Mrs. Norris was never fond of stray cats. She did not appreciate bratty little homeless kitties that could find themselves an owner using just their over-sized eyes. And most of all, she hated felines that were not First-Class, like herself.

That would be why she was out to rid the world of them.

Mrs. Norris drew herself up proudly, tail straightening out like a staff. She was queen of this school, and no scruffy kitten could overthrow her. She patrolled the corridors and expected respect; otherwise the criminals in question would answer to her henchmen – henchman – Argus Filch.

What she never predicted was a stray cat to actually have the nerve to bump into her.

A low growl rumbled deep inside her. Her tawny ears perked up, her eyes narrowed. Adrenaline surged through her. She felt like the fierce, mighty Lion Queen (of the hallway). Like she had said, no scruffy kitten would overthrow her.

Mrs. Norris crept away. The feline had disappeared as quickly as it came, so she never got the chance to get a good look at him. Not to worry, she would catch him, no doubt, and put this monster in his place. At least she knew that he was still on the same floor as her. Already, a game-plan was forming in her head. If he tried to retreat to another level, he would be caught in the trick staircase. Mrs. Norris, you have done it this time, she congratulated herself. Her plan was all worked out. Now to find the bastard.

Mrs. Norris followed the distinct scent that the cat carried (which was a bit hard, considering how it made her nose nearly shrivel) leading her past twists and turns when suddenly, she spotted him. She backed up a little to be shielded by the last corner he had led her past, only to see that the cat was totally vulnerable, which was strange for strays. Usually they would have seen enough dangers of the outside world to know that they should never let their guard down.

This only made her job easier.

She pounced into action at once, not wanting to let the culprit escape her clutches. The cat's black fur was distinct against the tan walls, making him the equivalent of a neon WARNING sign. What an idiot. Mrs. Norris could see, from her angle, that the feline had vivid green eyes and a bit of white fur at the tips of his paws. The rascal leaped onto a staircase, taking Mrs. Norris by surprise. What was even stranger was that the cat knew about the trick step in the middle of the staircase. Mrs. Norris shook it off. It was probably a coincidence, anyway. She skidded to a stop and then jumped back into pursuit of the mysterious cat. She hopped up the steps and crept along the railing. She was going to take this monster by surprise and-

But the feline was nowhere to be found. At least, not on the ground, anyways. Instead the cat was being picked up by a blonde-haired boy. She had seen this boy before, usually surrounded by his pack of friends that followed him everywhere. His skin was pale against his steely eyes, which flicked in her direction. He shooed her away with his foot and stalked away, carrying that idiot cat off with him. Mrs. Norris glared coldly from a distance at the two. Oh, well. She would get him next time.

…what she also did not know was that that worthless stray was Harry Potter.

Ugh. Harry had to admit, being a cat, a helpless cat, sucked. He couldn't talk, he couldn't use a wand, and nobody knew where he was, not even him. How did he even get himself into this mess?

Oh yeah. He was being stupid… again. He was trying to get an ingredient down from the Potions cabinet with a simple spell, that he had, no matter how easy, no matter how long he had known the freaking spell, somehow managed to mess up and turn himself into a cat. And when he tried to escape the classroom, Snape held him up by the scruff of his neck and asked who the little 'mangy beast' belonged to. And since nobody owned a Harry-Potter-look-a-like kitty, no one took him. Snape then proceeded to throw Harry out into the hall. This was one of the only advantages to being a cat; he always landed on his feet. And so he had, thankfully unharmed.

Harry hunted the antechambers. He had to find a someone who could turn him back, or a teacher who would recognize him and do so, and fast. Otherwise he would be trampled by the students who would be rushing to get to class in about ten minutes. So Harry made his way to the Headmaster's office. Surely Dumbledore, one of the greatest wizards of all time would recognize Harry. Or maybe Dumbledore really was as crazy as his speech at the feast in first year would suggest.

The little black cat could hear the padding noise that his own paws made as he trotted the corridors. Harry broke into a run – er, canter – to get to his mentor ASAP. The momentum was broken, however, when he ran into another cat. Harry had almost forgotten that Hogwarts students could own other pets than owls and lumpy toads. He spun around to see Mrs. Norris, eyes narrowed to little slits. He could hear the growl that came from her, which, from his angle, was actually pretty scary. His only thought was to put as much distance between him and the feline she-devil as was possible.

