Note: Ferrets are color blind, with the exception of red.

And, yes, for every chapter we have of Hermione's perspective, we will have one from Draco. So since the first four were Hermione, we're riding along with Draco until chapter eight.

Chapter Six

Not Bloody Likely

Draco was bumped, jarred, and even tossed in the air a time or two—something that happened so fast, he didn't even notice until he was in the air, only to hit the cage floor just as quickly—as Granger hurried through the station. Perhaps this was karma for making the proprietor work to get a handle on him back at the shop.

But what did anyone expect? The man smelled exactly as one might imagine an animal handler would.

All that motion came to an abrupt halt and he felt a light thud beneath him. Curious, he crept forward, but fingers grasped at the door and he immediately hopped backward, into the furthest recesses of the cage.

A pleasant scent tickled his nose, and he understood those were Granger's fingers. Draco realized that the entire trip from Diagon Alley, he'd been in fear that whoever had done this to him could have followed them and wrested his cage from her. Recognizing that she was still in possession of it put him at ease.

She cooed at her familiar, and Draco peeked out to see her hug that giant ginger beast to her breast. Lucky bastard, he thought with a chuckle while she put the cat away.

She reached a tentative hand into his cage, then. He expected her to grab him up and drag him out. Instead, she simply waited. She was waiting for him to come to her.

His head tipped to one side as he stared at her slender fingers. Had Granger always been so patient?

He edged forward, pressing himself into her waiting hand. She pulled him from the cage delicately, and then he found himself in the air with Granger meeting his gaze. This close to her face, he could make out tiny flecks of dark red in her irises amidst the shades of black, white, and grey that seemed all he could register in this form.

He banished a brief wonder of what that might look like through human eyes.

"Draco, you poor thing! Are you okay?"

"Never thought you'd say that, did you?"

Draco turned his little head, one corner of his mouth puckering in a sneer at Potter's question. But then he was being cradled. It took him a moment to register that Granger was hugging him, as she had her cat.

"Sorry little guy."

The embrace was far more comforting in the wake of the last hour of his life than he'd thought possible. And she held him so carefully. Granger was patient, and gentle? Who knew?

And she smelled nice. Dammit, all, why did she have to smell nice? All sugary and flowery.

But then she was pulling him away and setting him back inside the cage. Draco hmphed in his head. This cage business simply would not do!

Of course, the lock on the cage door had other ideas.

Again, he found himself jostled as Granger swung the cages side-to-side, making her way around people standing outside the cars. He had to listen as they stopped along the way and chatted with friends. He was only half-paying attention, but she was laughing with Longbottom about a hug, or some such nonsense?

Draco found himself simply grateful she stopped the motion of the cage frequently enough to keep him from wondering if ferrets could feel nauseated.

Then he was swung into a car and he saw the two youngest Weasel-bees. Finally, his cage was set down, again. And he heard the most dreadful thing imaginable.

"This is for you." She was talking to that ginger-haired oaf of a boyfriend of hers.

She'd bought him for Weasel-bee? Bloody hell, he probably should have paid closer attention when they were talking.

Oh, no! That would not do!

The cage door opened, but Draco ducked backward.

"Things have been weird between us. I wanted to get you something special, because I . . . I want us to be able to be friends, again."

So ginger-oaf wasn't her boyfriend? Draco pretended he didn't find that bit of news interesting.

Once more, she put her hand inside the cage. He thought she would again wait for him, but this time she reached back, searching, slow and blind, until she touched him. But she didn't grab him up, instead she merely stroked her fingers over him.

Draco slumped her under hand, surprised at how pleasant the simplest touches felt. Once he'd relaxed, she pulled him out and set him in her lap.

As he looked around, he noticed dim shades of red stuck out around the Weasel-bees' faces. He was glad he'd be able to pick them out of a crowd. All the easier to run the other way.

Then conversation erupted. And Draco was tempted to plot revenge as he listened to them laugh and talk about how he—as a bloody ferret—looked like . . . . Well, himself.

"Well, give him here, then." The most awful words Draco could have hoped to hear!

Suddenly, Granger scooped him up—honestly, he'd been perfectly content in her lap—and held him out to Weasel-bee. The moment she released him, Draco started struggling.

No, no, no. This was not happening! If he let this stand, he might well stay a ferret forever!

He watched as Granger turned to grab his cage. In a panic, he twisted his head around snapping his teeth over the tip of one of ginger-oaf's fingers.

Weasel-bee dropped him to the floor. The moment he was free and mobile, Draco darted away. He couldn't go back into her lap, he would be too easy to retrieve, there, nor was he setting foot—paw? Oh, whatever—back in that cage.

He scurried up, over Potter and Granger, and found a perfect hiding spot as he reached her shoulder. Burrowing beneath her hair, he curled up, clinging to her collar.

Draco breathed out a little hissing sound—of course, in his head, it was a triumphant chuckle—as Potter supplied excuses for him. As little Weasle-bee voiced the obviousness that Draco would likely not return to her brother.

As no one forced him to return.

Granger settled back against her seat, stroking his fur idly. He couldn't help a smug feeling of satisfaction. He might be a ferret, but he could still win an argument with enough fuss.