OK folks, its been a while, but I is back with a brand new ficcie to celebrate my girl, Raffy's BDay! I tried to do something a little different this time, by which I mean, I tried to make this fic a lil more light hearted than I normally go for, just a bit of fun, you know? No smut this time, sorry folks, but, I hope you enjoy it all the same. And Raffy, you know I love you, Happy Birthday darling!
:AN
"No… Goyle, STOP!"
The normal undercurrent of muttered conversation that tended to permeate the Potions Dungeon during a lesson vanished as Malfoy's voice echoed off the cold stone walls. Every student turned to see what was going on at the cauldron that he and Gregory Goyle were sharing. Scowling slightly, Hermione looked up, blowing her fringe out of her eyes as she surveyed the scene. Goyle, never the brightest of chaps at the best of times, was standing over the cauldron, emptying an entire beaker full of crushed firebeetles into the Invisibility potion that he and Malfoy had just spent the better part of the afternoon brewing. Malfoy lunged, but was too slow to prevent his partner from making what Hermione knew was a terrible mistake.
The recipe for the Invisibility potion that Professor Snape had set the class this afternoon was very intricate and precise. Firebeetles were on the ingredients list, but the instructions that the Professor had given were quite clear. No more than a dozen beetles were to be added for every liter of potion being brewed, and even then the cauldron had to be taken off the heat for at least fifteen minutes before adding them. Dumping that many in while the potion was still boiling would…
Actually, Hermione wasn't entirely sure what it would do. She didn't have long to think about it however. It happened in an instant. One moment, Malfoy had shoved Goyle away from the cauldron and was staring crestfallen at the surface of the now ruined potion, the next, pandemonium!
Malfoy's potion began to fizz and hiss loudly, large clouds of purple and red smoke belched from the cauldron, accompanied by deep popping and bubbling noises as the think liquid began to boil over the edges of the cauldron. In less than three seconds, Malfoy was completely engulfed in the foul smelling fumes. The rest of the class drew back. There were loud squeals from some of the girls and hisses of shock from the boys. The smoke hung in the air, thick and foul. Somewhere there was a loud smash, followed by a terrified scream.
"SILENCE!!!" Professor Snape's voice cut through the sudden din like a red hot knife through butter, "Everyone remain where you are," he added. Hermione turned and squinted through the billowing smoke to see the Potions Master swishing through the class towards Malfoy's station. Snape waved his wand as he moved, conjuring enough of a breeze to stir the fumes. When he reached Malfoy's table, he flicked his wand, Scourgifying Malfoy's potion.
There was total silence now in the Potions Dungeon, no sound at all other than the simmering bubbling of the dozen remaining potions in their cauldrons, now totally forgotten by everyone, including, or so it seemed, Professor Snape.
"Now then," the Professor hissed, rounding on Goyle, "What is the meaning of this?"
Goyle's face creased up in fear as Snape stared him down, "I…" he began, "I, eh.. um… I."
Snape shook his head, "You messed up," he sighed, and then added in a slightly exasperated voice, "again!" The Potion's Master shook his head, "Honestly," he said, "I do not know what I am going to do with you. Never have I had a student with less aptitude for this craft," Snape paused, casting a despairing eye at the smouldering remnants of Malfoy's cauldron, which, now that the smoke had cleared, was clearly visible to the whole class, "Not even Longbottom could have managed this level of destruction with a few firebeetles!"
There was a gasp of surprise from the class. Hermione felt it too. Neville Longbottom had always faired dismally in Potions, a combination of his own absent mindedness, natural clumsiness and Snape's incessant bullying. Snape always bullied students he didn't like, which was practically all of them. Only the students in his own house, of which Goyle was a member, were spared. Everyone else, to a man, received the sharp end of Snape's temper on a regular basis, but Neville had always fared worse than most. Snape may have disliked most of the students he taught, but he 'hated' Neville with a passion, and the feeling was more than mutual. In first year, Snape had even threatened to poison Trevor, Neville's beloved pet toad, if Neville failed to properly brew a potion.
So it was a surprise then for Snape to elevate him above another student, even one as dim as Goyle. In fact, it was something of a minor miracle in the eyes of every Gryffindor in the room.
"I had hoped," Snape carried on, paying no heed to the stunned looks on the faces of the students around him, "that pairing you with Malfoy would be enough for you to learn something! But I see I was wrong," Snape turned, "Not even working with the brightest student in the class…"
Snape stopped, mid sentence. There was a fresh wave of gasps from the class. Snape, along with everyone else, had just noticed that Malfoy was no longer in the dungeon. The space where everyone had assumed he would be was simply empty.
