’s spent the past two years as a cat. He left no detail out. By the time he finished talking, he was hoarse and thirsty again. He couldn’t quite stand to drink from the lake as a human, so Draco shifted into a cat and took a drink. He watched Headmistress McGonagall from the corner of his eye.

     “What is that on your stomach?” She asked as he sat up.

     Draco hesitated...then he rolled over onto his back to expose his belly. He let her look, ignoring how vulnerable he was in this position.

     “Ah,” she said. “The remains of the spell that Mr. Potter used on you?”

     Draco nodded. He rolled onto his feet. The transformation from cat to boy was seamless. “What is all of this about, Headmistress McGonagall?”

     “With that,” Headmistress McGonagall pointed to Draco’s forearm. “On your arm, you’re going to find it difficult to get a job anywhere in Europe, Mr. Malfoy. Young Mr. Potter expressed...concern about what would happen to you if you were forced to leave Hogwarts.”

     Draco wondered when Harry had time to talk to her, but didn’t bring it up.

     “At first we thought that potions would be a good fit for you. However, in light of discovering that you’re an animagus and a very good one, I would rather have you teach Advanced Transfiguration, specifically teaching students how to become animagi.”

     Draco’s eyes went wide. “But Hogwarts has never taught that.”

     Headmistress McGonagall nodded, her mouth set in a grim line. “All of our students have had to teach themselves in secret. Or felt that they needed to. Some couldn’t do it at all, some were left disfigured in a partial transformation, and some were very successful. I believe that more would be successful if they had someone to educate them. Will you accept the position, Mr. Malfoy?”

     Draco hardly had to think about it. “I would be honored,” he said. “But I haven’t finished school.”

     Headmistress McGonagall smirked, which was the closest she’d come to a smile that Draco had ever seen. “It’s a bit late in the year, but we can start you as an eighth year as we did for everyone else who wanted to complete their education.” Her smirk faded and her eyes became sad. “You’ll have to work into the summer and take your N.E.W.T.s before next year begins. Next year, we can put you through our teaching program. You’ll be a year behind your peers but somehow, I don’t think that will be a problem for you. You’re an intelligent young man, Mr. Malfoy.”

     “Thank you, Headmistress McGonagall,” Draco said. “I won’t disappoint you.”

     This time, when she smiled, it was a real one.

After his meeting with McGonagall, Draco searched for Harry. He did this as a cat, because while cats weren’t bloodhounds, his sense of smell was fairly good. But more than that, Draco could see the magic in the air and follow it back to its source. He found Harry in the Great Hall, sat alone at the Gryffindor table with his homework spread out around him and several open books.

     Draco stayed a cat, creeping forward on silent paws, until he was right behind Harry. Then he leapt and when he hit, he was a boy again. He wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck, pressed against his back. “So I just had an interesting conversation, Harry.”

     Harry twisted around to grin at him, always happy for a distraction from homework. “Oh?”

     “Yes. Headmistress McGonagall interviewed me and offered me a job for the position of Advanced Transfiguration.”

     “Did you accept?” Harry’s voice held a note of cautious optimism.

     “Yes. Though, I’ll have to complete eighth year.” Draco kissed Harry’s neck. “This time next year, you’ll have to call me Professor Malfoy,” he purred.

     Harry twisted around fully to catch Draco’s lips with his in a sensual kiss. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

Narcissa Malfoy was no longer living in Malfoy Manor. This was partially due to the Ministry of Magic seizing ownership of it (as well as they could; the Manor has served Malfoys for a long time and was giving them problems) and partially due to her desire to separate herself from what happened there. She now lived in one of the Black family homes, which made sense because she was born a Black.

     The house was much smaller than the Manor, but it was big enough for a woman to live alone and it was just as ornately decorated. There was a garden in the front, full of magical plants and plants for tea and healing and poisoning. She no longer had flesh and blood peacocks, but there was one made of marble that spread its stone tail feathers and let out a raucous screech when it saw Draco and Harry on the other side of the fence.

     The sound drew Mother from the house. When she saw Draco standing just on the other side of the garden gate, his mother ran to him. She was barefoot, running through dirt, but didn’t care in the slightest. The gate opened before she reached it and Mother crashed into Draco at full speed, enveloping him in her arms and sinking to her knees with him. “My baby, my baby,” she cried as she held him and kissed his face.

     Draco smiled but he cried too. They had been speaking via letter for quite some time but this was the first time he’s seen her since she sent him away. He hugged his mother and they rocked there in the dirt. For the first time in a long time, Draco felt as though he could breathe again, as though the weight that he had carried for two years had been lifted from his chest.

     After a long, long time, Mother looked to Harry. She stood up, bringing Draco with her, an arm still wrapped around him, and caught Harry with her other arm, pulling him into a hug. “Thank you, Harry. Thank you for bringing Draco back to me.”

     Harry mumbled something about it being no problem and he was happy to, anytime. He relaxed into her embrace, one arm sliding around her and the other around Draco.

     Mother kissed them both on their cheeks. “Come inside, my loves. I’ve got tea on. There’s so much that we have to talk about.”

     They went up the path together, Draco between his mother and the boy he loved. Draco smiled, warmth in his chest, because finally everything was good and right.