Title: A Chance at Companionship
Beta: CleopatraIsMyName
Challenge/Prompt: Written for HD_Fluff's prompt #10, Getting a Pet, along with the OTP Boot Camp (#3, breathless) and the Slash/Femmeslash Boot Camp (#17, Diagon Alley). This was originally meant for Hogwarts' Transfigurations class, but I went over the designated 3000 word limit, unfortunately.
Rating: T
Word Count: About 4000
Characters/Pairings: Harry/Draco
Disclaimer: This work of fiction is in no way connected to the author of Harry Potter, JK Rowling. Harry Potter is owned by her, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Warning(s): HP: EWE, post-Hogwarts, fluffiness, snogging, clichéness, and language (Harry has quite the potty mouth).
Harry didn't feel that he was especially, lonely; no, he definitely knew he wasn't. Sure, it was tiring coming home to nothing but silence. Pure silence. But it was fine. All he really needed was the roar of the fire burning in his living room's hearth to fill the otherwise disturbing quiet of his flat, and nothing else.
Okay, maybe he was a tad lonely.
But no matter what Hermione said in that factual tone of hers, he definitely wasn't crawling back to that pointy-faced git. Sure, it had been fun while it had lasted, the friendship they had managed to rack up during Training, but Ron was right. Not only was it destined to end sooner, rather than later, but it had been a bad idea from the start. It was Malfoy, for Christ's sake. Malfoy, with his stupid, smug mug, and his infuriating self-satisfied manner. Hell, all he had to do was look at you a certain way, and he could make you feel like an incompetent asshat.
Especially since the prat had made himself scarce rather quickly, in light of their latest argument. Harry was uncertain just how long he could miss Training without the instructors eventually giving up your place - especially when you were a former-Death Eater, and a Malfoy to boot. Despite his still heated anger towards the pompous git, Harry didn't want him to lose the career he desperately fought for.
It wouldn't be the same without him there.
Didn't mean he would break first, though.
That reason was just one among many, many others that eventually snowballed into Harry's presence at the reinforced, frosted glass entrance of the Magical Menagerie. He quickly did a double-check. Slipping his hand into his robes pocket, he let out a groan when he realised he did, indeed, have the paperwork instrumental to confirming his newly acquired Kneazle licence. Blast.
According to Hermione and her never-ending need to meddle and nag, in the most affectionate way possible, a Kneazle was the sort of companionship he would need the most - after all, Harry, a Kneazle is an intelligent enough creature to keep itself entertained when you're at Training, but it can be left unattended for long periods of time and is high maintenance enough that you won't ever feel unneeded. Curse Hermione with her stupid, smart brain and her horrific death stare of doom.
Especially her horrific death stare of doom.
At the feeling of another person shoving past him, Harry stumbled back a few steps, effectively halting his musings. Regaining his balance, Harry turned on his heel and opened his mouth to respond irritably at the rude traveller, but at the sight of a sputtering girl wearing bright lavender robes, face lit up with a crimson blush as she rushed to apologise for the grave injustice she had apparently committed towards Harry, he did a bunk and made for the shop, choosing the lesser of two evils.
The Menagerie was just as he remembered, and a brief pang of nostalgia hit him with the force of a bludger. He remembered the piles upon piles of display tanks and cages lining the space and walls. It had all seemed so much larger when he was younger, though no less great in number. Quite possibly, the sheer amount of magical animals may have increased ten-fold, if his memory served him well.
A cage of Pygmy Puffs and Puffskeins stirred restlessly towards the centre of the shop in a large display meant to be eye-catching for small children, a sizable sign pointing down with a friendly, cartoonistic drawing indicating the small, affectionate animals that bounced along in their cages. Signature high-pitched squeals did no justice for their loud, colourful appearances. Below the Puffs, in another line of cages atop another solid, wood counter, lay a few other breeds of the same species, all ranging in various ways in appearances and sounds. One pair locked in a darkened cage even growled at Harry ominously as he peered inside their cage curiously.
"Hello, and welcome to Magical Menagerie. How many I help you?" said a teen behind the counter in a monotonous voice, clicking her gum in apparent boredom, flipping through a new edition of Witch Weekly. She barely looked up as Harry turned and rose from his inspection of the Puffs, pulling out his Ministry-approved Kneazle licence.