"Malfoy?" Snape called, turning in the spot, "where…" The Professor tailed off. Everywhere he looked, he was greeted by the same bewildered expressions.
Hermione blinked, where could he have gone to? Automatically, she turned, scanning the rest of the dungeon, assuming, as was only logical, that he had just moved while she hadn't been paying attention, but no, he was nowhere in sight. The rest of the class seemed as clueless as she was. What could have happened? Malfoy had been standing less than five feet from her. He couldn't have left, surely someone would have noticed if he'd made for the door. With all the smoke that had been in the air, he'd have been moving blind in the dark. Someone would have noticed even if they hadn't actually seen him…
Then, in a flash, the answer occurred to her, "He's invisible!" she cried before she could stop herself.
Snape whirled to face her. Hermione felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment as her eyes met the Professor's. Snape paused for a moment, and then his eyes widened in comprehension, "Well," he hissed, "of course he is!" He turned and began to survey the class once more. Hermione had just let out a calming breath when the Professor turned and quipped over his shoulder, "And that will be twenty points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for disrupting my class."
"What the…" came the angry voice of Ron over the chorus of groans from the Gryffindor contingent, "Disruption?" he carried on, "And what do you call what HE just did?" He pointed a shaking finger at Goyle, who was still looking a little shaken by the events of the last few minutes.
"Ron," Hermione turned and hissed at him urgently, spotting the glint of rage in Snape's eye, "don't…"
"All Hermione did," Ron carried on, heedless to her words, "was figure out what happened to Malfoy. Why should she be punished for that?"
Snape turned to face Ron, "That will be another twenty points, Weasley, and," he added as Ron's mouth opened to protest, "if I hear one more sound from you, you will be doing detention until your grandchildren are attending Hogwarts. Do I make myself clear?"
For a moment, it appeared as though Ron would protest, but a sharp tug on his sleeve from Harry seemed to stall him in time. Glaring, he shut his mouth. Snape glared at him for a moment more, and then turned away. He called for Malfoy to reveal his whereabouts immediately so that he could administer the antidote, but he got no response. This, naturally enough, seemed to greatly annoy the Potions master, who had never before, to Hermione's knowledge at least, been faced with an invisible student that was refusing to obey his orders. Then again, just how often did that happen, even in Hogwarts, where the abnormally bizarre was par for the course on the average day.
Hermione shook her head and tried not to think about how unfair Snape's treatment of her had been. There was no sense in dwelling on it, she told herself, there was nothing she could do about it after all so, logically speaking… logically speaking he was just a simple minded prat! How would he like it if she transfigured his robes into a cocktail dress like the one her mother wore last July for her parents wedding anniversary. Oh, that would be sweet, old greasy hair in a pink frock! All those sequins would really bring out his figure!
Hermione schooled her features, catching the tiny smile that was twisting her lips as she pictured her Potions Master marching around the classroom, calling for Malfoy to show himself, while bedecked in her mother's Channel stunner. It would be so easy too. The charm was so basic and there was no way that Snape would see it coming. Of course, she would be expelled, but oh boy, what a way to go.
The class seemed to be finding Snape's fruitless search for the missing Malfoy quite amusing. As the Professor continued to call without answer, there were several sniggers from various quarters, all of which were cut short as Snape spun at every sound. He continued on his search, waving his arms through every open space, getting madder and madder with each step and only pausing to deduct points from just about anyone he made eye contact with.
Hermione scowled as she watched another fifty points vanish from Gryffindor for absolutely no reason. She found herself once again dreaming up interesting punishments. Gods, she thought, Snape looked so stupid, with his long, greasy hair flapping madly as he darted in and out between the desks. She wondered how he'd look in her old ballet costume. Ouch, the yellow tutu would clash horridly with Snape's oily hair, and he certainly didn't have the grace of a dancer, but that was nothing magic couldn't remedy. Snape's dying swan would be the must see show of a lifetime! A ballet that even Ron would enjoy watching. This time, Hermione didn't bother hiding the smile. Oh, if only!
