For anyone with questions about the how/why/who of the story, I'll say I considered all supporting points & possible questions before starting this fic. Everything will be answered as the story progresses. At this point in the story, less than a day has passed. Even in the Wizarding world, some things take time to process ;)

Thank you so much for reading & supporting this story! I'm going to try to post updates 2-3 times a week, more if I can manage.

Also—a huge THANK YOU to the wonderful Alea Thoron who has asked to translate this story into German! Links are posted to my FFN profile page.

Chapter Four

Inappropriate Little Beast

"You woke up and the ferret was where?"

Hermione winced, her shoulders hunching as she shot Harry a withering look across the table. Trust the boy to only listen to the hushed conversation she was having with Ginny when the word boobs was mentioned.

Rather than answering, she folded her arms before her and dropped her head down against them. The troublesome beast clung to her shoulder, and her sudden motion jostled him so that he tumbled down, hitting the table with a soft thud.

A sound of shock strangled out of Draco's throat and Hermione raised her head to frown at him. That seemed all the invitation Draco needed. He darted into her shirt.

Hermione bit her lip to keep from shrieking. Clamping her arms around herself to keep the ferret from going anywhere further, she shot up from the table. Tossing angry glares over her shoulder at Harry and the two Weasleys, she hurried through the Great Hall.

She ignored their laughter as she exited the vast chamber and rounded into the corridor, making a beeline for the girls' bathroom.

Was it not bad enough that she'd woken up with the bothersome creature snuggled between her breasts? No, no, clearly not! Because now it seemed to think that under her blouse was a perfectly acceptable hiding place!

Hermione was seething by the time she threw open the door and stomped in. Certainly she'd had sympathy for his antics after Romilda's observation that he was likely an orphan, but honestly! A young lady's bra was only intended for one purpose—and that purpose was not housing scared ferrets!

"All right, you," she said in a hiss after closing the door securely behind her. "Out!"

She dropped her arms, but the creature—despite squirming in her hold as she'd made her way there—refused to budge, now. Groaning, she pulled at her open collar and peered down, into her shirt.

Those beady, slate-grey eyes stared up at her and she sighed. "My God, this is ridiculous."

Shaking her head, she pulled up the bottom of her jumper and untucked her blouse from her skirt. Reaching inside, she grabbed the ferret and attempted to gently extract him from his hiding place. Not a simple task with his little paw-hands clinging to her bra.

Finally wrestling the creature free, she set him down on the lip of the nearest sink. As she righted her clothes, the ferret's hind leg twitched—an anxious movement.

"Ah-ah," she said, shaking a finger at him. "You stay put!"

He drooped forward a bit, then. If she didn't know any better, she could swear the lithe beast was actually hanging his head.

Smoothing her hands over her straightened jumper and skirt, she kept a steady eye on Draco. Feeling properly sorted—though she thought there might definitely be ferret claw marks dotting her cleavage—she rested her palms on her hips.

"Now you listen to me, I am quite tired of your nonsense! You behave yourself, of I swear I will take you right back to that shop where I found you!"

The ferret blinked a few times, his head tipping side to side. Then he recoiled, pulling back as though wounded.

A frown tugged Hermione's lips downward. She had the oddest feeling he was deliberately playing on her sympathies.

Deliberate or not, it was working. She simply couldn't take watching his injured act. Her shoulders slumped.

"Oh . . . fine," she said in an angry whisper.

Reaching one hand toward him, she waited for Draco to relax. After a painfully long moment, he unfurled and crept toward her outstretched fingers.

Once he'd relaxed enough to let her stroke his fur, she slipped her hand around his middle and lifted him onto her shoulder.

"But—" She met his gaze in the mirror above the sink, again shaking her finger at him. "From this moment forward, no more hiding in my undergarments!" Even as she said that, she had a terrible flash through her mind of returning from classes—after finally managing to ease his nervous clinging so she might go anywhere without him—to find him in her drawer, snuggled up amongst her knickers.

She didn't know if he understood or not, but he contented himself with settling beneath her hair, as seemed to be becoming his usual hiding place. Sighing and shaking her head, she splashed some water on her face before returning to the Great Hall.

As Hermione sat in her first few classes that day she found something rather surprising. Every now and again, she would catch herself looking about the room. Her gaze trailed over desks, and seats, across the familiar faces of her fellow eighth years, and less-known seventh years.

Even though she knew he wasn't there, she felt a strange jolt at not seeing Draco Malfoy's face anywhere.

"Nonsense," she whispered to herself during potions as she jotted down Professor Slughorn's words. "What are you thinking, Hermione?"

Because there was no possible way she actually missed Draco Malfoy!