"Yes, I was hoping to adopt a Kneazle, today," Harry smiled, striding in closer to the counter. The teen perked up at his appearance, eyes flashing towards his scar in recognition, though she played it cool and didn't react in any special way.
"Miss Lucy!" the girl, whose name tag read Charlotte, called, taking Harry's paperwork with her to the back of the shop. A few seconds later of chatter, and the saleswoman of the Menagerie emerged from the backroom, approaching Harry from behind the counter at a sedate pace.
She seemed to be trying for nonchalance, though her fingers and voice trembled slightly at the sight of Harry Potter within her shop. Harry bit back a sigh of exasperation, shifting in place. It never ceased to get old. In fact, the teenager's reaction and attitude towards Harry were the best he'd gotten in days; refreshing, as a matter of fact.
"Welcome, Mister Potter," her bright blue eyes strayed in the direction of his famous scar, disappointment colouring her next words when Harry saw fit to rearrange his fringe to cover the marking. "I see you've got everything in order for a Kneazle. Please, follow me."
She beckoned him over to a corner of the large, magically enlarged shop, where several cages lay, Kneazles held within. Each one was rather unique in its colour and size; however, despite the sheer variety, Harry's eyes were automatically drawn to a curious, silver-haired cat that sat back, grooming itself with apparent disinterest. When those piercing mercurial eyes met his own gaze, Harry had to blink back a flicker of confusion. The Kneazle felt oddly familiar to the young wizard.
Whilst the saleswoman fluttered from one cage to the next, expounding on the names and attributes of each cat and kitten, Harry's eyes stayed locked on the Kneazle's. Striding in closer, he raised a hand and put his hand through the bars of the cage, in a similar fashion as he had almost performed with the rabid Puffs earlier.
"-has the ability to sense the raising of defensive war- Mister Potter. Just what do you believe you are doing? Please come away from the cage," Miss Lucy scolded, all sycophancy lost in light of what she seemed to dictate to be idiotic behaviour. Harry's idiotic behaviour, in particular. "That Kneazle happens to be one of our more aggressive of the breed. Don't you prefer sweet and gentle Marva?"
The kitten mewed in replied, but Harry was already patting the paw of the Kneazle that had caught his eye.
"What's his name?"
"We haven't named the little furball yet," she sighed. Harry could almost feel the level of her aggravation, in relation to Harry, rising exponentially. When he glanced back at her to gauge her overall temperament, she had her head tipped back slightly, rubbing the bridge of her nose to, no doubt, ward off a headache. He'd seen Malfoy perform the same action on many occasions. "As I said, he's one of our more aggressive Kneazles, and prefers to be left well enough alone, rather than pawed at, so to speak."
"I'll take him," Harry decided, releasing the docile cat's paw and straightening up.
"Bu-"
"I'll take him," Harry met and held her gaze firmly and she simply sighed again, before nodding and prompty leading him back to the counter. After reaching beneath for a stack of parchment, packed together with a single staple, she handed it over to Harry and they set to filling out all the pertinent information that was required of him before she could legally register and release the Kneazle under his name and to him.
Carefully scanning over what he'd written, she checked that every t was crossed and i dotted, before taking his Galleons and telling Charlotte to go and get the silver-haired Kneazle from the back.
When the girl walked towards the two with the Kneazle - now in a different sort of carrier - she muttered a, "Good luck," before leaving to take her designated lunch break.
Leaving the shop with his newly acquired Kneazle led Harry to believing in Hermione's advice, for a brief, real second. Maybe she was right in the idea that he needed a companion. He flashed a quick smile at his Kneazle's carrier before Disapparating with a crack.
After settling the Kneazle down near his couch, he opted to open the container and knelt back in front of it, waiting for the cat to finally take his first step in his new home.
It wasn't as successful as he assumed it would be. Not in the least.
At the first sign of the Kneazle's aggressive nature, Harry carefully sat cross-legged and scooted back some on the carpeted floor, giving it room to roam, if it so pleased.