Eventually though, even with her daydreaming, the amusement of the situation began to wear off. Snape continued to call out to and threaten Malfoy, but now his tone had gone from angry to dangerous, and yet, the errant Slytherin still didn't show himself. The remaining invisibility potions were by now, totally ruined, though nobody in the Potions Dungeon was even remotely worried about getting a failing grade. By the time the bell rang, Snape was apoplectic with rage. He had long since stopped searching for Malfoy, he had even lost the will to bully his class, which was yet one more definite first.
Nobody moved as the bell chimed. Class was over, as was the day, yet none of the students were willing to be the first one to move, one look at the vein throbbing in Snape's temple was enough to keep them all rooted to the spot.
Finally, after a full five minutes of utter, utter silence, Snape moved. It wasn't much, just a flick of his wand as he bewitched the dungeon door. It swung open slowly, creaking on its hinges. There was a heartbeat of silence, and then a mad dash for the freedom. In the chaos, people got squashed, slammed into cauldrons or just generally mauled as the class moshed to get out the doorway. They couldn't all fit at once, but that didn't stop them from trying.
Once out of the dungeon, there was a flurry of apologies relating to trodden feet or bruised ribs. There was also quite a lot of bag swapping going on. In the rush to get out of Snape's kill zone, pretty much everyone had grabbed the nearest thing to hand and then legged it. Now that the threat of death was no longer hanging over them, people were now trying to figure out exactly where all their stuff had wound up. Hermione shook her head and made for the stairs. She alone it seemed, had had the presence of mind to scoop her belongings into her own bag just moments before being frogmarched out of the dungeon by Harry and Ron, who seemed to think that she would want to stay behind to see if Snape was alright. She couldn't believe that. With any other teacher, they may have been right, but this was Snape! Sure, he was a teacher, but that didn't mean that he wasn't also a sadistic power-monger with a chip on his shoulder the size of the moon and, unless Hermione had missed her guess, a major inferiority complex of the more masculine nature, the type that would, say, make him uncomfortable showering with the boys after a Quidditch match.
Still, she had to admit that somewhere, deep, DEEP down inside, she felt sorry for him. To her knowledge, Snape had never been openly defied by a student in the way that Malfoy had just defied him. She doubted if anyone, even the Weasley twins, had ever possessed that much courage. She certainly hadn't expected if of Malfoy. He had always been Snape's golden boy. What did he think he was playing at? What did he hope to gain from staying invisible? She laughed to herself, knowing Malfoy, what he had to gain would probably involve a trip to the nearest girl's showers. That would be sweet. Far, far better than Snape in a tutu, Malfoy sneaking into a girls shower in Hogwarts would be the jape to end all japes. Was he really that stupid though? Did he really think that he could just stroll into the girls showers? Hell, boys couldn't even visit the girls dormitory in Gryffindor without setting off about a dozen alarms and Hermione knew for a fact (because Professor McGonagall had told her, in strictest confidence of course) that the last boy who had tried to spy on the girls showers in Ravenclaw had not only been expelled, but for the rest of his life, he would go all pale and sweaty whenever someone so much as mentioned the word 'chop'.
Grinning to herself, Hermione took the stairs two at a time as she climbed to the Gryffindor common room. As she reached the top landing, Hermione thought she heard someone calling her name, a tiny, far off whisper of a voice. She spun on the spot and looked around.
"Is there someone there?" she asked, seeing nobody.
"I don't think so, deary," came a familiar voice from behind her. Hermione turned to see the Fat Lady smiling benevolently down at her in her usual manner, "Password?"
Hermione hesitated for a moment, and then shrugged, "Tigerlilly," she answered.
"Very good dear," replied the Fat Lady, swinging forward on her hinges to reveal the entrance to the common room. Hermione scrambled through. There was nobody inside, which didn't come as a surprise to her. She had already assumed that most of Gryffindor house would be down at dinner, which was why she was up here. This way, she wouldn't have to queue for the shower like she had to in the morning, which meant she could get a proper shower, long, hot and steamy, what better way to end the day?
Hermione passed through the common room and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Crookshanks stirred from his spot on her bed and looked at her with his huge lamp-like eyes. Cooing her hellos to him, Hermione set her bag down by her bed and turned to her locker to get her shower things.
There was a thud on the floor behind her as Crookshanks jumped off the bed. Hermione expected him to wander over and twirl against her legs. She normally had a treat for him after her lessons and Crookshanks wasn't above a little gratuitous affection display if there was a bit of raw liver in it for him. Today though, her cat didn't come seeking his supper, instead he made a beeline for Hermione's bag, hissing madly. Hermione spun and leapt to the end of her bed, just barely snatching her bag from the floor before Crookshanks could pounce.
