Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, places or situations in this story and will not make any money on them. JK Rowling deserves all credit for this fabulous universe and you can all direct your money toward her so she will continue to write!
Author's Notes: I want to thank my beta and all the writers of fanfic in the HP world who have inspired me to post this story. Also I send all my love to the slasher's coven and especially PhoenixSong, who wrote "Eclipse" and has been a huge mentor in my travels through the HP Fanverse. BUT! This story is not slash. I'm not ready to write it yet, but it's coming soon!
Summary: Draco spends three years learning the animagus spell. Now that he's figured it out, what kind of trouble will he get into? Not Slash!
* * * * * * * *
Draco stood alone in the classroom, trying not to get frustrated again. He had been working on this spell for the past three years under his father's coaching. Although he knew it was one of the most complex and difficult spells to master, he could not help but feel let down every time he failed. Tonight he had been at it for only an hour when he started to lose his patience. His father had mastered this spell in only two years, and Draco had been giving it all his spare time lately. If he could learn the spell, what an asset he could be to his father and the Dark Lord! Once he was able to assume his chosen dragonfly shape, he should be able to spy on Potter whenever he had the opportunity. The thought of being able to reveal some crucial tidbit of information to his father gave him shivers of anticipation. However, he had to master the transfiguration spell first, and so stood in the alcove of an unused classroom while the rest of the Hogwarts students had dinner.
Draco sighed and closed his platinum gray eyes, concentrating on what he wanted to become. He tuned out the sounds of the four houses laughing and clattering from the Great Hall below. Moving his wand through a complicated series of maneuvers, he spoke the spell quietly, under his breath. Draco repeated his mantra "Dracaenas Insecticus". Trying not to hope too hard, he brought all his thought to bear on the shape he wanted to assume. His aim was a brilliant green dragonfly with shimmering wings, one of his favorite flying insects. Although the Malfoys had long been masters of the Dark Arts, none were immune to beauty. Draco had had the importance of image drilled into him as a youth, and he still strove for perfection no matter what he was doing.
While he stood there, eyes closed, lithe body relaxed, he thought of the dragonfly. He pictured the insect in detail, it's shimmering green body and tail a sharp contrast to the transparent glitter of the oversized wings. He let his mind form around the image; large black eyes that sparkled like faceted jewels, the long tail extending behind the body, wings poised just about to take flight. In the heat of an intense chase after the snitch, his green and silver cloak would billow out behind him. The wind would tear at his spun silver hair and he could believe he was the graceful swooping bug he now desired to become. Holding the image in his mind, he felt it begin to happen. His feet began to shrink and join together to form the body of the shining insect, and his fingertips began to tingle as they transformed into the cellophane wings. Startled, Draco's eyes flew open, and a myriad of colors and shapes bombarded his senses.
Fear flooded his body as he struggled to sort out hundreds of images the insects eyes were receiving. He instinctively reached his hands to his eyes, and his wings responded by lifting him effortlessly off the floor and into the air. He screamed in frustration as his body whirled out of control, and a tiny buzz escaped his mouth. "Ugh, maybe this wasn't such a grand idea after all," Draco thought, "I think I might be sick!" This twirling, erratic flight was nothing at all like riding a broom. Worse yet, with all the spinning, he couldn't keep a coherent thought long enough to pronounce the disenchantment. Trying to get some control, he managed to hold steady near the ceiling for a moment. "At last!" he sighed. "Finite Incantatum!"
Draco crashed to the floor. Dazed, head reeling from the impact, he lifted himself slowly to a sitting position. Keeping his eyes closed, he felt for bruises; gingerly he touched his legs and arms. His leg seemed very sore, so he opened his eyes to get a closer look. Pulling up his trouser leg revealed a nasty purple and green contusion forming under the skin. He tried to decide if Madame Pomfrey could be convinced of an accident during Quidditch practice, a lie he had used before when he did not want to explain an uncomfortable injury. A sigh of utter disgust escaped his lips as he took in the state of his appearance. His pale blond locks fell in disarray, his clothes and robes looked disheveled. I'll have to head back to the dorm, he thought, Malfoys never show a lack of finesse!
Elation belatedly swept over him, temporarily blocking the pain of various cuts and scrapes. He had done it! He finally, finally had managed the transformation! He sat stunned, taking in this incredible feat. In its wake came a new sensation: hunger. He had to get to dinner as fast as he could; something was trying to gnaw a hole through his middle. Slowly and carefully, he clambered to his feet, straightening his robes as best he could. He ran a hand through his fine hair absentmindedly, refusing to go all the way down to the dungeon for his comb. Some excuse would come to his lips. Lying was his forte, after all!
