This story was my submission for the Riddikulus Fest, 2019. The prompt was "Draco trapped in a ferret body," but instead of going the usual route, I decided to be a little more metaphorical with it.

A few disclaimers: (1) I am not a medical or psychological professional. I am not an expert on mental health issues by a long shot, but I am a believer in the power of therapy. (2) There is some pretty colorful language in this fic that, while it is pretty indicative of teenage boy bro culture, may be offensive to some people. Like...even for me, this is pretty crass. So, reader beware. (3) These characters are flawed. That's literally the whole point of this fic-flaws and the journey of self-improvement...with a comic twist :) So, yeah. I know they're flawed. I meant to do it.

Props to my lovely beta, Saint Dionysus who is a master at working with my ridiculous time crunches.

I need better friends.

That's what Draco was thinking as he stared blankly at his reflection in the locker room mirror, dimly aware of his two best friends, Crabbe and Goyle, flicking one another with wet towels.

Staring with dead eyes through the mirror as the two buffoons started chasing one another, each trying to slap the other in the balls, he mentally tallied everything that was currently wrong in his life:

1) No girlfriend

Pansy had broken up with him at the beginning of the year, citing his "lack of commitment" as the reason. It was, she said, the beginning of their seventh year, which meant that he needed to start thinking about the future. How she could possibly say he wasn't committed to her was beyond him. He barely cheated on her anymore. Which segued nicely into the next catastrophe.

2) He hadn't had a shag in months.

For years, his good looks, Quidditch glory, and wealth had been more than enough to grant him access to the knickers of a good portion of the girls of shaggable age Hogwarts had to offer. Perhaps he had plowed through them too fast, because by now, his seventh year, the year he should be swimming in prime trim, they had all seemed to have gone off him. One or two had slapped him after he had attempted to chat them up. Apparently, girls liked to talk, and none were charmed by his promises that they were "the only girl he was shagging" and that he would "definitely make them his girlfriend." Odd. Girls didn't like when men lied to them. He'd have to make a note of that in the future.

3) No more Quidditch

He had just played the final game of Quidditch he would ever play at Hogwarts. He knew this because Hufflepuff had just flattened them, and he hadn't caught so much as a glance of the Snitch in the past two games. Slytherin was out of the playoffs, so the whole point of even being at Hogwarts (snatches and snitches) was moot. Which reminded him.

4) N.E.W.T.s

His classes were blasting his never-used balls into raisins. He had always been a top student, but this year, his grades had slipped to barely above mediocre, which meant he needed to…(gulp) study to do well. He wasn't a fan.

It was his friends. He knew it. It had to be. Years of being the sole source of substance in the lump of waste that was a Crabbe and Goyle sandwich had made him lazy and complacent. Where was his ambition? Where was the challenge?

"Oi, Draco, come and see! I think Greg's passed out!" Crabbe's stupid face was jubilant as he sat firmly on Goyle's chest.

Draco sighed. "When he wakes, tell him our friendship is over."

"Will do!"

Pathetic.

Blaise Zabini was six moves away from checkmate. Five if Theo Nott made a stupid mistake, which, from the way Draco gauged the game was going, was likely. But right now, they were both in decent moods. Better for them both to be suspended in a state of tension than for either one of them to be upset. He approached.

"Evening gents."

"Go away, Malfoy," Theo said, his chin resting in his palms as he glared at the chessboard.

"I realize I've not exactly been friendly with either of you," he said, ignoring Theo's request. "But I'd like to change that."

Blaise chuckled under his breath. "I hope your queen likes black cock, Theo, because that's what she's about to get." With another move, he put him in check. "Hard."

"Bollocks," Theo said, nearly emotionless, as though he was almost used to losing to Blaise at this point. "I concede."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Pussy. There's no fun in it if you just roll over and give it to me."

"Title of your sex tape?" Draco said, chiming in.

Both sets of eyes looked at him.

Blaise cleared his throat. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"I want to be friends with you lot."

Theo stared at him with a condescending grin spreading across his face while Blaise leaned back in his chair and appraised the blond. "Why?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why now? We've known each other for seven years now, and you have never once displayed the slightest interest in friendship with either of us. So, what's changed? You can't get off anymore during your nightly circle jerk with Crabbe and Goyle?"

