I've been wanting to write an HP one-shot for some time now, and even though I'm very eager to complete Behind the Mask, I must satisfy at least one of these annoying inner voices. So here you go. Dramione, sort of. I have a bunch of little ideas like this one, so let me know if you would like me to write some more. Hope you enjoy!

And of course, as usual, I do not own any of J. K. Rowling's work, solely the plot to this story.

Alright. You can do this. You are a wizard. A great wizard. A great and talented wizard. A very handsome, great and talented wizard. And—

"Aarggh!" Draco lunged, hands outstretched, hair in disarray, and teeth grit in absolute frustration. He was sure he had him this time, only inches away, only—

His face hit first, slamming right into the legs of the kitchen table. The impact rattled the small table—

I knew we shouldn't have bought this cheap piece of—

—and Draco closed his eyes just as the recently prepared dish of spaghetti—

No, no, no—

—promptly finished skidding off the table and right onto Draco's head.

He was silent for a mere half a second. And then he exploded.

"Dammit! Son of a bitch! You stupid, furry—ah screw it, Aguamenti!"

The jet of water that elicited from his wand was fantastic. It sprayed the entirety of their rather large kitchen, pots and pans dropping haphazardly from their carefully hung place to the floor with clangs that reverberated through the ears and back out again. An annoying sound. But definitely not more annoying than—

"Crookshanks!"

The much rounder and furry face of the kneazle mixed cat stared at him haughtily, safe and sound, not to mention, very, very dry, from the banister of the hallway staircase. When Draco yelled at him he yawned.

That little—No more mister nice Slytherin.

He had tried being nice—

'Here, kitty, kitty.'

He had tried being patient—

'Alright then. I'm going to count till ten'—it worked with Scorpius, why not the fur-blob?

He had tried using all sorts of magic but—

'Will you hold still for one second!'

He had tried being clever—

'Look at this big juicy bird, Crookshanks. Just for you!'

He had even tried transforming himself into Hermione—

'Come here, Crookshanks, mommy is home! Look, I'm reading 'Hogwarts: A History''—the most uncomfortable hour in his entire life. Seriously, breasts were overrated with that damn brassiere.

And now he was angry beyond words. He was going to murder that cat. He didn't care if Granger beat his ass—for she most certainly would—nothing was worth this, this—

As if he could read his thoughts, said orange blob suddenly bolted straight up the banister.

"How does he—but he's so fat!"

A loud yeowl echoed from somewhere upstairs in retort. Draco resisted the urge to growl back. Really, this was getting ridiculous. It was a bloody bath, for crying out loud! It was not supposed to be this difficult!

You're beating yourself up over this. Maybe you should just admit defe—

"No," Draco snarled, stubbornly ignoring the fact that he was arguing with himself, "I'm not losing to a bloody cat!"

He immediately surged forward; ignoring the undignified way in which his shoes splashed through the kitchen, or the way marinara dribbled down into his left ear and a meatball noiselessly somehow vanished down the back of his shirt.

He stomped up the stairs, knowing full well that the real stealth was required upon arrival of the second floor. However, it wasn't really necessary at all. The wretched bird's nest of a cat was waiting for him, delicately licking his paw, as if without a care in the world.

He wanted to pounce on him, but judging from his recent encounter, Draco knew this was the wrong way to go about it.

And so he stood there for a moment, weighing his options. Crookshanks was directly in front of their room. And there was a bathroom in there …

But how to get the bloody thing in there …

And suddenly he had an idea.

Why, it was genius!

Or really stupid—

Shut up!

In a defeated tone, and with the biggest sigh he could manage, Draco shrugged his shoulders and spoke aloud. "Alright, fine. You win. No bath. I give up."

You realize you're talking to the cat?

He tried to ignore his inner logic and walked casually forward, attempting to appear as harmless as he neared the ball of lard. Crookshanks instinctively tensed, ears flattened and a soft hiss on the tip of his fur-covered mouth.

Draco paid him no attention and merely kept on walking. He was almost level with the cat when suddenly—

"Ah!"

Four sets of claws clamped onto his leg.

Holy shi—

Not expecting such an attack, Draco nearly stumbled into the room before successfully closing the door. Pain was coursing through his legs from the still inserted incisions. Fortunately, the sound of the only exit slamming shut caused Crookshanks to let go and race towards the other door in the room.

A broad grin slowly spread across the Slytherin's face. His plan was working exactly—

Your leg is a bloody mess and I'm pretty sure you have a tomato covered meatball riding on the edge of your crac—

"Shut up," he said, to no one in particular.

He returned his gaze towards the white door at the end of the room. Whose depths would finally show that, that thing, who was really man of this house. Nothing could stop him now. He had the miniature orangutan right where he wanted.

Draco made his way into the adjoining bathroom, very careful to shut the door behind him, wand at the ready. He could see the blasted cat through the mirror, hiding behind a stack of towels in the open shelf rack.

Both he and his inner voice laughed and pointed. Right, like the pumpkin on legs could hide behind a few towels.

Instead of going towards him, however, Draco went towards the tub. He never took his eyes off his opponent, however, and only leered menacingly when the blob's eyes, usually hidden beneath all that fur and fat, widened with the sound of the rushing water.

Yes, victory was sweet.

Not wanting to risk anything more, Draco dumped the remainder of the shampoo bottle into the tub, bottle included. The water became soapy rapidly, and Crookshanks was no longer trying to hide. He was snarling.

Draco turned the faucet off. "Alright, Crookshanks, now it's your turn."