"Bad Crookshanks!" she scolded him, shooing him away gently with her foot, "You know you're not supposed to touch Mummy's school things!"
Hermione set the bag on her bed and turned away, satisfied that Crookshanks wouldn't disobey. She was wrong.
No sooner had the bag landed on the bed than the cat was after it again. Hissing madly, Crookshanks leapt off the floor and launched himself at her schoolbag.
"Crookshanks, NO!" Hermione yelled. Reaching out, she shoved Crookshanks away with one hand, while her other hand tugged the bag, flinging it across her bed and out of reach of the crazy feline. Then, she froze.
The bag had just made a noise. Something apart from the sound of several books, parchment and ink bottles clattering against one another. It had been small and very faint, but there had definitely been… a voice. In fact, if Hermione wasn't very much mistaken, her bag had just sworn at her.
Standing up straight, Hermione seized Crookshanks, who was already stalking toward the bag again, and set him down on the floor outside her room. "Go on, shoo!" she ordered him, flinging the tiny morsel of uncooked beef that she'd borrowed from the kitchen for him down the stairs. Crookshanks bounded after it, her schoolbag, and the mystery it contained, now forgotten as he chased the meat.
Hermione turned back into the room and stared at the bag, totally at a loss as to what had happened to it. As she stared at it, she thought she saw it move slightly, which didn't make her feel very brave if she was honest. Drawing her wand, she gingerly approached her bed, slowly coming to stand over her bag.
Sucking up her courage, she jabbed the bag with the tip of her wand. There was no mistaking it this time, there was a definite yelp from the bag. No, not from the bag, from INSIDE the bag. What the hell?
With the tip of her wand, Hermione flipped her bag open and peered inside. There was nothing immediately obvious at first glance, but with all her books and stuff, she couldn't really see much of what was in there. She needed a better look, but Hermione was no fool. There was something in there, that much she knew, and she wasn't about to go rummaging about inside without knowing what it was. So, taking the bag gingerly by one corner, she tugged, tipping the entire contents onto her bed. Hermione jumped as, amongst the thuds and thuds of her books hitting the bed, there was a definite cry of pain. It sounded almost human, but very small and high-pitched. What the hell was it?
Using her wand as a tool, Hermione began flipping books and shoving parchment around. She found nothing beyond what should have been in her bag until, flipping over her Transfiguration book, a sight that would stay with her until the day she died greeted her. There, lying on her bed, staring up at her with an expression of pure disdain, was a tiny, perfectly miniaturised Draco Malfoy.
"Oh, bloody hell!" exclaimed Malfoy, slamming one of his miniature hands against his tiny forehead.
Hermione stared in amazement. It was Malfoy, it really was. She watched as he picked himself up and stood unsteadily on her blanket, drawing himself up to his full height, all seven inches of him.
Malfoy glared at her, "And just what the hell are you staring at?" he asked, trying his best to sound menacing, but failing miserably. There is just no way for a doll sized teenage boy to sound even remotely scary, especially to a girl who still had her Ken doll at the bottom of her trunk, not that Hermione would ever admit that to anyone.
The only response she could give to Malfoy's question was a stifled giggle. Malfoy's glare deepened, "Stop that," he yelled at the top of his tiny voice, only succeeding in turning Hermione's giggle into a raging laugh. Clutching her stomach, she bent double as the fit of giggles overwhelmed her.
Malfoy, for his part, was not amused. As the huge bellows of laughter from the giant Gryffindor washed over him, threatening to deafen him, he could only scowl at the depth of his bad luck. What kind of bungling idiot was Goyle? Only he could managed to mess up an invisibility potion by turning it into a shrinking draught. Merlin's beard, there were wizards out there, wizards WITH brains, who couldn't have managed that, but that dunghead pulled it off flawlessly. Oh how he'd be sorry when Draco got his hands on him, he'd wish he'd never been born.
Hermione stumbled forward in mid laugh, and had to throw her arm out to steady herself. As her hand landed on the bed, the blanket shifted, knocking Draco clean off his feet.
"Oi!" he roared, "Watch it."
Granger blinked away the tears that had formed in her eyes, "S… sorry," she managed to say between giggles, "I… I didn't see you th.. there…"
And she was gone again, lost in mirth. Draco rolled his eyes. As if it wasn't bad enough to be reduced… Ouch, bad choice of words there… As if it wasn't bad enough to end up like this, now he had to deal with Granger. Of all the bags he could have wound up in, why, oh why did it have to be hers?