When the Kneazle finally peeked its head out of the mouth of the carrier, Harry did his best to give the cat a huge, welcoming smile. It wasn't friendly enough, if the cat's hiss of displeasure and panicked scramble back into the carrier was any indication.
Heaving a great, put-upon sigh, Harry slumped forward before standing up and brushing off his trousers.
"I'll be right back," he said, heading for his room. "I'm just going to the toilet."
When he returned, the cat was on his couch, trying to claw at his cushions, to no avail.
"You can try," Harry chuckled in amusement, practising caution as he kept a few, cautious metres of distance from the cat. "But I recently replaced the entire couch with reinforced fabric that is guaranteed to not falter beneath a Kneazle's determined claws."
At his pronouncement, the Kneazle seemed to grow more determined, desperately trying to wedge its paws in the fabric of the couch. To Harry's comfort, and the cat's seemingly growing discomfort, the couch remained as pristine as ever, if you didn't count the freshly shed hairs of the cat that lay on its surface.
Harry figured there were some things magic just couldn't solve.
"Now, what should I call you?" Harry questioned, kneeling down and crawling on all fours towards the cat. Curiously, it stopped in its hateful ministrations, peering down its nose at Harry. Once again, the gaze met his head-on, and Harry was filled with the heady sense he'd seen that particular look in someone else's eyes before.
Someone like Draco Malfoy.
"How about I call you Malfoy?" Harry asked, chortling when the cat seemed to preen at the idea. If a cat could blanch, this one certainly was able, if its expression after it figured out what that meant meant anything to it. "Yes, that'll be purrfect."
When Harry's face nearly met the sharp claws of his new companion, he figured he couldn't regret what he'd said, anyway.
'Strange,' he thought to himself, head tipped to the side as he mimicked the Kneazle. 'Crookshanks never seemed to be as intelligent as this cat. Then again, Crookshanks was only half-Kneazle. Maybe it simply didn't inherit the level of intuitiveness and perceptiveness Malfoy the Furry Terror currently holds?'
Before he'd known it, a week had passed. A week of previously undisturbed reticence instead replaced with the roars of a feline creature stalking charmed toys around the flat, or the sounds of objects being knocked down in such a manner that Harry was fully convinced Malfoy the Awful was trying to inflict as much damage to his home as possible. A week in which he'd realised he had been lonely, and still terribly missed his friendship with Malfoy.
Terribly missed his friendship with Malfoy in a really, really bad way. Hell, Harry was starting to see Malfoy in every movement his bloody cat made, and it was no use in pretending he hadn't registered how graceful each step the man took was, how measured each was in power and intensity.
And it didn't help that his bloody stupid Kneazle had silver hair and grey eyes that could only match Malfoy's in their severity.
Plus, Malfoy the Kneazle was the vainest cat he'd ever know, or been witness to. Seriously, what cat actually saw it feasible to stare into mirrors for hours on end in admiration of itself?
Or, maybe Harry was just so obsessed with Malfoy, at this point, he was deliberately seeking out each one of his characteristics and attributes in a feline he'd sought to fill in the hole the loss of his friend's presence had left in him? And how funny was that, that Malfoy had become to signficant in his life, Harry was mourning his existence after a few short weeks without the other?
Harry collapsed on his couch in a melancholic fashion, choosing instead to stare up at his ceiling in shame. How long had it been since he'd last sent an owl, at the very least? Some friend he claimed to be.
Malfoy the Ball of Cuddles immediately climbed on the couch, settling itself on Harry's lap in a sign of comfort. Gazing down and smiling fondly at his cat, Harry picked him up carefully beneath his front paws and switched who was staring down at whom. He laughed softly when the cat give him a look that screamed, 'Really, Potter?'
Bloody hell, now Harry was hearing the wanker's voice in his head. Was this a sign of insanity? Should he be worried, by now?"
"I miss him, you know," Harry murmured to his cat, safe in the fact that the Kneazle couldn't, nor would ever be able to, share his secrets with anyone. Especially Malfoy. "Your namesake, I mean. I just wonder where he's gone. It's been over three weeks since I've seen or heard from him. Even the bloody instructors are becoming uncharacteristically frantic, though most likely in the urgency to replace the barmy bugger before he comes back."
