Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling. I am in no way affiliated with her. This is not a profitable work. No copyright infringement is intended. Thank you.
Mutom Beatitus
Chapter 7; The Book
Pretty soon Hermione realized that the quiet wasn't because Malfoy had come to his senses and realized how un-Malfoy it was to talk to a cat, and stopped, but that he'd just fallen asleep. She turned around so that she had a clear view of his face, and she noted how un-Malfoy that was, too. It still resembled him, but he looked sort of harmless. Just like shedding the cloak, somehow falling asleep make Malfoy look more human.
She glanced from sleeping-Malfoy to the door, which was securely closed, and decided it wasn't worth staying up to see if anyone would come in and let her out. She crawled away from him and tried to fall asleep at the foot of his bed, but found that it was too cold over there. After a moment of debating, she crawled back across the bed and nestled again against Malfoy's torso. He made a small happy noise and slung an arm over to draw her closer.
~o~
"Draco."
"Mmf."
"DracoDracoDracoDraco."
"Mmf."
Hermione twitched her nose, wondering why there were suddenly all of these loud sounds around her. Hadn't she just been in Diagon Alley, sharing an ice cream with Peeves? But, no, that couldn't have been, because...
As more details rushed into her mind and were labeled impossible, Hermione came to the realization that she'd been dreaming.
"Draco, you missed dinner. You missed chicken, Draco. There was chicken."
It took a few tries to open her eyes, as they felt awfully heavy, but when they did things went back to making little sense. Well, some things did. She now understood that the warm little puffs of air that'd been wafting into her face had been due to the exhaling of Draco Malfoy. But why exactly her faces was inches from that of a half-asleep Draco Malfoy was beyond her.
Or, at least, it was, until she remembered several key details. One of them being that she was a cat, the other that she was now practically the Slytherin's pet.
"Draco, are you okay? Are you dead?"
The eyes on the face she was watching slowly opened, then rolled. She felt, more than heard, the sigh that followed.
"Goyle, if I was dead I wouldn't be able to talk to you, would I?"
"Yeah, I thought so," came Crabbe's voice from somewhere else in the room. "I thought you weren't dead."
Then Malfoy sat up, and Hermione found herself tumbling into his lap. Hermione swore that he'd realized she'd been asleep on his chest the same moment that she had. For a second, they made eye contact. Then he frowned slightly, and shook his head again.
"Draco, what is it?"
"Nothing," he replied calmly, looking up at Goyle.
"Are you hungry?"
He seemed to pause, and Hermione wondered if he was searching for an answer. Didn't most people just know that they were hungry? But she supposed Malfoy was hardly a normal person.
"No."
"Oh—I just remembered something."
"Congratulations, Crabbe." Hermione was sure his tone was sarcastic, but Crabbe seemed to overlook it.
"That third year girl—the one with the pointy hair?-I've got to ask her to write my potions essay."
"Can I come?" came Goyle's voice.
Hermione felt herself sliding a little bit again as Malfoy leaned back against the headboard of the bed. She craned her neck to look up at him, but it was hard to read his face from her angle.
"Why? You wanna punch her for me?"
"Nuh-uh... I like her hair. It's pointy." Hermione just barely heard the last part, and wondered if anyone else in the room had.
"Anyway, we're going, Draco. Wanna come?" He shook his head above her. She felt excited at this.
Immediately after she wondered why. Why was she happy for Malfoy's company?
There were a number of possible reasons.
It might have been that he was clearly a brilliant source of heat. But, no, that became creepier the more she considered it; couldn't be it.
Perhaps it was that she hoped he'd start rambling again and would reveal his many secrets, to be used at a later time for revenge. Except, she hadn't really thought of that until just now. Though it probably was a good idea.
A few other reasons, all equally probably-wrong, ran through Hermione's head before she decided that she was probably just lonely after spending to much time away from Harry and Ron. Surely only loneliness could lead to joy at Malfoy's company.
She felt her weight shift again as Malfoy moved like he was about to get up. He seemed to hesitate as he looked down at her, then sat back down as he had been before, back against the headboard. There was a rustling sound, and then Hermione heard, "Accio Obliviate: Remembering Memory Charms."
Immediately Hermione's ears perked up. She'd been meaning to read that the other day, but someone else had already checked it out. Feeling spiteful, she stood up and trotted off Malfoy's lap, to sit beside him about a foot away. He looked up at her curiously, and she began to regret getting up. The blanket wasn't nearly as warm.
Malfoy twisted around so that he was on his stomach, and she watched him for a bit as he read. The whole time she was torn between lying closer to him—to become warm, obviously—and scratching him for stealing her book.
Finally she decided to sit next to him and try to read over his shoulder. Something told her that this wasn't particularly cat-like, but she was sure he wouldn't notice anyway. She was pleased to find that he didn't so much as look up when she walked over and took her place beside him. She actually had to duck out of the way a few times so the pages wouldn't brush across her nose as they were turned. Luckily Malfoy seemed to read at a reasonable pace, since she usually didn't have to wait too long after finishing a page for it to be turned. She wanted to thank him for this, before she remember that she should've been the one reading the book anyway.
In the middle of a particularly interesting chapter on the use of memory charms for magical regulation, she heard the door open, and someone step inside.
"Draco."
"Oh... Hello, Blaise."
Hermione kept reading as she felt Malfoy shift around.