"When you're finished," he said sternly.
Granger took a breath and seemed to rein in her amusement somewhat, though not enough to hide the annoying grin on her face. "Ok," she sighed, "I'm done."
Her tone left a lot to be desired, she should show more respect when addressing him. Still, Draco thought, it was probably as good as he was going to get and, like it or not, he needed this Mudblood's help.
"Good," Draco said, "So… no doubt you're surprised to find me here… like this."
Granger nodded, grinning, "You could say that, yes."
"Yes," Draco forced his voice to remain calm, "Well its not by choice, you can be sure of that."
"Yet, here you are."
"Yes," Draco snarled at the merriment behind her voice, "Here I am. You can blame Goyle. That moron was the one who caused this…"
"This little problem of yours," Granger finished for him, descending once more into uncontrollable laughter.
Draco felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment. Was it not bad enough that he had to put up with what had happened to him, now he had to listen to this Mudblood's incessant snickering along with it?
"Granger!" he yelled, his voice, to his horror, coming out as a high-pitched shriek. Shaking his head, he tried again, "Granger!" he repeated, this time sounding a little more like himself.
Granger, thankfully, heard him this time, and turned to face him, her face once again concealing her delight.
"Right then," he said, trying to sound confident and in control, two things he most certainly was not feeling at the moment, "Let's face facts. You and I have never been friends, there's no point in denying it. Just as there is no point in denying that, had I have had a choice about which bag to jump into when this… this calamity happened to me, I would not have chosen yours. But needs must as the devil drives and all that, it was your bag or certain doom under Goyle's size 13 shoes."
Granger frowned at him, "Why didn't you show yourself before we left the class?"
"You think I didn't try?" Draco replied, exasperated, "I yelled myself hoarse. I even tried tugging on Snapes robes but the… but he didn't notice me," he paused to rub his leg, that had been a close call! "In any case," he continued before Granger could speak again, "it doesn't matter now. You have to help me fix this!"
Granger's face went blank, "Oh I do, do I?" she asked, sounding dangerous, "And just how do you figure that, after all the times you have insulted or threatened me, after all the times you have told me that I'm nothing but a filthy Mudblood who isn't fit to be in the same room as you, after all that, just how do you figure that I need to help you?"
Draco opened his mouth, then shut it again. Damn! That was a tough one. He needed to think fast. There really was no reason for her to help him. No reason at all really. She had all the power. Here he was, smaller than… smaller than her and trapped in her room. What could he possibly use for leverage?
Then it occurred to him, he had all the leverage he needed, "Well," he said, "put it this way. If you help me, then I will owe you one," Granger scoffed at this, "But," Draco continued, "if you don't, then you will be stuck with me in your room. I could be here for hours or even days," he added, looking around him pointedly, "And then, when I do get out, just imagine the stories I can come up with about just what went on up here."
Granger scoffed again, but there was an edge to it this time, "You think anyone would believe that?" she said, sounding uncertain.
Draco capitalised, "Maybe, maybe not… but you know what this place is like when a rumour gets going…" he tailed off, satisfied that he had won.
Granger seemed to ponder things for a moment, and then she shook her head, "Alright," she said, stepping forward, and reaching out for him, "I'll take you to Snape."
Draco scampered backwards, "Hell no," he said, "I'm not going to let you parade me around the castle like one of your muggle toys, I'll never live it down."
Granger hissed at him, "Then what do you suggest?"
"You go to Snape and explain things to him. He knows how to be discreet. He'll give you what you need to put me right."
Granger looked at him hard for a moment. Draco didn't dare break eye contact, even though his eyes were watering hard. At long last, she swore under her breath and turned on her heel, "Whatever," she snarled, "Stay put!"
And she was gone.
Draco sat back on the edge of one of her books. The massive textbook was almost 3 feet thick from his perspective, a fact that had been only too apparent during his recent journey in Granger's bag. There is something amazingly scary about seeing a two-storey textbook toppling over towards you at high speed. Draco was certainly glad that he'd visited the toilet before Potions class that was for sure. Still, it was almost over now. Granger, if he knew her at all, would hurry to get to Snape's office and Snape… well, he was angry, but once Granger explained, surely he'd be ok about the whole thing. And he'd keep his mouth shut. He had about everything else, hadn't he? And Granger... well, who would even believe her if she blabbed? Yes, soon it would all be over, never to be mentioned again.