Gray eyes met yellow, the final challenge.

And that's when Crookshanks attacked his face.

Hermione smiled as she parked her car in the driveway. The lawn was impeccably cut, the sidewalk perfectly swept, and the fountain perfectly polished. Given the fact that he was currently stuck at home—the Auror department, hemhem, Harry Potter, thought it'd be best he stay at home for a couple of weeks given the severe injury he'd acquired whilst on a mission—Draco had complained nonstop on his absolute uselessness. And so Hermione left him a list of things to do. Nothing too stamina-reducing, of course.

She fumbled around in her purse for her keys, but before she could find them the door swung open into the hallway. She was only momentarily startled, before the blond little boy latched himself around her waist.

"Scorpius!" She exclaimed, "It's good to see you too, but what are you doing home so early?"

Her stepson looked up at her through long bangs, and answered matter-of-factly: "Aunt Ginny had a 'mergency so she dropped me off."

"Oh dear, well I do hope everything is ok," Hermione replied in a kind voice, stepping into the hallway. She hung her keys and coat, turning around to call Draco at the same time that Scorpius began giggling nonstop.

"Draco where—and what is so funny—oh my—what happe—Draco Malfoy!"

Scorpius couldn't seem to stop giggling. "He's upstairs."

Hermione took one more look into the kitchen before turning a stern eye onto the gloating blond child. "Scorpius."

"Ok, ok," he seemed to gasp, "he's trying to give Crookshanks a bath."

Hermione screeched. "Is that it? But I left clear instructions—"

Scorpius was shaking his head. "No, I mean, like a bubble bath, bath."

Hermione slapped a hand onto her forehead. "For being as intelligent as he is, and all this—good grief, Draco!"

She hurried up the stairs, following the angry noises that came directly out of their room, and flung the bathroom door open. She was not prepared for what she saw.

Draco sat in the middle of their Jacuzzi-sized tub, fully clothed, with a very wet and unhappy looking Crookshanks settled in between his legs. He repeatedly dunked her cat's face in and out of the water, all the while muttering a string of profanities.

She did not know what to say. And then—

"Hello, Granger."

She snapped out of her trance and gasped. "Oh my gods, Draco is that blood on your head?"

Draco shook his head. "Nope. Marinara sauce. Oh and by the way, you need to make dinner again."

"But I left instructions. Clear instructions!"

"Yes," Draco returned, an edge to his voice, "you said 'bathe the cat', which I am doing at this very moment. And might I add that it was the bloodiest, most horrendous, ridiculous—"

"Draco, pull his head out, you'll drown him—"

He yanked the cat's head up. "Believe me, I'm trying not to. I can't believe I had to actually get in the fucking tub—"

"Well if you would have finished reading—"

"And the kitchen is a bloody mess, by the way. And I'm not cleaning it."

"Kneazle's hate baths. You were supposed to bathe him with the spell I wrote."

"My leg is a mangled mess—"

"Draco, are you listening?"

"There's a sodding meatball down my pants—yes, bathe him with the spell you—wait, what?"

But Hermione was laughing.

Draco glared. "Excuse me, dear, but I don't see what's so fucking hilarious."

"You—you—"

"You didn't write anything about any spell—"

"Yes I did, in the beginning paragraph—"

Draco was sputtering now. "The beginning parag—beginning—who fucking reads the beginning paragraph when you're supposed to be doing what's on the list!"

She scoffed, a broad grin still plastered on her face. "Apparently not you."

He started to get up. Given his wet clothes, however, ended up slipping back into the tub instead. "Fuck, Granger, I can't believe—oh great! The blob escaped. Again!"

Hermione was struggling to stifle her giggles. "Oh it's alright. I'm sure he's clean by now. And what have I told you about calling him 'the blob'—"

Draco pointed an accusatory finger. "I swear I'm going to kill that—"

"Daddy why are you in the bathtub with your clothes on?"

Both adults whirled towards Scorpius.

Draco hesitated.

Hermione answered for him. "Daddy had an accident with the spaghetti, so he's just washing it off. Come on, Scorp, let's go order some pizza and clean the kitchen."

The young boy's eyes lit up. "Can we get it with pickles on top?"

Hermione grinned. "Yes of course. Now hurry downstairs, I'll be down in a bit."

He fled, calling out 'Crookshanks, we're getting pizza with pickles!' as he went.

Hermione fixed Draco with a small smile before going over to sit on the edge of the tub.

Draco was still glaring.

"You know, you did a good thing today."

"If you mean not killing your morbidly obese cat, then I would have to disagree."

Hermione reached down and planted a kiss on his forehead. "Then we can agree to disagree. I love you. And thank you."

Draco pointedly looked away.

"You know, given your more than heroic actions today, I'd say Harry will have to let you return to work, don't you think? I can give him a call..."

He turned, a smirk on his face. "That should be an interesting conversation. And I know you love me. I'm irresistible. Which is also why you won't mind this."

He shamelessly pulled her into the tub.

Hermione resisted but fell in anyway. She pulled her head out of the water, spitting out water. "That is not funn—"

Draco kissed her, effectively shutting her up. When their faces parted he gave her a devilish grin. "We agreed to disagree. I think it's hilarious and you know I love you too, more than anything, but don't ever ask me to bathe that damn cat again."

Hermione nodded. "Agreed."

Draco stood up, his pants sagging with the weight of the water. Hermione got up a bit slower. She tilted her head as she stared at her husband's backside.

"Draco, is that a meatball in your—"

"Don't ask."

Review please :)