He took off, a dark blur to any on-lookers, and sped up a staircase. Out of the corner of his eye he peeked at Mrs. Norris's confused face and did his best to cat-smirk. His little white paws skipped over the trick step that he had been caught by so many times. Harry could feel the cool wind brushing past his shadowy ears when-

Whump.

Harry accidentally head-butted someone in the shin. He shook his head, and when his eyes regained their focus, he saw a pair of black pants just inches before his petite pink nose. Why did he have to be so damn cutesy-wutesy? He could smell laundry detergent on the fabric before him, and to be honest, it actually wasn't that bad, until he looked up and saw who the pants belonged to.

Why the hell was Draco Malfoy out of class?

Draco looked down to see a black cat at his feet, an adorable one, too. It had an adorable pink button nose, big, adorable green eyes, and four adorable paws with white tips. It was all too… well, adorable. He plucked up the cat and pressed him to his chest. He had always wanted a cat when he was younger, but because his parents were 'too busy' and he was 'too young' they were never able to get one. But there was no rule at Hogwarts that stated that he couldn't have a cat.

Draco decided to name the cat Paws, because of the cat's adorable white-tipped feet that Draco loved so much. Paws had spent the day harbored under Draco's four-poster, and it didn't seem like he was coming out, not even for eating. When Draco had reached beneath his bed earlier, Paws had swiped at Draco's hand and scratched him fiercely. What's more, Paws seemed to enjoy it. "Oh, well. You'll come out eventually." He sighed.

That's what you think; Harry smirked as Malfoy reassured him of his return to the outside world. Harry wished that he could have laughed when he scratched Malfoy. The look on his face was priceless; he would never let Malfoy hear the end of it when he escaped from this hellhole-

If he escaped from this hellhole.

Harry hated it here. Malfoy had shoved Harry onto the four-poster and gave him that ridiculous name – Paws, ugh – and then pushed a bowl of cat food that had appeared out of nowhere at him. As if he would eat cat food. The strange thing was that Malfoy was smiling all the while, an actual smile, not a smirk, not a sneer, a smile. Harry had never actually seen one of those from Malfoy before. It really looked nice on him.

Merlin, this cat stuff was getting to him. He was going insane, complimenting Malfoy. HA.

Would this count as kidnapping? He wondered whether he could press charges when he got turned back, or if he got turned back at all. Would he have clothes on when he turned back into a human? Would he get his glasses back? Oh God – what would Malfoy do? How long would he have to withstand being his pet, or worse yet, the teasing he would get when everyone heard that he had been? Maybe he could move in with Sirius or something, until all of the gossip and laughter died down – maybe then he could show his face in public again.

But now he had to focus on getting out of here, and he couldn't do that while he was under Malfoy's bed. He might as well go out into the open until he could make his move to escape. Harry contemplated the consequences of going out, and the only one he could think of was that he was going to have to see Malfoy. So he crawled through the desert of dust bunnies and random abandoned items that he couldn't identify, due to the thick layer of dust that covered them, so he would rather not touch them. He maneuvered his way around the unknown objects and out into the daylight, where he squinted as his eyes adjusted. He could see Malfoy on his four-poster reading 101 Banshees, leaning casually against the headboard as he turned the page. Malfoy glanced in his direction, back at his book, and then double-take-d, as is he thought he was seeing things. When he saw that Harry made no move to scratch him or hiss, he leaned over the side of the bed to look at him. A smile flashed across his face, and he patted the spot next to him on the quilted green comforter. Harry wanted to laugh in his face. Just because Harry was now Malfoy's 'pet' didn't mean that he had to love Malfoy like a normal pet.

Instead of leaping into Malfoy's arms, holding hands and running into the sunset, he trotted over to the corner of the room, plopped down, and observed Malfoy. Malfoy returned to his book, but not before giving Harry a queer look and shrugging to himself. Harry studied Malfoy for a good hour and a half, which was partially amusing. He got to witness Malfoy's mouth drop into a large 'O' when he got to the plot twist, contort in anger when the enemy made fun of the hero, and rejoice when the happy ending came. Harry, who, up until today, thought that Malfoy was just an insensitive prat, was shocked to see Malfoy display so many emotions in such a short amount of time.

