A.N.: I'm at a loss as to why I didn't put this first scene in the last
chapter. Besides that, I'm really trying to make these things longer, I
know how annoying short chapters are.
******
Once Draco had thoroughly contemplated his fur, he had moved onto his hands. They were much more . . . plush . . . than his real hands. It was a bit disorientating. Textures had a whole new feel; he amused himself for a very long time sliding around the inside of the bookbag just touching everything.
His sense of smell was more acute too, but he was trying his best to ignore that.
He wondered what had become of his face, but new hands and a lack of mirror did not cure his curiosity and he eventually gave up. Questions sated for the moment, Draco finally began to question why the bag was being jarred so violently.
It was tossed down.
A monstrous quill—luckily not a book—dropped over him. There were loud noises coming from outside the bag now, and Draco struggled to free himself.
"Stupid heavy feathers."
With a mighty shove, he managed enough space to scramble out from under the fluffy anvil and bee-lined it to a small tear he'd noticed earlier.
It was the largest herd of Hufflepuffs Draco had seen since . . . lunch. But still, Crabbe and Goyle had an impressive round-up going on. The group-shove method was working wonders for them as they crowded the smaller students into the room and blocked the exit with their bulk.
"Let us out right now!" Some bepimpled girl shouted. Goyle shoved her into the wall.
'Well now he's gone and done it.' Draco thought to himself, and watched the predicted surge of Hufflepuffs as they merged on Goyle. On kid screamed something that sounded suspiciously like "I'm going to die!" but they moved forward all the same.
It wasn't anything fancy, but about ten first and second years simultaneously attempted to clobber the hulk. His forehead scrunched up in confusion, not pain, and the entire student mass flooded around him and out the door. Leaving two very confused bullies.
That was the unfortunate thing about those Hufflepuffs, Draco mused, you couldn't really beat them up in groups. You could have a good maim with one, but if any others were within pouncing distance they'd throw self- preservation and the laws of physics to the wind and attack someone five times their size.
"Nut jobs, the whole lot of 'em."
He was shaken from his thoughts quite literally when the bag was opened. The sudden light blinded him, but when he felt the pudgy hand that gripped him too tightly, his stomach about fell out.
Draco was thrown on a hard surface—table, he assumed. Instinctly he arched his back, gave his best Malfoy glare, and hissed. That was when he learned that Malfoy glares filtered through the large eyes of rodents lost an important amount of effect. A very important amount.
"You got that thing?" Such eloquence.
"Yeah."
From his bag Crabbe produced a sinister looking plank—complete with restraints and gears. Draco's beady eyes tripled in size as they strapped him to it. He knew what this was. Hell, he'd invented it! This was so unfair.
He struggled against them as well as he could, but since any one of their fingers could break his ribcage he had little chance. When his four legs had been secured, they began adjusting the gears.
For his part, Draco was gaining new perspective on several previously fun memories involving cute furry animals and this same contraption. He was also praying to every God he'd ever heard of.
". . . I promise I'll never kill or maim-well, maybe maim—small woodland animals again . . ."
Crabbe gave one crank a twist, and Draco's left rear leg suddenly got a lot longer.
". . . and I'll never flush Blaise's underwear again . . ."
A second leg stretched out.
". . . I'll give that tooth back, I swear!"
A third.
". . . okay! I'll hand it back! No eye removal of any kind . . ."
A fourth.
". . . French hooker—"
Goyle's hand was getting way too close to that crank! One more twist and Draco would be the amazing 'three-legged squirrel-like creature.'
"NOOOOOO!"
"What have you got?" A booming female voice stopped Draco's manly screech.
In that moment Draco Malfoy felt pure, unadultered love for whoever had saved him He gazed up into his idols face, and the moment passed.
His disgust was momentary though, because he passed out.
******
His first thought upon waking was that he was spending far too much time disorientated lately. His second thought was that he'd like to stop coming to with huge faces hovering over him.
"So what is it?"
"Oh honestly! You'd think you had never been to a zoo before!" Ron's expression showed this was probably the case. "It's a sugar-glider!"
Harry harrumphed. "Sounds like something those two would have around them. Suppose they thought they could eat it?"
