All the love to my team as always: In Dreams, LightofEvolution, and Mcal... and to all of you!
Draco Malfoy is a coward.
He's been painfully aware of this fact for much longer than he might have admitted out loud. Creatures, Dark Wizards, his own father… There is very little on this earth that doesn't make him coil inward on instinct. And now, at the end of his formal education, the world looming ahead of him, he is afraid of his future as well.
The Malfoy coffers are fairly empty, his parents living off of what is left and trapped in their ancestral home. They are both condemned to live out their days within Malfoy Manor, one loan house elf at their disposal, and their own magic limited to mostly rudimentary function. The once proud family is at their lowest, and Draco knows his father has expectations of Draco to rescue them from their fate.
But Draco is fortunate to simply walk free, his fate only as rosy as it is due to his age during most of his crimes. His attempts on the life of Albus Dumbledore had occurred before he was of age. Since his seventeenth birthday, he had kept his head down and his ears open. The Dark Lord had asked little of him, their family having fallen from his grace. It is fortunate he failed so spectacularly at his initial task, or he might have been on the front lines. As it was, he was forbidden to participate in revels (as though it was a punishment) and given no responsibilities beyond basic errands.
He had been found innocent of his crimes, to grave disappointment to many, he is sure, and was sent packing to Hogwarts to finish his year.
Which has been terrible, thanks.
Draco has never felt so lonely, so forgotten. His mother has been writing, of course, but the Ministry is watching all Malfoy missives, and so it has tended to be weeks between messages. Some would arrive in bundles of three or four at a time, obvious that a Ministry toady had been purposefully delaying the process, letting them build as unimportant trash. It angered Draco, in the beginning, but he finds he has no energy for anger any longer. This is his life now, and he isn't entirely sure how to live it.
So, in October, Draco had concocted a plan to do what he does best: Run. His first step was to find an easy way to disappear. He's a visible, notable wizard. Not to mention his mother, regardless that her funds are low, would find a way to locate him as soon as he stepped off the Express if he let her know his plans. He couldn't very well leave without telling her; he's not that much of a bastard. So, he found a way to make sure he would be gone from sight as soon as she knew to start looking.
His letter home only a few days ago had been brief but sincere.
Mother and Father,
I must apologize as I know this will not be welcome news, but I will not be returning to the Manor. The Malfoy name is damaged beyond what little repair a single generation might make, and I find I do not have the constitution to fail yet another impossible task.
I have finished Hogwarts with top marks, only behind Granger in rank. I hope this one last obligation is enough to make you proud, if only for a moment.
My intention is to find a life I can live for myself, without the shadow of who I have been hanging over me. Please do not send anyone to search for me. I will be making myself rather hard to find.
But also, Mother, please do not worry for me. I have a modest sum from my private vault, luckily untouched by the Ministry, that should sustain me. It has already been withdrawn from Gringotts and moved to a private holding.
I wish you both well and will contact you when I am able.
Regards,
Draco
Once the message had been snatched by a waiting Hogwarts owl, Draco had made his way to his dorm to finalize his arrangements. What odds and ends he had left, mostly just quills and his spare robes, he had asked Theo Nott to carry home.
"You're not taking the Express?"
Draco had scoffed, putting on airs (one of his ingrained talents). "Of course not. I have some travelling to do. Heading out of England for a bit. Can you just make sure this is sent to the Manor for me?"
Theo had eyed him but agreed and asked his friend to contact him once he returned to Britain.
Like the snake he is, Draco had lied baldly to Theo's face before slipping out of the dorms with nothing but his wand in his pocket and the clothes on his back; a freedom, a luxury, the likes of which he had never known.
The transformation was the easy part. Malfoys are of an old and powerful bloodline. Though his opinions on the concept of blood purity have been challenged, he still has pride in his name and his house. He comes from powerful stock. Regardless of whether purity itself has any bearing, the reality is he has the knowledge, the proof, that he follows a line of adept witches and wizards.
The first time he had transformed, months before, Draco had been sure in the moment preceding that he would be a dragon, as if cosmic justice owed him that much. If not that, perhaps a strong and fast bird of prey...
A sleek feline?
Snake, as is his House pride?
...
...A ferret?!
The first transformation had been very brief, Draco rapidly changing back to stare at himself in the mirror, immediately returning to his typical form to be sure he could and that this wasn't some sick joke. He'd been momentarily convinced someone was reveling in one of his greatest nightmares. He can still feel the bruises left from being bounced in his ferret form, years ago though it was.
After calming breaths, he had tried again, studying himself in the mirror through his new beady eyes.