The cat seemed to be totally affronted at the idea of anyone he was named after willingly allowing others an advantage over him.
"Oh, you remind me so much of him," Harry cooed, bringing the cat in lower and closer to cuddle to the best of his abilities. "Adorable, too."
The Kneazle went completely still at the compliment, and Harry wondered if the tone he'd used had some sort of positive effect on him, especially when said Kneazle seemed cling to Harry's shirt, having changed out of his Auror robes, in a gesture of vulnerability he'd never felt or seen exhibited in the sassy feline.
When he'd finally released his grip, the Kneazle settled back on its haunches for a little while, staring up at Harry, before jumping off the couch and heading straight for his fireplace.
Before he could warn the cat of the possible dangers of how his lovely silver coat maybe catch on fire, Malfoy the Fierce rose up on his two hind legs and seemed to be trying his hardest to reach for the Floo powder.
Suspicious, Harry called out, "Malfoy?"
The cat turned its head in a thoughtful manner, nodding its head in a significantly human-like gesture.
A few moments of disbelief led to Harry doubling over and laughing.
"Oh, you cannot be serious," Harry choked back his laughter in light of tears stinging the corners of his eyes. When he met the cat's steel-like gaze, once again, he felt the utter bewilderment and denial leave him, and he sobered almost immediately after.
"Malfoy, is that really you?"
When the Kneazle merely settled back on its haunches and bobbed its head in the positive, Harry placed his head in his hands and cursed his terrible fate. Of course Malfoy would somehow become a Kneazle, get captured by some unruly person, and sent to the Menagerie, just for Harry to buy and adopt him.
If he wasn't Fate's bitch, Harry would eat his fist.
"Okay, fine," Harry rose from the couch, coming to a stop in front of Malfoy. "Now, I just need to find a way to turn you back. Is this your Animagus?"
Malfoy shook his head in the negative.
Harry groaned, "Okay, let's see. Was it a spell?"
Malfoy nodded his head, and Harry finally felt they were getting somewhere. "Good, good. I mean, not good, considering the circumstances. But good, since I now know it's definitely not something permanent..."
Malfoy gave him a long, narrowed-eyed stare, and Harry backtracked, closing his mouth so he didn't ramble on and on in his nervousness.
Raising his wand, he tried a simple, "Finite Incantatem."
Nothing happened.
Of course it hadn't worked. The shopkeepers in the Menagerie would've already tried that, Harry bet, to make sure it wasn't some poor sap masquerading as a cat, rather than just a Kneazle itself.
"Transfiguration, I'm guessing?"
When Malfoy nodded his head, once again, Harry groaned and moved to pick up one of his large textbooks, meant for increasing an Auror trainee's knowledge of spells and incantations. Flipping through the tome's pages, he tried many variations on cancellation charms for Transfigurations.
By the time he got to the tenth spell, Malfoy was pawing at the carpet in resignation, and Harry was about ready to pull his hair out of his scalp.
"Last spell," Harry said. "And then I tell Hermione."
Despite Malfoy's pitiful mewl, which Harry did not find to be the most ridiculously adorable sound he'd ever heard in his life, Harry knew that that would be the only way they'd get Malfoy out of his current predicament.
"Forma animalis dapibus," Harry chanted with a quick flick and swish of his wand. Seconds later, a weak-limbed Malfoy was seated on his floor, hand mid-lick. Stifling a chuckle at the blond's position, Harry breathed a sigh of relief before flopping back on the couch.
"That took way too long," Harry stated matter-of-factly, wiping at the sweat beading on his forehead in distaste. He was long overdue for a nice, hot shower. "Isn't that right, Partner?"
"Oh, shut it, Potter," Malfoy sneered, carefully getting to his feet before stumbling, knees locking at the, now, unfamiliar sensation. Harry immediately scrambled off the couch to help the other wizard to his feet, close enough to catch a healthy whiff of his scent. Malfoy smelled like the specially made Kneazle shampoo Harry had purchased, along with something purely him.
Once they'd made it to the couch with little to no hardship, both collapsed back in relief.