Just goes to show that even humorless assholes can surprise you.

"Where could Harry be?" Hermione asked. She paced around her and Ron's table at the library. She had rattling off suggestions and wracking her brain for the past half hour. Ron was too scared to interrupt her to tell her that they should go get their stuff for their next class, since the last time Hermione had screamed 'YOUR BEST FRIEND IS MISSING AND ALL YOU CARE ABOUT IS HERBOLOGY?!'. What was even more surprising was that Madam Pince had told her to be quiet. Hermione. Told off by a librarian. Was the whole world upside down?

"I mean, the last time we saw him was the Potions Cabinet, and there's no place for him to go in there! How could he escape?" She tugged on her bushy locks and continued her pacing. It was true, there was really nowhere for him to escape to in the Potions Cabinet.

"Maybe he could still be in there?" Ron probed hesitantly, flinching and waiting for Hermione to explode, but the boom never came, so he resumed talking. "What if he fell down, or tripped, or fainted or something? He did get a late start on his Potion, so no one else needed to go to the Cabinet, so no one looked for him." Hermione froze, and Ron could practically see the gears turning in her skull.

"Ron… That was the smartest thing I've heard you say in a long time!" Ron rolled his eyes. Gee, thanks. "We need to go and check!"

"Well, I suppose we could at Double Potions tomorrow-"

"Ron, that's too far away! We need to check soon, as in today!" She let out an exasperated sigh and rubbed her temples. Suddenly, her face lit up and she asked, "Do you know where Harry keeps his invisibility cloak? We could sneak in tonight and rescue Harry!"

"…rescue…?" Ron interrupted, but Hermione rambled on, explaining in great detail how the rescue mission would work. She described every intricate detail, right down to the exact time that the Professors and the Prefects would be doing their rounds (how Hermione knew about the teachers was a mystery to him, as well). Ron thumped his head on the desk. If Hermione went on like this, he would be late to Herbology for sure.

Draco could not understand what was wrong with that frickin cat. It absolutely hated him, and for what reason he could not seem to figure out. He had tried everything, he had even accio-d up some cat toys, but Paws seemed to not be interested in anything cat-related. He had just glared at Draco from his little emo-corner. Draco rolled his eyes when, yet again, Paws turned down his request to sit next to Draco. This cat thought he was better than Draco, eh? Well, he would show him.

Paws seemed to be studying the wall behind him, so Draco saw this as a perfect opportunity to ambush him while he was distracted. Draco watched as Paws' eyes flicked over the details of the Slytherin banner, clearly interested in the foreign environment. It was perfect – he was totally vulnerable. Draco crept up behind him, ready to pounce and scare him so badly – but he couldn't do it. He, Draco Malfoy, would not drop to the low level of scaring kittens for fun. Man, that sounded a lot less horrible in my head, Draco thought. Wait, dammit. It's still in your head anyway. He stalked back to his four-poster and moved onto the next book, Accio in Greece.

He was on the fourth chapter when he realized that it was almost time for dinner. He should get down to the Great Hall or his friends would badger him about it later. Honestly, Draco hated his friends – they were always so annoying, discussing their latest revenge on helpless first-year Gryffindors, or plotting their next one. Then there was Pansy, who, for some strange reason, thought that she was dating Draco just because of one time last year. She would always complain about how what's-her-face tried to steal that others bitch's boyfriend and other shit that Draco didn't understand. She threw a hissy fit over every little thing that Draco did, so he tried not to show any emotion when he was around her.

Did Draco have any friends that he liked? No. Everybody was so afraid of him. Draco had to admit, sometimes he could be a little… irritable, but he couldn't help it. His mother had grown very distant from the family over the past year, and his father couldn't stand to see his face, for a reason that Draco knew, too. Ever since Draco confessed that he was queer to his father, he had given Draco the cold shoulder, maybe in hopes that it would turn him straight again. Blaise Zabini, however, was very excited when he heard this news. He attempted to force himself on Draco about fifty times a day, which got quite uncomfortable after a while. He also had to be on the watch constantly, in case Blaise was lurking around the corner, waiting to ambush him, or trying to slip Love Potions in his pumpkin juice. The heights he went to were sickening.