Theo snickered, and the two shared a fist bump.

Draco stared at the exchange with amusement. "You see, that is what I want."

"A…circle jerk with Crabbe and Goyle?", Blaise said in mock confusion.

"An interaction with a friend on equal terms," Draco said over the sound of Theo's ever-loudening snickering. "I want to be mates with people who don't put up with my shit."

"So, you acknowledge that you're full of shit," Theo said, framing the statement more as an observation than a question.

"Look, I'm not asking you for a kidney or anything. I'm just saying I want to be your friend." It was like The Rejected Potter Handshake from First Year all over again.

"Well, I want Hermione Granger to sit on my face, but we can't have everything we want, can we," Theo said, setting the board up for another game.

Draco winced. "Gross, and how about I play you for it?"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "You want to beat us in chess just so you can be our friend?"

"No. I want to beat Nott because he's a shit player."

"Okay, this is what I'm talking about," Theo said, looking up from the board. "You're a poshy twat, and every time you open your mouth, you say poshy twat things. Plus, your hair's a bit gay." He returned his focus to the chess board. "And I don't like you."

"Okay, okay. Interesting points you're making there, Nott," Draco said, oddly composed. "But I would like to make myself clear. If you ever talk to me like that again, I will punch through your arsehole, pull out your skeleton, and wear your skin like a fire suit."

Both Blaise and Theo looked up from the chessboard at Malfoy. His expression was oddly blank, as though he had just made a tepid comment about the weather.

"Aw, fuck it," Blaise said. "What harm could it do? I think he needs us, Theo."

Theo shrugged. "Whatever. But now that you're friends with people who actually get laid, you'd best watch where you stick it." Something about the set of his jaw made Draco wonder…

"Did I ever fuck someone you fancied or something?"

He looked up from the board. "Remember Lisa Turpin?"

Draco snorted. "Do I ever. Never saw a fanny I didn't like before Lisa Turpin." He shook himself dramatically. "Looked like a kicked over trifle."

Theo blinked. "Yeah, well, she was my girlfriend, and she cheated on me with you."

He stopped snickering. This was evidently the wrong crowd. "Well, uh…sorry about that, mate. She didn't say she had a—"

"She was the perfect spooning size for me." The corners of his mouth moved up ever so slightly. "But I will admit, she did have a screwy-looking snatch."

And thus, the bromance of the ages was formed.

You could say his friendship with Theo and Blaise saved him.

Having peers, true equals, as companions had already opened his eyes to what a fuckstick he had always been. When he caught himself accidentally slipping into old habits and telling his new friends what to do, they would respond with a casual middle finger and an invitation to fuck himself up his own arse. As a result, he had learned that to get what one wanted, one must utilize their intelligence, skills of observation, and personal attributes to the best of their abilities. In short, Draco learned what it meant to try.

He reduced the amount of hair gel he used by 75% and stopped wearing clothes that made him look like a psychopathic vicar. Girls looked at him more.

He played wizard chess and studied with his new friends. They held actual conversations with multisyllabic words and the exquisite push and pull of having one's ideas challenged. His grades went up.

It's true what they say about how the power of association could affect a life so incredibly. He had wasted so much time basking in the adoration of yes-men that he was only now beginning to come into his own as Draco Malfoy.

He told Theo and Blaise just as much one morning, over breakfast as the three were discussing their plans for the weekend.

"If I had become friends with you lot sooner, do you think that I could have become like…an actual nice person?"

"No," they both said simultaneously.

"But no sweat. It's part of your thing," Blaise said, done with this conversation. "So anyway, I think I might have a shot with Ginny Weasley."

Theo snorted into his eggs. "You have a better shot at an orgy with her brothers than you do with Ginny Weasley."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Okay. Explain this to me. Why exactly would you even want a shot with her?"

Blaise blinked at him. "Be…cause I would like to have intercourse with her? I'm sorry, what's your question?"

"That's it. Right there. Why would you want to fuck a witch whose family is a notorious pack of freckled orangutans with an empty Gringott's vault?"

"Oh. I see. You're a cock." Blaise returned his attention to his breakfast.