"So, who turned you into a cat?"
"Pansy," Malfoy sniffed, arms crossed in front of his chest. "I have absolutely no idea as to what drove the utter cow to do so, but I'm certainly getting her back, one way or another."
"No idea, huh?" Harry asked, somewhat incredulously. Sometimes, he wondered if Malfoy knew just how much of a prick he could be, even unconsciously. "Well, at least you're back to normal, now."
"You missed me, huh?" Malfoy seemed positively proud of himself, smirking in the self-satisfied way that made Harry want to punch it off his face. Or kiss it. Wait, no, not kiss.
"Hah," Harry raised his arm and covered his eyes with it. "For some odd reason, I did."
A silence descended among the pair, and both basked in it, one glad to be within their real body, and the other unwilling to break a quiet, comfortable moment between close friends. Which is what they were, nothing more, nothing less. Harry ignored the sharp pang in his chest that signalled it wasn't what he quite wanted with the former Slytherin. Definitely not.
"How long have I been a cat?"
"Over three weeks."
"Fuck," Malfoy muttered. "And no one has managed to locate a replacement for me? I would've thought they'd scramble over the opportunity to kick me out of the Academy."
"Well, they've tried. But I may have sabotaged them."
"Sabotage?" Harry lifted the arm off his eyes and turned to glance at Malfoy. His breath caught at the sheer brilliance of Malfoy's smile. "I think you're starting to become quite the Slytherin, Potter."
"I fear you may have influenced me greatly, you great bastard," Harry smiled back, unsure of whether his grin looked as stupidly fond as it felt.
"Influence? Me? Why, I never," the blond placed a hand on his chest in a gesture of faux-innocence.
Both merely smiled at the other in contentment.
Harry cleared his throat, looking away before he found himself lost within the storm of Malfoy's eyes. "So, you coming back?"
"To Training? Yes."
"Good," Harry made to stand from the couch when a hand touched his elbow. Eyes wide, he turned to look back at Malfoy. The blond was biting his lip, ordinarily cold eyes warm with vulnerability. Harry forgot to breathe for a few, sharp seconds.
"Did you really mean what you said, earlier?"
Gulping, Harry sit back down, closer than he intended to Malfoy. "What do you mean?"
"That you find me adorable, of course," Malfoy's smile was shy, and Harry felt the urge to hug the living shit out of the other man.
So, he did.
He felt more than heard Malfoy's sharp inhalation. Seconds past by slowly before the former Slytherin finally relaxed into the embrace, hugging back with his arms sliding around Harry's ribs to encircle his back.
"I definitely did mean that," Harry pronounced softly into the shell of the blond's ear, grinning wickedly when that coaxed a shiver out of the man. "And this, as well."
Before the blond got a chance to inquire as to what Harry meant, the brunet pulled out of the embrace and placed a kiss on his friend's lips. Still lips slowly opened and reacted to it, just as slowly and gently as Harry wished it to be. A moan seemed to reverberate through Harry's mouth as their tongues met and tangled, shared heat growing even hotter as the intensity of the kiss escalated fast and with a purpose.
When they finally pulled back, a strand of saliva still connecting their previously locked-lips before breaking apart, both men grinned at each other.
"So, I'm guessing you finally got all my hints?" Harry asked, eyes twinkling in a mischievous fashion. "I was beginning to wonder if you were as oblivious as I'm told to be."
"I'm not oblivious," Malfoy's eyes narrowed, licking moisture off his lips. "I just couldn't dare to ruin our friendship if I were to be wrong."
"I have a chance, then?"
"Oh, Potter," Malfoy smirked slyly, leaning forward and winking at the brunet. "You don't even realise how much of a chance you have."
An hour of snogging later, and Harry was very sure of his chances with Malfoy. Glancing down and brushing his lips on the drowsing blond's temple, Harry made a mental note to purchase Hermione some of her favourite chocolates.
After all, it was her advice that had made this possible, even if unknown on her part.
Author's Note:
I'll leave it up to you whether it was planned or not. XD Their luck is seriously too extreme for words.
Thank you for reading :3 Hopefully you enjoyed it enough to leave a review? Even if it is simply one word?