For the first time since his arrival, Draco had a chance to look at Granger's room. His face curled into a sneer. The room was hideous. Everything was wood or red velvet, disgusting! The four-poster bed she slept in smelled of lilac for some reason. Had he been full sized, it would most likely have been a faint scent. But as it was, what with him being… as it was, the smell was nearly enough to overwhelm him.
Beside the bed, Granger's locker stood, packed neat and tidy with its four drawers closed tight. No, correction, one of the drawers was open, just a crack. Draco craned his neck slightly at the sight something pink and frilly. What was it about girls and wearing hideous pink, frilly underwear? And just what was it about that same, hideous pink, frilly underwear that fascinated every boy on the planet?
Draco had to remind himself that he was staring at a Mudblood's underwear, and that he should be above such things, but that just put images in his mind that Draco found distasteful. Interesting, but distasteful nonetheless. Still, what harm was there in looking?
Standing up, Draco walked slowly and carefully towards the end of the bed. He had just about reached a decent vantage point from which to view Grangers unmentionables when he heard the door creak behind him.
Turning round, he expected to see Granger, but then realised that it was far too soon for her to be back. For a horrid moment, he thought it might be one of her roommates back from dinner. How would he keep them quiet? But there was nobody there. With a shrug, Draco turned back to his spying, and then froze, every fibre of his body going rigid as a low hissing filled the air. Draco knew that sound, he'd heard it just a few moments ago, and it was not a good sound.
Shaking, Draco turned around again, praying he was wrong, but he wasn't. There was a blur movement past the end of the bed and then a huge ball of orange fur landed with a thump, sending a ripple through the mattress to rock Draco on his feet. Oh FUCK! Today was most definitely not his lucky day.
Crookshanks stared at him for a moment, his huge, orange eyes burning with what looked to Draco to be a hell of a lot like hunger!
The cat moved, but Draco moved first. Without any clue where he was going to go or what he was going to do, he turned and ran for all he was worth, bolted up along the bed as fast as his tiny legs would carry him and leapt full body onto Granger's pillow. The pillow was soft and comforting, but Draco didn't have time to admire that fact. No sooner had he landed, than he felt the bed underneath him move as the monster of a cat gave chase.
Clambering to his feet, Draco looked around. He needed cove, and fastr. He couldn't run for long. That cat would catch him in seconds out in the open. His only hope was to get out of sight somehow, but where could he go?
It was a problem and no mistake, but there was no time for Draco to think of a soultion. The cat hissed behind him, too close behind him! Draco ran. Moving on pure adrenalin, he darted across Granger's pillow. Too late he realised that he'd picked the wrong direction. He'd intended on running across the bed and maybe finding some way of slipping down onto the floor, but it wasn't to be. Up ahead, he could see the edge of the Granger's pillow looming fast. Beyond that, there was a huge gulf and the promise of a long fall. Draco knew that the gap could only be a matter of inches in reality, but from his current perspective it seemed to be more than twelve feet across the void to Granger's locker on the other side. Twelve feet, could he make that? Draco didn't have time to make up his mind. He could feel the cat's breath on his neck as he reached the edge. At any moment, he expected to feel teeth close around his neck, but they didn't come.
Draco reached the edge and leapt. He shut his eyes in mid air and prayed once more, this time for a quick, painless end when he hit the floor oh so far below. To his amazement and chagrin, he got his wish, sort of. The end was quick, but not painless. Instead of the long fall to the ground that he had been expecting, what he got was a hard, agonising landing on the edge of the locker. Twisting his ankle beneath him, Draco landed and skidded, finally coming to rest against a tall metal cylinder, the purpose of which, he couldn't begin to fathom. Sitting up, Draco massaged his ankle and stared back at the bed. Crookshanks was still there, still staring at him with those hungry eyes.
"Sod off, furball!" Draco yelled, and then instantly regretted it. It hadn't occurred to him that the twelve foot gap he had just so narrowly managed to jump was little more than a footstep for a cat the size of Crookshanks. With an almost disdainful air, the cat moved forward and bounded across onto the locker.
Draco swore under his breath and leapt to his feet. There was only one way to go now, backwards.
Crookshanks turned on the locker and came towards him, knocking bottles and containers flying in all directions. Draco hobbled backwards as fast as he could, but Crookshanks seemed in no hurry, he stalked after Draco at an almost lazy pace, never gaining on his prey. Draco swore again, the monster was enjoying this!