"No, no, this isn't me being a cock. This is—"

"You relapsing into your poshy twatness," Theo said. "Careful, Draco. Your father also gave you your signature hairstyle. Who's to say his rhetoric isn't equally bullshit?"

Draco looked at Blaise. "So you really don't have a problem with her Weasleyness?"

Blaise snickered. "Not all of us beat off to our family trees, Draco. Look at me. I don't even have a family. When my mum isn't shopping or throwing up what she ate for lunch, she's brushing up on her poison-making skills because Daddy Number 12 isn't "the one" either."

"Allegedly," Theo said, pointing his fork at Blaise.

"The point is," Blaise continued, "Ginny Weasley is gorgeous, and her family could be a gang of tree squirrels, and I'd still want her. I can't tell you how many times I fucked my fist thinking about how she looks in her Quidditch—"

"Okay," Draco said. "I get it. Your cock likes her. Enough said." He took a thoughtful sip of tea before abruptly saying, "Does it not even bother you that she's Potter's sloppy seconds?"

Blaise dropped his fork and held his head in his hands. "Believe it or not, Draco," he said, speaking slowly as if to a child, "not all of us harbor an irrational hatred of Potter & Co. It's another relic of your childhood you should let go."

Theo nodded. "If you were really a 'changed man' or whatever, you'd shake Potter's hand, assuming he'd let you, am I right?" He and Blaise shared a fist bump whilst Draco glowered. "You'd apologize for all the cuntish shit you've done to him over the years—"

"He's just as bad!"

"—and you'd do the same to Weasley and Granger."

"Okay, there. Hold on. I've never done any 'cuntish shit' to Granger."

Theo and Blaise shared a knowing eye roll. "Sure," said Theo, unconvinced.

Commotion near the Gryffindor table momentarily distracted the three friends. It was Cormac McLaggen entering the Great Hall. "Captain Blackout reporting for Bootaaay!" It was his hangover call. He did it every time.

Every. Time. Once would have been too often. Normally, Draco would have ignored him, but this morning, McLaggen was attempting to do perhaps the stupidest thing he had yet to do in his existence.

He was trying to chat up Hermione Granger. Even from the next table over, her impartiality to his advances was deafening.

"So I hear this morning from my boy Shay Dog," Draco could only assume he meant Finnegan, "that you and you and Weasley split."

"Yup. Six months ago." She said nothing more but rose from the table without finishing her breakfast.

He made a clicking sound with his jaw. "That's tough, that's tough. But you know how gingers be. And you gotta get back out there, you know what I'm sayin', luv?"

"Don't call me—"

"And anytime you're feeling lonely, and you wanna soak up my Vitamin D, you let me know. Alright?"

"You're an egregious human being," she said evenly.

He grinned, obviously unaware of what 'egregious' meant. "You know it."

Draco rolled his eyes. If McLaggen wanted to throw dick at Granger, maybe he could do it in a more private setting so bystanders wouldn't risk losing their breakfast. "Disgusting."

"What?" Theo asked, absently.

Draco vaguely gestured towards the Gryffindor table. "That."

Blaise and Theo turned to look, and then both followed suit by rolling their eyes. "As if he'd have a chance with her."

"Exactly," Draco said. "Bitch probably doesn't even have girl parts."

Theo and Blaise both dropped their silverware and stared at Draco. Several moments went by without him noticing before looking up from his meal to ask, "What? Did I say something wrong?"

"You've just proved my point, mate," Theo said. "You can't really say you're 'a changed man' or whatever because you still have that stupid thing with Potter and his lot." Theo didn't seem interested in pushing the point further. His interest lay entirely in finishing his breakfast.

Draco, however, did not enjoy having others make incorrect observations about his life, and had no wish to drop it. And besides, Theo was wrong. They were both wrong. People assumed that Draco lived in a simmering state of loathing, ready to boil over at any moment, towards Potter, Weasley, and Granger. But really, Draco simply couldn't care less about their existence. He was over it. As people, they did not interest or impress him. "You're wrong."

Theo shrugged. "Whatever," he said taking a sip of his pumpkin juice. "Hey, pass us the ketchup, will you?"