"Are you planning to come down to eat with us yet, Draco?" Pansy pushed open the door to the boys dormitory. She peeked inside, spotting Draco reading and strode over seductively. Or at least, she tried. She ended up looking like a dying goose, but hey, at least it was an attempt. Great. Draco had a boy and a girl trying to hook up with him. Pansy sat down on Draco's lap and twisted around so she was straddling him. Pansy leaned in to kiss him, but Draco covered her mouth with his hand. She pouted for a second, but quickly recovered and went for a more stealthy approach, which Draco hastily dodged.

"Go away, Parkinson." Draco pushed her off of him and resumed with his book. Pansy left with a disgusted look on her face, slamming the door behind her. Draco winced. He felt slightly guilty about Pansy, but for God's sake, couldn't she take a hint? He glimpsed over at Paws, who looked a bit revolted in the corner and smiled. "I know, Paws, I know."

That disgusting image would not get out of Harry's head. He couldn't believe what he just caught sight of. Pansy Parkinson, Pugface, had tried to make out with Malfoy, or worse. He cat-shuddered at the thought. But Malfoy, for some reason, refused, and told her off, at that. Sure, Harry himself wouldn't have wanted to snog Parkinson, but wasn't Malfoy dating her…?

It was well after six when Malfoy went down, at last, for dinner. Harry missed eating with his friends, already. Who knew what shenanigans the rest of the fifth-year Gryffindors were up to at this very moment? Harry could be missing out on some serious Slytherin-torturing, or getting away with some huge scheme, but noooo he had to be stuck up here with Draco-fucking-Malfoy. He could have been 'adopted' by any other person…

Harry looked around the Slytherin dormitory. It was a replica of his back at the Gryffindor tower, but revolved around green and silver rather than red and gold. Also, there seemed to be a menacing snake plastered wherever Harry looked. It was sort of frightening, to be in such an unfamiliar place.

But man, did Harry really have to shit. He decided, while spending his time in enemy territory, he had better make himself useful. He peered around the room warily, careful to make sure that nobody saw what he was about to do. Harry cat-sniggered at the vision of Malfoy's face when he saw this…

Harry leaped onto Malfoy's bed, which still smelled like the stuck-up bastard. He ventured across the green quilted comforter, which seemed totally out of proportion. Everything seemed huge to him, even the pillow which he was searching for. Harry clambered over to the white, squishy cushion and prodded it with one of his dainty, white-tipped paw. When he saw it safe, he proceeded with his plan and pawed up Malfoy's pillow... and shit directly on the pillow. He smiled and hid under the bed while he waited for Malfoy to return.

Malfoy ambled in his room at about seven, but he clearly hadn't eaten a single bite. Actually, now that Harry looked closer, Malfoy looked thinner than ever. His face was a ghostly shade of white, and his usual confident swagger had mysteriously disappeared. He plopped down on his bed, exhausted from the day's adventures, but he did not lay his head on his pillow, which was a disappointment to Harry. But, however, he did look at his pillow and clamp a hand to his mouth in disgust. It wasn't as good as Malfoy getting crap in his precious blonde hair, but it was better than no reaction at all. Malfoy threw the blanket up and swept a terrifying glare across the underside of the bed. "There you are," he grinned as he scooped 'Paws' into his arms. He sat on the bed and set Harry on his lap (ew). He placed his hands under Harry's armpits and lifted him up so he was nose-to-nose with Malfoy. "What," he said, nodding towards his soiled pillow, "is that?" Harry couldn't manage any more than a crippled 'mew'. Malfoy raised his hand, and Harry braced himself for Malfoy's blow-