Not a ferret, in actual fact. Somewhat more unique, his animagus form had been the Scottish native pine marten. A mustelid, but he had been grateful to avoid the Weasley weasel or Hufflepuff badger. At least, he had comforted himself, he isn't one of those. He is also a predator, a carnivore, which makes him feel stronger by design.
His fur had been, by and large, a rather uninspired brown, but he does sport a rather striking patch of orange on his chest and neck.
After a few days, trying out the transformation occasionally and using it as a way to vanish from the watchful eyes of professors, Draco had learned to be thankful for what he has (It could be worse, he'd thought. I could be a jellyfish on dry land), and started making final plans of his escape.
As the end of school loomed, what he'd needed next was a student to smuggle him home. No one would miss Draco on the last day. Only Theo and Pansy would even speak to him, and Pansy has her own problems.
He had turned on the edge of the Forbidden Forest and prayed to Merlin for a Hufflepuff. Or perhaps a very young Ravenclaw. Someone with a bleeding heart and enough sense to take care of him. He'd sat there, sleek and beautiful, waiting…
Only to find himself bored out of his mind when hours passed. He supposes he should have taken into account the fact that many of the students would be leaving early, and many of those remaining would spend their last day involved in teary goodbyes with friends.
All of his efforts, weeks of preparing his form and planning his departure, were crumbling, and he had just started to think he might have to venture into the castle. Filch was in the castle. Mrs. Norris with her red eyes...
Then, the clouds had parted, and he had seen her; a lone figure by the lake. Granger was, perhaps, not the best choice. He knows she would hex him if she knew his identity, but she was a bleeding heart if there ever was one. And if any witch knew how to properly take care of an animal, it would be her.
His approach had been cautious. Not for fear, but more to keep appearances he was a humble, little mustelid, not a wizard in weasel clothing. As he grew closer, what had started as muffled sobs, sounds he wasn't entirely certain at first how to categorize, had evolved into pained, strangled weeping.
Initially, he had been surprised. Granger, it seems, has been hiding her trauma rather well. Though, he'd thought, if he really considers it, he is very familiar with the signs, and perhaps she had shown some cracks in her facade over the past months. He had watched her a moment, a part of him wishing another wizard or witch might come along, but eventually resigned himself. Studying her face, an urge to distract her had prodded him forward, and he had touched his tiny, cold nose to the skin on her hand.
She had praised him and smiled softly, immediately stemming the flow of her tears, and so, he had nudged her again.
In his experiences with Hermione Granger, he had known her to be many things. Bossy? In spades. Over-confident? She wears it like a cloak. Judgmental? Accusatory? Attention-seeking? No one could deny. Even her best friends had been known to share a laugh about it. Draco and Granger had never been anything close to civil, so of course he would never have said a word about it, but he personally thought she needed better friends.
Because the reality is that she is all of those things that Weaselbee says, but in that moment he'd had proof positive that she is also soft and kind and full of affection; a fact that surely her closest mates must have realized. Her scent, sweet citrus lingering beneath the smell of parchment on her fingertips, is hardly unpleasant.
"Did you belong to someone?" she had asked him softly, silent tears welling in her eyes and sliding down her pale cheeks. "You're awfully sweet not to have someone love you."
And so, when she scooped him up, promising to find him a home, he had hooked his tiny little paws on her shoulder and watched the Hogwarts grounds disappear into the distance, for, he had imagined, the last time.
Which brings Draco to his current circumstances.
He watches the door slowly close, Granger's large brown eyes on his until the opening vanishes with a soft click. He waits a moment, eyes trained on the handle.
When nothing changes for a count of two hundred, Draco wills his transformation to end. Starting on all fours on what is suddenly a rather small bed, he climbs down and stretches his long limbs, feeling his back crack in a very satisfying way. Being a marten is not uncomfortable in general, but there is a lingering sense of wrongness until he returns to his Gods-given flesh.
He takes stock of the room next, pilfering and fingering through what little remains in the Gryffindor girls' dormitory. Granger, it seems, has mostly packed already. On her nightstand, he finds an oddly masculine watch (a boyfriend? Weasley?), a book simply titled "Night" with a much-loved spine and frayed corners, and a half-empty glass of water.
A pair of slippers rests by the side of the bed. Ridiculous things with the heads of rather unnatural looking rabbits stitched above the toes, Draco isn't sure if he's amused or appalled by such odd accessories in the possession of a rather serious witch.
He wanders to the small bathroom, running a finger along the footboard of the beds on the way. The mirror above the modest sinks shows that he looks tired, but a faint smile rests on his lips.