"I have changed. And my apathy towards Potter is proof of that."

"Okay. Fine. I don't care. Blaise, be a lamb and pass me the ketchup?"

Draco stirred his tea, absently, trying and failing not to care about what his friends thought of him. "I just want it acknowledged, that's all."

"What?" Blaise asked, reading the Prophet.

"That I've changed."

"You've changed."

"See, you say that, but I'm not getting the feeling that you really mean it."

Blaise put down his newspaper and made a show of providing Draco with his undivided attention. "Mate, my interest in this conversation reached its capacity a while ago. Theo and I just made a casual observation about Granger's general snack factor. And you disagreed. You're entitled to do that. You have no obligation to wank to the same birds we do. Can I go back to my paper now?"

Theo, who had now finished his breakfast, re-entered the conversation with renewed interest. "However," he said, folding his hands on the table in front of him, "you might want to reexamine the reason why you would just assume that Hermione Granger doesn't have girl parts. It's not just a matter of taste at that point, you know. It's just…general blindness. Just take a second and look over at her if you will."

Draco did.

"You'll notice that unless she stuffs her bra, there are two easily identifiable things attached to her chest that would differentiate her from the male population."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Merlin, you do love to hear yourself talk, don't you? It must be a side-effect of being shite at chess. Pants at strategy, overcompensate with words."

"Deflect all you want, mate. I'm just saying, you're missing out on some prime wanks. There's a lot of possibilities there."

Now, officially in a bad mood, Draco pushed his plate away and proceeded to sulk.

Just because I never thought about Granger that way doesn't mean I'm still a shite.

He repeated this mantra to himself in Potions whilst glaring at the back of Granger's head. The distraction caused him to slice his leeches a little less delicately than usual, which made his Hiccoughing Solution too thick.

He cursed himself all the way to Transfiguration, where Granger received glowing praise from Professor McGonagall for transforming a student chair into a rather (in Draco's opinion) tacky chaise lounge.

Draco didn't see what all the fuss was about. So, she turned a chair into a different chair. And seriously, who in their right mind would actually use silk cushions on a chaise? The house elves would be beside themselves every time someone would try to sit on it. And gold paneling? Honestly, it was like something out of a poor person's imagination of what rich people would sit on. Merlin forbid Granger ever actually come into any money. She'd probably turn her home into a replica of Versailles.

"Something you would like to share with the class, Mr Malfoy?" A sharp, icy Scottish brogue cut through his reverie. It was the voice he conjured in his imagination as a thirteen-year-old to control spontaneous erections.

Apparently, he had been scowling. He looked up to find both Granger and McGonagall looking at him with their hands on their hips. He stifled the urge to laugh at the fact that of course Granger would have internalized a plethora of McGonagallisms, including her posture.

"Not at all Professor. Just ruminating on how I could never, ever, ever create something quite like this myself."

The comment earned a couple of snickers from Slytherin females, likely those who agreed that Granger had no taste. Wonderboy and Weasel—that is—Potter and Weasley didn't seem to understand exactly how he had insulted Granger, but they were certain that he had from the twin scowls they sent his way.

They mouthed a word at him they had mouthed a hundred times. For the past three years, they'd sneer the word at him anytime they could. Anytime they made eye contact with him. He doubted they even remembered his given name at this point, but they'd remember this word when they were on their deathbeds.

Idiots.

But Draco was over it. Completely and totally over it. What they did or said was of no concern to him. He thought about how over it he was as he left the classroom, bumping into a figure on his way out.

"Watch where you're going, Ferret," Granger said with pure venom in her shrill voice. A chorus of Gryffindor laughter followed him out.

Theo tsked disapprovingly at him.

"What? What did I bloody do now?" Draco asked.

"I'm just saying. I will undoubtedly masturbate later this evening to the thought of screwing Granger on that chaise lounge. And you were so obsessed with furniture, you couldn't see that there are different types of quality."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You sound like a bad greeting card, and I wish you luck on your impending toss. Hopefully, you won't accidentally think about McGonagall wrestling the Giant Squid again. The similarity is uncanny." Fucking bitch. Now he remembered why he didn't like Granger to begin with. It wasn't the know-it-all thing or the frizzy hair. Neither of those were sticking points in Draco's mind. The world was full of swots with bad hair whose names Draco would never remember. It wasn't the Muggleborn thing either. Bloody purity was akin to religion. It was the opiate of the pure-blood sheeple, of which, Draco refused to be. When one thought about it, there was nothing more low-class than dogma.