But it never came. All Malfoy did was snatch up his wand from his bed stand and flourish it under his bed, causing a neon-purple sparks to erupt from the depths of the dusty wasteland. He sighed and set Harry back on his lap (still ew). "I know you had to go, but was it really necessary to do that?" Well. That was not the response that was expected, and to be honest, he had seen better from Malfoy. Malfoy, who had been observing Harry for the past thirty seconds, waiting for some kind of response from 'Paws', had obviously seen Harry's confused expression. "You look just like Potter..." He said at last, a suspicious expression stuck to his face. He watched Harry for a couple more seconds, the tension quickly building. Harry's heart raced. If Malfoy found out who he was, what would he do to Harry? "Oh well. That's even better." Wait, what the hell did THAT mean?! This was getting weirder by the minute. "C'mon. I'm going to introduce you to my friends." He tucked Harry under his arm and then set a hand under Harry's behind. Well. This is going to make for an awkward explanation later. Malfoy carried Harry all the way down the steps, careful to make sure that Harry didn't bounce out of his arms, and into the Slytherin common room, which was actually more comfortable than Harry had remembered. Maybe it was because this time he was actually welcome there.

Malfoy's friends were hunkered in the cushiony chairs that were perched around the blazing fire. They seemed to be devising another one of their devious plans to sabotage more Gryffindors or something. Maybe Harry could get some inside details on their latest plans. Malfoy grabbed a chair that a younger student was sitting in, ordered for him to move, and set down on the green-and-white printed chair. His friends looked up at him, and then back at their blueprints. They didn't even seem to be one bit interested in Malfoy, not even his girlfriend. Er, who Harry thought was his girlfriend. But Malfoy cleared his throat, telling his friends that this time they should listen.

"What do you want, Draco?" Parkinson drawled, leaving that dull look she always seemed to have on her face for the moment. By this time, the rest of his cronies seemed to figure out what was going on and had given Malfoy center stage.

"I found a pet," he stated simply, holding Harry out for them to examine. They all looked at Harry in wonder, which made Harry, not for the first time today, a bit uncomfortable. The cramped silence was broken by Pansy Parkinson, who broke into a very high-pitched and ear-splitting squeal.

"Give me him!" She reached out and plucked Harry out of Malfoy's hands. For some reason, this left Harry a bit sad; Malfoy's hands were warmer than he had last remembered from his previous all-out fist fights with him. Parkinson hugged Harry to her chest, which was by far the most ghastly thing Harry had had the misfortune of experiencing today. "He's so cute! Look at his little paws, and his eyes are MARVELOUS!" She began to play with Harry's ears, flapping them back and forth and nuzzling his 'little pinkie nose' (Harry could swear he was about to puke). "Have you decided on a name yet, Draco?" Parkinson asked, the hopeful look noticeable on her face. Harry was glad that Malfoy had named before this, otherwise Parkinson might have decided on 'Cutie' or something of that nature.

"I've named him Paws," came Malfoy's mumbled reply from behind Harry. Where did all of Malfoy's confidence go? Harry had thought that Malfoy was the ruler of his friends, when actually, it was quite the opposite.

"Damn it. I wanted to name him..." Parkinson pouted and tried to change Malfoy's mind, but his mind remained unchanged. There was a sudden silence that came over the group of Slytherins, so Parkinson seized the chance again to try and change Harry's name. "Are you sure we couldn't just-"

"No, Pansy. You are not going to rename Paws. Now could I please have him back?" Malfoy stretched out his hands, signaling that it was time to give Harry up. Parkinson gave Paws up, against her will, and crossed her arms over her chest. Malfoy sighed and gave in a little bit. "You can call him that, but that is not his real name, and don't you forget it!" Malfoy scowled, but chuckled a little bit when Parkinson started to thank him uncontrollably. "Yeah, whatever." Malfoy leaned back against the armchair and, taking Harry with him, closed his eyes a bit and leaned his head back. Harry looked at the half-asleep Malfoy whose lap he was sitting on, and hoped that he never had to repeat that sentence to any of his friends.

Then Malfoy did something that was absolutely unforgivable.

He started to pet Harry. Harry stilled for a moment. This was... different. If Malfoy knew who he really was, he wouldn't be doing this. Or at least, he hoped that Malfoy wouldn't be, but with the statement that he had told Harry earlier, it was hard to tell. Harry thought back to what Malfoy had said. 'You look just like Potter...' In that moment, Harry was wavering on whether to pray that Malfoy realized who he was, or that he thought it was just a coincidence. 'Oh well. That's even better.'