Draco went through his afternoon in a numb state of automation. He felt like a photograph, endlessly repeating the same action in an eternal loop, devoid of emotion, doomed to push the rock up the hill over and over. He closed the door to Hermione's room so he wouldn't have to look in and see her things. He put a kettle on for tea. He ate a stale croissant while standing at the counter. He didn't have much appetite and had to choke it down but he decided to blame that on the several days old bread rather than his feelings.

He tried to pet Lynx. He could, he thought, sit on the couch and pet the small orange cat. That was supposed to make people feel better. He'd read that somewhere. It was why he'd bought the creature for Hermione in the first place. Lynx swiped at his hand with a paw, however, leaving a trail of red, and then hissed before she ran off and crouched behind the corner of the bookcase. He couldn't meet her eyes. She glared at him. How a cat could sit in judgement he didn't know, but this one was.

He went to the sink and ran a stream of cold water over the scratch to clean it out before he put a plaster over it.

When the door flew open he turned, heart in his throat, hoping she had come back, even if only to yell at him, to let him explain, to fetch her things. She hadn't. It wasn't Hermione standing there, but Pansy, heels high, purse large, mouth set in a frown that should have warned him.

She set the bag down, strode across the room, pulled her arm back, and slapped him so hard his ears rang.

Clearly, Hermione had told.

"Pets?" Pansy asked with so much fury in her voice he took a step backward, and then another one. She'd spent much of her life alternating between fawning on him and being mad at him, but she'd always adored him. That didn't mean he'd missed how brutal she could be to people she didn't like. She wiped her hand off on her trousers, and he remembered how touching him had to feel like slime. She'd hit him anyway. "Pick a girl you like and have her turned into a creature who will adore every touch of your hand, was that the idea?"

He swallowed hard enough he could feel his throat bobbing. "It wasn't like that," he said, though, of course, that had been exactly his father's plan. "I wasn't going to tell him… we don't even know how it works."

"Not having the magic worked out doesn't make the whole idea less despicable."

Pansy glanced over at the bookcase and made a clicking noise with her tongue. Lynx regarded her with a modified version of her baleful expression until Pansy said, "I'm taking you to Granger, you stupid cat. Get in." Then, with a final glare at him, the cat trotted across the floor and jumped into Pansy's bag.

"Be careful," Draco said. "She scratches."

"You deserved it, I'm sure," Pansy said.

She scooped the bag up and turned to go, her slap delivered. Her hand was on the door when Draco blurted out, "Is she okay?"

Pansy's look would have not only withered flowers, it would have left the place where they'd grown burned, salted, and barren for a generation. "Fuck you, Malfoy," she said, and then she was gone.

The flat seemed much emptier without even Lynx. He'd never realized how big it was, or how the sound of the faucet seemed to echo. He let out a deep exhale and tried to make a plan. Apologizing seemed pointless, and if he went back to the Manor to tell his father off, he'd probably just end up ensnared by the sparrow he'd released. The thought of the sparrow, however, gave him an idea. Hermione had hated the idea of the little sentient birds caught in a cage and sold as pets and he'd told her they could go and free the rest once the Jean issue was taken care of. He could do that now for her.

Once the idea had taken root in his brain he couldn't dig it out, and by sunset he was at the Manor sorting through the bin of portkeys. Narcissa liked to keep them around. The idea of making a reservation with the Ministry to use public keys made her wrinkle her nose and grimace as if she'd accidentally stepped in something foul so, despite the exorbitant cost, a key to the Malfoy properties in France was almost always available. He grabbed it, grabbed a return key, and within an hour had portkeyed to one house, apparated to the pet shop, and come out with a giant cage of angry birds in his hand, earmuffs on his head.

He looked ridiculous and when he tried to explain his plan to the birds they just screamed at him.

Everyone hated him today.

Another portkey, and he was sucked away into darkness, the cage clutched in his hand, and deposited three feet above the gravel drive leading to the Manor. He hadn't expected to be airborne and fell to the ground with a hard thump, his ankle twisting under him with a flare of pain. When he stood and tried to put weight on it, he quickly shifted so he was on only the other foot and using the birdcage to steady himself. That had definitely been a bad landing.