No. The reason Draco had always disliked Granger, is because she was a fucking bitch. It was something no one realized about her. All they saw was how nice she was to social pariahs like Longbottom and Lovegood. How much she cared about lost causes like that half-giant idiot professor whose name Draco had already forgotten, and house elves. But no one could see what Draco could see loud and clear. Hermione Granger was a cunt. Plain and simple.

"That was admittedly not my proudest fap, which I told to you in bloody confidence." Theo was still on about the McGonagall sex dream, which he never should have shared with Draco in the first place. "And by the fucking way, you just proved my point from this morn—"

Blaise, who had been quiet, clapped Theo on the shoulder, "Mate, don't do it. Don't do this to me. I am officially no longer interested in Draco's schoolboy vendettas, and if you keep this up, it is all we are going to bloody hear about for the next few days."

It was too late. Draco had been wound up since breakfast and Theo had just fed the beast. "I hAvE CHaNgED godDAMmit! Just because Granger is a foul, stuck-up, sexless bint—"

Blaise snorted. "Mate, don't take this the wrong way, but you really do kind of look like a ferret right now."

Draco faintly registered Theo cackling in the background as the ringing sound in his ears built up to a deafening tempo. A dull crack in his skull made way for a forehead vein that had not previously existed to make its way to the forefront and proceed to throb pointedly at Blaise.

He blacked out.

His head hurt. It was the first thing he noticed. His eyes didn't seem to want to open. "Mrrrhhh." It was the only noise he could make.

"Oh good. You're awake."

Madam Pomfrey? Was he in the hospital wing?

He opened his eyes, forcing the vaulted ceiling into focus. He shifted slightly in his bed to find that he could move neither his hands nor his feet. Both were strapped to the bed.

"Wh t'fck gng nnnnn?" He asked. Vowels escaped him. He recognized that tale-tell sign that he had been given some sort of Calming Draught. He felt light-headed.

"Mr Malfoy, I realize you must be alarmed, but I'm afraid the constraints were necessary. You could have badly hurt Mr Zabini."

"Whhhhhh?"

"Yes, I'm afraid you attacked him."

Draco blinked dumbly at her. So many questions he wanted to ask. So many things he needed to know.

"But Mr Zabini has graciously agreed not to press charges. In fact, he has insisted that he be allowed to see you once you have woken up. He seems quite worried about you."

"Mmmm?" Draco asked, pointing his thumbs slightly towards himself.

"Yes, Mr Malfoy. It seems you have a good friend in Mr Zabini. And Mr Nott is here too. They will both be happy to hear that you have woken up."

Draco smacked his lips together to try to force real words out of his mouth.

"You must be parched. I'll be right back."

She disappeared behind a curtain, leaving Draco to make whiny, abandoned-boy noises. She appeared with a glass of water, which tasted like Life itself, and a spoonful of Pepperup Potion.

"Fucking hell, you'd think they'd come up with a way to make it not taste like piss!"

"Nice to see you're back to yourself Mr Malfoy. I'll tell your friends that you have awoken."

She vanished his constraints as she walked away, giving Draco a moment to wiggle his hands and feet, bringing feeling back to his body.

Blaise and Theo both emerged from behind the curtain, looking at him with tense apprehension.

"You alright, mate?"

"Me?" Draco asked. "I attacked you, if Pomfrey is to be believed. Why aren't you in the bed next to me?"

"Well," Blaise said, "luckily for me, you're not really all that strong. In fact, you kind of hit like a girl, truth be told, no offense mate."

Draco blinked at him. "I…I don't remember it."

"Yeah, it was fucking trippy," Theo said. "Your eyes went all dark. And you tried to bite him. It was like you were somewhere else. Or someone else."

"So…yeah. Um…" Blaise looked uncomfortable. "There's a Mind Healer here?" He phrased it like a question. "And McGonagall insists that you talk to him because…apparently…me calling you a….you know…it triggered something?"