He had to tell his father. Possibly, he would finally gain his father's pride. An owl! He'd send an owl! But not just now, he needed food first, and some time to think how he would encode the letter. He turned to the door of the unused classroom and pressed his ear against the rough wood to listen carefully before turning the handle. It wouldn't do for someone to catch him at this point, when he was starting to get the spell right! He stepped into the quiet hallway and headed toward the main corridor. Once across from the great hall, where most everyone was still at dinner, he glanced at his reflection in the Slytherin hourglass of house points. A triumphant smirk played over his lips, his only colorful feature. Without their subtle ruby color, he knew he'd look as pale as a moonbeam. His hair seemed windblown, as if he had just come off the pitch. He gave his tunic and trousers one last tug before heading to his house table.
He took his usual seat between Crabbe and Goyle, who had devoured several plates worth of food already. Draco had to ask for a full platter of thinly sliced beef and a tray of rolls from further down the table. He couldn't remember being so hungry before; was this a side effect of the spell he had just worked? Goyle turned his head for a moment to grunt a greeting, and Crabbe took his eyes off his plate long enough to follow suit. Crabbe did a double take, but Draco just shook his head a bit and mouthed "later", so he went right back to eating. Malfoys' goons were so intent on their food, he felt confident that Crabbe would forget his tousled looks. He chuckled silently at the thought of Crabbe waking in the middle of the night wondering why Draco had looked such a mess. However, with the arrival of morning, it would be just another dream.
Draco mused silently over his triumph, excited to share the news with his father. How should he word the letter? It had to be just right, if someone intercepted the owl to read the message; there could be no clue of the true meaning enclosed. Yet, it had to be clear to his father. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he ate without tasting his meal. Around him, students began to leave the hall for their common rooms. When the last Slytherin got up to leave, he touched Draco on the shoulder hesitantly. Physical touch wasn't something one took up lightly with the younger Malfoy. Draco started out of his reverie and looked up at the second year student.
"Don't you think its time to head back to the common room? I know you've got that big Transfiguration exam tomorrow." He indicated the empty room with a wave of his hand, "Besides, everyone else has already gone". Draco looked at the platter in front of him, noticing for the first time since he sat down that is was nearly empty.
"I'll be right behind you, just let me grab my stuff. Thanks," Draco said absently. The boy looked at him oddly, wondering where the real Draco Malfoy was hiding. This was both the longest and nicest sentence the pale blond had ever uttered in his presence. Draco caught the look on his face and made an effort to undo the damage. If I can't control my excitement, everyone will know something is up, he thought.
"Are you okay?" the boy asked timidly.
"Oh, yeah, I just finally got the hang of that last spell we were working on today, and I'm still thinking about it". Draco obviously still wasn't himself and tried desperately to resurrect his normally brusque tone. " Listen, I'm really tired, so shove off, will you?" The younger Slytherin's face relaxed - that seemed more like the self absorbed Draco he knew. The boy took himself off to Draco's relief, and he looked down at his plate with a sigh of regret. There was absolutely no way he could stuff another morsel of food into his stomach, yet he felt as if he had barely taken the edge off his hunger. Grabbing a couple rolls and the last slice of beef, he took himself and his books out the door.
Descending the stairs to the dungeons where the Slytherin common room was located, he passed several students on their way to the library. All he could think about was the pleasure on his father's face as he read the letter Draco was about to send. A few of the students noticed the look on his face and speculated. Draco was a bit of a champion in the Slytherin house, his insults and pranks on Harry Potter were legendary, and the younger set looked up to him.
"What d'ya suppose he's up to?'' queried Malcolm, a quiet first year. Pansy Parkinson, who was escorting them, shrugged helplessly. "I dunno, but Potter better watch out if that look in Draco's eye has got his name on it!''
"Isn't that the boy who was trying to eat a whole plate of roast by himself tonight?" asked Graham Pritchard, another first year student.
Pansy Parkinson hissed, "If he hears you say that, you're dead! Draco is the son of Lucius Malfoy, one of the most powerful Death Eaters of his day! He's a student of the Dark Arts, and it's your life to say anything against him!" The first years shivered, a little with fear but also with admiration plain on their faces.
Draco walked on to the common room; barely noticing the whispered remarks that followed his passage. He was used to people talking about him when he passed by, and as a Malfoy, he almost expected it. He looked especially fetching in his house colors of green and silver, so he preferred his Quidditch gear to his everyday robes. He felt the starkness of the solid black washed out his coloring too much.
Draco mumbled the password at the blank stone wall that was the door to his common room, and it slowly slid open by itself to let him in. Quickly he made his way to his dorm to leave his books next to his bed and his food on his desk, then turned to leave again. He nearly ran smack into Crabbe. The big lug was standing right behind him, hovering over him as if he were preventing his escape.
"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" Crabbe asked.