Free.
He's still hardly able to believe it. Perhaps the sentiment is premature. He might still be caught, but so far luck is on his side.
A glance into the shower reveals a bottle of shampoo that touts an herbal and citrus blend. Draco mentally congratulates himself for his olfactory acumen. He's really getting a hang of his animal senses…
All in all, Granger's room is almost disappointing in how ordinary it is. A part of him was searching vaguely for some alien Muggle gadgets to occupy his time. What they might be or what he might do with them, he can't imagine, but had hoped nonetheless.
In the end, he thumbs through her book and then decides a short kip might be in order. Of course he will have to transform, but that's not so terrible. Draco returns to his small form and curls into a ball, his tail wrapping around himself, and wills himself to dream about open air and endless choices, beholden to no one but himself.
Draco's next conscious thought is that the world is shaking rather violently, and he starts, scrambling for purchase.
"Sorry, darling," a voice coos at him. "But you're going to have to share."
He blinks, head darting around and settling on the figure leaned over the bed. Granger is tugging at the blanket he's been sleeping upon, making his tiny paws lose balance one at a time as the fabric shimmies out from beneath him.
If he could glare, he would. Draco thinks, as he tries not to fall on his furry face, that he wasn't trying to take the whole bed, and if she would stop shaking him he would be happy to vacate to one of the empty mattresses across the room!
Finally, the world stops trying to rattle him, and Granger changes tactics. She gives him a very enticing little scratch beneath his jaw that makes his eyes close involuntarily and his back leg want to twitch. It's nice, but over too soon. "Come on, then," she says, and then he feels her hands scoop beneath him and lift him from the bed only to be deposited a small distance away.
He looks back at her, hoping to convey a proper scolding with his eyes, to find himself a little dumbstruck.
Granger is standing there in a rather plebeian looking shirt that he knows by touch is made of a very cheap fabric. It's dark and has short sleeves and a strange emblem painted on the front. All of that is an oddity, but likely just some Muggle nonsense and hardly worth notice.
What is worth notice is the fact that the shirt hitting toward the top of her thighs is the only stitch of clothing hiding the witch's modesty.
Fucking hell, he hadn't really thought about this.
He resolutely looks away, trying not to think too hard about the expanse of skin revealed to him and looking around the room for an alternative place to sleep. The other beds have been stripped of blankets and the like, but Draco is sure they will be comfortable enough…
"Are you pouting now?" Granger giggles a little as she reaches down to pet him. Her legs have slid beneath the bed clothes, and he can feel her feet wiggling against his side. "Your spot is warm. I almost feel bad making you move." She laughs lightly again, and then his body is lifted and laid gently down right next to the pillows at the head of the bed.
Draco freezes, unsure how to react. He's laying almost nose to nose with Hermione Granger, her small hand running a soothing line from his head down his back, repeating in fluid and gentle swipes. "Sorry I was gone so long. I had to say goodbye to a few people."
He notices, now that he's not trying to find an escape, that her eyes are a little glassy. He wonders who she had needed to find for her farewells. Her dundering duo have not been in attendance, and he's not known her to have other friends. A younger, crueler Draco Malfoy might have sneered and asked if she wanted to have one last bit of alone time with the library, but those days ended when a boy learned the atrocities of war and became a more tempered man.
He's not sure what makes him do it, but Draco scoots himself just a little closer, settling in and soaking up the warmth emanating from Granger's body. Her arm slides around his smaller frame and pulls him even closer, cuddling him against her chest, his head settled near her neck.
He thinks she must be almost asleep, her breathing settled into a lulling rhythm, but then her lips part and her breath ruffles his coat.
"Tomorrow," she says, "we're going to go home. You and me. Whoever you lost…" He waits, holding very still while she collects herself. Her voice is even quieter when she speaks again, words meant for herself in the lonely dark. "Whoever lost you probably loved you very much, just like I loved Crooks. But, I think it's alright if you can love me just a little, I'm sure they won't mind. Wherever my Crooks is now, I hope someone will love him for me."
Grangers face nuzzles into his back, and he smells the salt of her tears before he feels them wet his fur. She's quiet when she sobs, and Draco allows himself to be held, letting her be sad and trying to be something good for someone.
In his whole life, Draco has very seldom been what anyone needs. Hermione Granger is his ticket to freedom. He thinks he can at least be this for her now.
He drifts off again, his breathing almost in sync with the witch holding him close. Sometime in the night, she rolls away, favoring a position on her back, but Draco edges against her shoulder, keeping contact until the sun breaks over the horizon to welcome his first day of true freedom.