In desperation, Draco stooped to pick up what he assumed was the cap off of Granger's toothpaste tube. Straining with all his might, he hurled his weapon at the advancing cat. It was lucky that Crookshanks wasn't able to laugh, for he would surely have fallen about the place at the sight of the cap bouncing harmlessly to a stop without even touching him.
Draco sighed, defeated. He stumbled backwards again, only to find himself at the edge with nowhere to go. Below him, far below, the solid oak floor waited for his arrival. His other option was approaching from the other side.
"Alright then," Draco panted, he had had enough of this, "Come on, here I am, come get me!"
Crookshanks seemed to consider this for a moment, and then did exactly what he was told to do. Draco braced himself for the teeth, but they didn't come. Instead, Crookshanks reached out with his paw and, almost cheekily, gave Draco the slightest nudge.
"Well fu…" was all Draco could say before he lost his balance and went tumbling through the air. The last thing he remembered before darkness claimed him was an image of his headstone:
"Here lies Draco Malfoy, the little man who picked a fight with a big pussy!"
Then… nothing.
Then… something.
Oddly enough, the something in question was a strong, almost unbearable smell of lilac.
"Lilac?" he exclaimed. "Why the hell does heaven smell of lilac?"
Draco opened his eyes. Heaven not only smelled of lilac, but it also seemed to be completely devoid of good taste. Why the hell had the gods chosen to create an eternal paradise out of pink, frilly clouds?
Pink….
Frilly….
"Oh, no!"
Draco realised where he had ended up, he then realised that he couldn't move. It seemed that whatever deity controlled his fortunes was certainly not happy with him for some reason. Granted, on any ordinary day, he would have been delighted to wind up in a girl's knickers. However, he had never really imagined that he would wind up IN a girls knickers, not to mention, tangled beyond escape in an entire drawer full of the things.
To make matters worse, he could hear that blasted cat hissing and spitting from atop the locker, clearly frustrated now that he had lost his favourite new toy. Every now and then, the locker shook as the cat made a mad swipe at the drawer, which was, thankfully for Draco, just out of his reach.
He didn't know how long he lay there, all he knew was that struggling only seemed to make things worse as with each attempt he made to free himself, he only succeeded in slipping further into the pile of underwear. Besides, he thought, what good would getting out do him anyway? He'd only be at the mercy of that infernal cat again!
Time passed, Draco's muscles began to cramp up from being tangled as he was. Then he heard the sound that he had been both longing for and dreading. The door to the room opened and he heard footsteps, followed by Granger's voice. Dear gods, was she asking the cat where he was? Did she expect an answer?
Apparently she got one.
Draco felt the world spun madly as Granger pulled open the drawer. He blinked in the sudden light and then let out a mad yelp as he was lifted, knickers and all, into the air.
Hermione raised the tiny intruder to her eye level, still fighting the sudden urge to feed him to Crookshanks.
"Just what the hell are you playing at?" she yelled.
Mini-Malfoy cringed at her voice, then opened his mouth to reply, "Your cat…"
"Leave him out of this," she cut him off, "he wasn't the one crawling about in my…"
"Sorry," he said, almost meekly.
The apology caught Hermione by surprise and forestalled Malfoy's imminent execution, but it didn't excuse his… whatever the hell he had been doing in there, she didn't really want to know.
Deciding it was best to get this over with, Hermione shooed Crookshanks off her locker and set Malfoy down. She watched the little wretch clamber out of her favourite pair of undies and once again fought the urge to really kill him.
"Here," she snapped, slamming the bottle of antidote that Snape had given her down beside Malfoy's trembling form, "Drink as much as you can."
Hermione turned her back and stormed off to the bathroom. She felt dirty! Even though she hadn't been wearing them, the fact that Malfoy of all people had been literally crawling through her underwear made her skin itch. There was no way she was going to put any of those on again, no way in Hades! What she needed right now more than anything was a long, hot, thorough shower and then she'd have to write to her mother to send her new underwear. Lord knows how she was going to explain that one. Gods, she wanted to strangle him!
"Wait," came Malfoy's voice from behind her. She turned to see him staring helplessly at the shoulder high bottle of antidote, "How do you expect me to drink this?"
"That," she replied coldly, "is your problem, pervert! But," she pointed to where Crookshanks was once again stalking across the room, "if I were you, I'd hurry!"