"I've got to send my father an owl tonight. I need some money for Hogsmeade this weekend." See, lying is so easy for me! I hardly have to think about it! Draco mentally gave himself a pat on the back. I'm not that dodgy, Crabbe won't suspect.
"Can I have that sandwich you brought back?" he asked, eyeing over Draco's shoulder.
"Crabbe, haven't you eaten enough tonight? I'm saving that for later…I've got that exam tomorrow to study for."
"Ugh, right then." Crabbe shifted his feet in disappointment. "See you when you get back from the owlery. Want me to save you your spot by the fire tonight?"
"I think it'll hold itself. If it doesn't, I'll just have some entertainment when I get back, wont I?'' Draco grinned evilly. Crabbe snickered and nodded in agreement. A few moments passed as Draco waited for him to move out of his way.
"All Right, Crabbe?"
"Huh?'
"You're blocking me in!" Honestly, he could be so slow, sometimes.
"Oh, sorry. See you." Crabbe lumbered out of his way, through the archway toward the common room. Rolling his eyes and shaking his head in amazement, Draco wished their families hadn't grown up together. He frequently had to baby-sit them, especially on Hogsmeade weekends. If they made the Death Eaters like their fathers before them, Draco felt he would eat his own dragon-hide shoes. He'd be much further along in his own studies if he didn't constantly have to keep after the two witless wonders.
Once he got out from behind Crabbe's bulk, he picked up his pace. At the rate he was going, he'd never get that letter off to his father tonight. The hallways looked clear as he exited the common room. With a sigh of relief, he bolted up the stairs toward the owlery. Located in one of the topmost towers in the castle, the owlery was a large round room that had open windows on several sides. There were perches everywhere, and droppings covered the straw strewn floor. Draco looked around for just the right owl to send; he wanted a quick one that might get to his father tonight. He noted a brown owl up near the rafters and called to it softly. It drifted down to a waist high perch and looked at Draco curiously. He pulled a roll of parchment from his robe pocket, and reread the message he had penned during dinner.
" Dear Father:
I wanted to let you know that I am making progress in Transfiguration. I think I may finally come out ahead of Granger in the exam next week.
Your loving son,
Draco"
He rolled it back up and showed it to the owl. "This is for Lucius Malfoy," he extended the letter, and the owl held up its foot. Draco began tying the letter to the proffered foot, and once he had it securely in place, he reached back into his pocket for an owl treat. Offering it in on his upturned palm, the owl delicately picked up the treat in his beak, then launched himself into the air and out the window. Draco breathed an audible sigh of relief. He had an urge to dance a little jig, but that was such an unMalfoy like thought that it caused his cheeks to burn. He turned and departed the owlery, heading back to his rooms for the night.
Uttering the password once more at the blank wall, he passed into the common room. He saw Crabbe and Goyle over by the fire, noses pressed into their transfiguration books. The seat he favored was indeed empty, he saw with a sigh of regret. There would be no sparring tonight on that account. He walked through the common room to his dorm, grabbed his books, and went to sit by the fire. He really did need to study, it was a difficult exam. However, he felt confident he'd pass the test, he rarely had trouble in his classes. Crabbe grunted a hello; Goyle just looked up with a blank expression and returned to his books. There was a pile of crumbs scattered on the table and floor, which the house elves would have to clean up later. Draco pulled out his notes, and sat quietly reading them until his eyes began to burn from fatigue. He looked over at Crabbe, who seemed to have fallen asleep with his head thrown back on the chair. Soft snores issued from his mouth. Goyle seemed barely alert, but when Draco said his name, he looked over.
" About time for bed, then, Goyle?" Draco suggested.
"Ugh, I guess. I'll wake up Crabbe." Goyle shoved Crabbe hard in the shoulder, which had the effect of toppling him over sideways. Draco sighed resignedly, and put his shoulder under Crabbe's arm, Goyle taking up the other side. This was so much routine for the boys that they didn't even speak as they lifted him out of the common room and off to the dorm. Thank heavens there are no stairs in our dorm, Draco mused, I can't imagine hauling this monster up them!
Finally they dropped Crabbe into his bed, and pulled the curtains around him. Draco shuffled to his own side of the small room, and began to remove his clothing. As meticulous as ever, he hung his robes in the wardrobe and folded his shirt, which he put on a chair for the elves to wash. He pulled on his pajama trousers and shirt, a fetching green and gray combo that showed his well-formed muscles to advantage. Rolling himself tightly into his blankets, he relived the excitement of the day, and tried to imagine his fathers' reaction upon hearing the news. A slow smile spread across his face, a true smile that no one was ever allowed to see. A warm glow suffused his body, and he drifted to sleep with the lullaby of Crabbe's snores buzzing in his ears.