"I—I felt liked I owed you for earlier. Being there, I mean. So I asked around about your cat at dinner."
"Oh?"
It faintly registered that she was probably being watched, but she continued reading the paragraph she was on anyway.
"Yeah. No one in Hufflepuff was missing a cat. I had—I had Theodore ask around Ravenclaw table. Nobody there, either."
"Oh."
"Yeah. Might wanna get rid of it, don't wanna attract Gryffindorks."
Suddenly it was dreadfully difficult for Hermione to make out the words on the page. She was sorely tempted to turn around, but had to remind herself that cats don't understand human-words. At least, most cats didn't. Sometimes she wondered about Mrs. Norris.
"Actually, Blaise, I think this is good news."
"How's that?"
"Well, now we don't have to give Muffin back. I'd almost feel bad stealing from a Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw."
"Almost." She could almost hear Zabini's smirk as he repeated the word.
"We could even hold it ransom, if we found out whose it was."
"Draco, that's brilliant. But who in Gryffindor has a cat?"
"Granger does, doesn't she?"
"How the Hell would you know, Draco?" It took a moment for Hermione to realize that she hadn't managed to think out loud, and that Blaise was simply asking the obvious question.
"Remember in third year, when she and Weaselbee were fighting over his rat, or something?"
"No. No, Draco, I don't. Why do you?"
"Don't take eavesdropping lightly, I guess. Anyway, are you helping me ransom Muffin or not?"
"Muffin?"
"Her name is Muffin, Blaise."
"Right. Muffin."
"Are you helping or not?"
"It seems a bit juvenile..."
"Blaise, everything we do is juvenile; that's half the fun of it." Hermione found it difficult to argue against that statement.
"Fine. What should we ask for? Galleons?"
"Not if Weasel is funding her."
"We could make her do our homework?"
"Eh, homework isn't so bad."
"You're right, it's not asking enough. She'd probably enjoy it."
"I bet she does Potty and Weasel's homework anyway." There was a snicker at this, and Hermione wanted very badly to point out that she really only revised it, and pointed them in the right direction, and wrote the occasional essay for Ron.
"Oh, Draco, I've got it."
"What?"
"We've got to make her fail a test. I bet she'd absolutely die."
"Hm... It would have to be a Potions exam, so we could be sure she actually did it."
Just then someone else entered the room, and Hermione felt confident enough to turn around to face the Slytherins. She turned in time to see that it was Theodore Nott who'd entered, and to notice the look Zabini shot Malfoy before he muttered, "I'll draft the letter, then, and have it delivered," and left.
Nott looked at the doorframe a little bit after he'd gone, then turned to face Malfoy.
"Is he alright? He's started acting weird recently. Barely talked to me until dinner. Has he been avoiding you, too?"
Hermione heard Malfoy sigh beside her. "He's upset, Theo. I'd tell you why, but it's hardly my place."
"Hardly your place? But—but I'm his best friend, I ought to know, hadn't I?"
She thought she saw Malfoy shrug from the corner of her eye. "If he wants you to know, he'll tell you."
"But—but what if he doesn't? You don't know him like I do, Draco. He gets all—all private about things. When something happens with his mum, he never says unless you ask, and he'll tell you his favourite colour is green when it's actually purple and—Nevermind. Forget it." And with that, Nott exited.
The room was quiet for a moment before Malfoy turned to her. Before she could think of what a cat might or might not do, she turned to face him as well.
"Muffin, honestly, sometimes I think I'm the sanest one here... Which can't be a good sign, since I'm talking to a cat." Ah, so he did realize how loony it was.
The last thing Hermione could recall before she fell asleep was what the name of the minister of magic who'd prohibited fake-recollection charms was, and the feeling of warmth and fluffy sheets.
~o~
"Harry, I asked Hannah Abbott and she said Blaise Zabini from Slytherin was asking about a missing cat before. Do you think it could have been Hermione?" Neville sat sideways on the bench next to Harry, awaiting a response. When he didn't receive one, he tried again. "Harry?"
"What? Oh, sorry, Neville. It's just—look at this."
A parchment was passed into Neville's hands, and he held it shakily. People didn't often share the letters that came at breakfast. Looking down at the letter, he noticed it was written in deep purple ink, which was a bit unusual. Maybe it had been written by a girl? Harry's Aunt?
He realized he was entirely wrong when he began to actually read the letter.
Dear Hermione Granger, (Or, if you cannot be reached because you're busy in the library trying to find a book on hair-straightening, Dearest Potter and his sidekick, Weasel)
It seems you've lost your cat. Also, it seems that we've found it. Naturally the thing to do is to get it back to you. But then, you see, we would be helping you out, and for what? Being Slytherins, naturally we ask for something in return.
You must fail a Potions exam. The one we're taking on Tuesday. You may receive no more than two points on it. Preferably less.
If you do not do this then, you see, we'll have absolutely no incentive to return your cat to you. It quite likes it here, anyway, and I can't say I blame it. Then again, it probably doesn't realize how much joy Crabbe would get from crushing its skull in.
But don't worry, we'll take good care of it. Until Potions, anyway. After that, well, where's the incentive, Granger?
See you in Potions,
Blaise Zabini & Co.
"Harry," Ron said, peering over Neville's shoulder, "This is ridiculous. I mean, besides the fact that she's a cat and won't even be in Potions—she'd never fail an exam. What are we gonna do?"
"No idea."
~x~