He unlatched the cage and let the birds free. They swooped and soared out until the nearest tree seemed to be filled with chattering birds. He didn't dare take the earmuffs off. The birds were eyeing him much too avidly, and not altogether happily, and he didn't want to be found in a helpless daze.

He glanced up at the Manor. His parents were away, but he should write them a note letting them know he'd released the birds here. He should tell them Hermione had flown the coop. He should let his father know she'd taken the files. He should say he was at a standstill with the research. He should do all of those things, but he didn't. He didn't want to hear his father say in drawling tones of indifference that when the pain got bad enough, she'd come back. He didn't want her to be with him because she had no choice. Even if he was kind, that was… Pansy had used the word despicable and she was right.

He was despicable.

Instead of going up to the Manor and leaving a note, he apparated home and flooed first Blaise, then Theo. They were there almost before he'd pulled his head out of the fire.

"You are the only man I know who could manage to bungle a relationship with a woman who needs you to stay alive," Blaise said. He flung himself down onto what had been Hermione's chair and stretched his legs out so he could admire the shine on his shoes. "That takes talent, Draco."

Theo hunched his shoulders and gave him a tight smile. "I hate to agree with him," he began.

"But I'm right," Blaise said. "While I can understand preferring eternal torment to living with you - frankly, that seems like a not wholly unwise decision - she seemed to not mind the way you take three showers a day and have no color to your skin."

"She minded that my father wanted to sell people like her," Draco said. He wanted to get it out there as baldly as possible. Maybe if he undersold it they wouldn't be too aghast.

They were.

Theo half stood to leave before settling back down, uncomfortable but sufficiently tied by years of friendship he was willing to hear the whole story. "Please tell me you weren't involved in that," Blaise said. When he didn't say anything Blaise narrowed his eyes. "You really are a shite," he said. "I wondered why you were being so accommodating when she showed up on your doorstep, but I never would have suspected something as vile as this."

"I need to develop a potion," Draco said.

"Potter's already got the best pain potion around," Blaise said coldly. "He can make it. Salazar, you should get him to market that, assuming he's still speaking to you. I know he's got enough galleons to pave the streets, but you can never be too rich."

"Especially now that he's saddled with Pansy," Draco said, trying to get them away from his own failings. That led them all into a side discussion on why Potter was so encumbered, that it was a relief Pansy would be fine, smug expressions of pity for the chosen one, who had no idea what he was in for, and finally speculation on what they should do with the felix felicis Blaise had simmering away.

"It worked out well for me last time," Blaise said. "Wouldn't want to develop a habit, but a second dose doesn't seem too risky."

"I don't need luck these days," Theo said.

"Goyle's party?" Blaise asked with a knowing arch to his brows.

Theo became very interested in his own shoes which, while they didn't have the gleam of obsessive polishing charms Blaise's did, were still made of excellent leather with carefully hand-sewn seams. There was much to admire in them. He admired.

"I need a potion," Draco said again. It was why he had asked for their help. "Not a pain control drug, something that mimics me."

"That would be polyjuice," Blaise said. He sounded bored. "It already exists, you idiot."

Draco shook his head, however, and began to explain in detail what he needed and both his friends leaned forward, their interest hooked.

"It would be tricky," Theo said at last, "but polyjuice would probably be a good base to start experimenting from. And I'm guessing a feather or two from those siren sparrows of yours might be a good addendum. Sympathetic magic and all."

Blaise nodded. "Testing will be tricky," he said, "but I have an old book that goes into how Pepperup and Amortentia were developed, so we can reverse engineer a little from that." He looked at Draco and shook his head. "You're a fool, you know," he said. "You're trying to give your little bird the key to her cage and, given what you and your father were up to, she'll fly away from you so fast you'll be lucky to ever catch a glimpse of her again."

"I know," Draco said, "but what else can I do?"