"Huh," Draco said. "Interesting. Please thank McGonagall for her concern, but I do not need a Mind Healer."

"I'm afraid you do, son," said someone new, someone Draco didn't know, as he emerged from behind the curtain. He was short, bald, and wore bifocals that made Potter's specs look like adorable little contact lenses. Draco bet he was one of those blokes who called his wife 'Mother.' "Healer Benjamin Thorkelson, Head of Psychiatry at St. Mungo's. But you can call me 'Ben,' so long as I can call you 'Draco.' How does that sound?"

Draco blinked at the strange man. "Well, Ben, the first thing you need to know about me is that I might be crazy, but I am not retarded, so you don't need to speak to me like I'm seven."

Ben sighed in an infuriatingly understanding way and sat in a chair next to him. "I understand you're feeling confused. I would be too. Anyone would who had undergone an episode they couldn't remember. It's a terrifying time. It's enough to make anyone lash out."

Draco banged his head on his pillow. "I don't need this. I really don't. I know all your patients probably say that to you, but I really don't need it."

"Mate," Blaise said, "just hear him out. It's not going to hurt you to talk to someone."

"Draco," Ben said, leaning forward in his chair, "I understand that when you were fourteen, you endured a rather traumatic episode in which a criminal degenerate disguised as a professor transformed you into a ferret for seventy-three seconds and bounced you up and down on the stone floor."

Draco grumbled. "It was a long time ago."

"It was three years ago." He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "That must have been a very painful experience. The bones of a ferret are rather small and easily breakable. It's a wonder that you didn't experience any lasting physical—"

"Are you quite finished?" Draco asked. "Yes, it bloody hurt, but I don't think about…fucking…boo-boos I had when I was fourteen because I'm not a fucking girly little crybaby like Longbottom or something."

"Um, mate," Theo said, speaking up. "There was that thing with the hippogriff our third year. And you weren't exactly a hero about it."

"Shut your cock cozy, Theo!" Draco said in an outburst. "If you're not going to say anything helpful, you can bloody well leave."

"There's no need to push your friends away, Draco," Ben said. "Theo is just concerned about you. As is Blaise. As is Professor McGonagall. As am I." He leaned forward again and fixed Draco with a serious look. "I believe that you are still suffering from trauma you experienced as a result of the incident your fourth year. Madam Pomfrey said that she remembers it well and that afterward, you did not seek medical attention."

"No need," Draco said, his jaw set firmly in resolve to be as difficult and as healthy as possible.

"Did you speak about the incident with any of your friends?"

"Did I…?" Draco laughed. "No, you fucking quack, because all my friends bloody saw the whole goddamned thing. Everyone saw it. My friends, my acquaintances, my enemies. Girls I fancied at the time. Girls I didn't fancy at the time but fancied later. Everyone saw The Amazing Bouncing Ferret shit himself and they all just stood there and laughed."

He could still see it. See their faces from his little beady eyes as they doubled over with laughter while the bones in his tiny ferret body creaked from the force of the floor against him. He could still taste the bile in his throat as he struggled not to vomit. He could feel the shit leaking uncontrollably out of his animal body from fear that this is how he would die. Stuck in the body of a bloody ferret. A real legacy to the Malfoy name.

"They still call me 'Ferret Boy,' you know?" He said, now on a roll and unable to stop. "Potter, Granger, Weasley, all those moron Gryffindors still love to throw the whole thing in my face like it was the most hilarious thing they'd ever seen. Potter and Weasley, yeah I'd expect that out of them because they're both total and complete dildos, but Granger is supposed to be smart, so I would imagine she is well aware of the implications that follow The Amazing Bouncing Ferret. I'm sure she knows exactly what it meant to me. She knows that it felt like a thousand needles were being pushed into me, and that I was so fucking scared. And she doesn't care." Draco sat back on his pillows. "So why should I care? Why shouldn't this be something I can just have a good laugh at like everybody else?"

"My boy," Ben said as he removed his glasses, "what happened to you was most certainly not funny. And if you'll allow me, I really think I can help you."

And that's how Draco Malfoy found himself in therapy.

TBC...