"Actually . . ."
"What are you going to do with it?" Harry spoke as he watched Ron poke it curiously.
"Well . . . I had planned to give it back to whomever it belonged to. But I asked around and no one's looking for it."
"It might actually be Crabbe or Goyle's then?"
"I suppose so, but I'm not giving it back to them. They'd probably rip a leg off before I even got out of the room."
Harry nodded his agreement.
"Are they usually this . . . boring?" Ron looked up from his inspection.
"No, but this one did just wake up from being unconscious for nearly twelve hours. I suppose it's disoriented." She tilted her head slightly, thinking back. "My cousin had one once. If it wasn't crawling across his head it was sleeping in his pocket. I expect this one will do that too. Just has to recover first."
"So quartering small animals is bad for entertainment value. Noted."
Ron turned to Harry quizzically, "how do you suppose they got a miniature quartering set anyways?"
They thought about this for a moment. Then simultaneously answered:
"Slytherins."
The sugar glider twittered.
******
". . . . we didn't really think it was anything until he missed the Ending Feast. He's been polishing his boots all week! There's just no way he'd have missed it unless he was tied up in some dungeon being whipped and fed curdled milk—"
"Someone's murdered him!"
"Miss Parkinson, kindly refrain from screeching in my ear. I am not, as you seem to assume, deaf. Nor do I wish to be. Mr. Zabini, have you any idea where Mr. Malfoy would have been going?"
Blaise, still horrified at the thought of missing a formal event, responded with a quiet "no," and expanded only when Snape glared. "Last I saw him was around noon Friday, up in the dorm. He said he'd be down in a minute to help me teach those two" he gestured to the opposite couch "their transfigurations." The two students in question added their vigorous flick-swish-twist's in affirmation. A cushion became a cupcake with fur, while a chair skittered away.
Professor Snape wiped out his wand and immediately sent the counter curse at both objects. The cushion returned to fabric, but remained fuzzy, and the chair turned into a boat. Botched transfigurations had the most bizarre reactions to other spells.
"Bloody idiots!" Snape turned menacingly towards the two on the couch. "I don't know what curse you actually shot just now, but you had better sort it out!"
They scrambled over the couch and ran straight out of the dorm. Stupid as they were, they knew they couldn't fix the bad spells and choose the better option.
Snape stood up and debated chasing them. But they had been surprisingly fast for people that slow, so he settled for angry pacing instead.
"So no one has seen him since Friday at noon then?"
Pansy burst into tears, but Blaise nodded.
Snape bowed his head slightly in thought. Something caught his eye. He approached it just as Pansy launched herself onto Blaise and wailed into his robes.
"Mr. Zambini," Blaise turned his eyes to his professor as he tried to peal the girl off him. "Has it escaped your attention, that wherever Mr. Malfoy has disappeared to, he has left his clothes?" He held out a black cloak, shinning prefect pin declaring it as property of one Draco F. Malfoy. "What does this tell you?" He was of course referring to possible methods of abduction.
". . . he's been kidnapped naked?"
Pansy stopped crying.
******
A.N.
There you go! It's not long, but it's long/I!
******
Once Draco had thoroughly contemplated his fur, he had moved onto his hands. They were much more . . . plush . . . than his real hands. It was a bit disorientating. Textures had a whole new feel; he amused himself for a very long time sliding around the inside of the bookbag just touching everything.
His sense of smell was more acute too, but he was trying his best to ignore that.
He wondered what had become of his face, but new hands and a lack of mirror did not cure his curiosity and he eventually gave up. Questions sated for the moment, Draco finally began to question why the bag was being jarred so violently.
It was tossed down.
A monstrous quill—luckily not a book—dropped over him. There were loud noises coming from outside the bag now, and Draco struggled to free himself.
"Stupid heavy feathers."
With a mighty shove, he managed enough space to scramble out from under the fluffy anvil and bee-lined it to a small tear he'd noticed earlier.
It was the largest herd of Hufflepuffs Draco had seen since . . . lunch. But still, Crabbe and Goyle had an impressive round-up going on. The group-shove method was working wonders for them as they crowded the smaller students into the room and blocked the exit with their bulk.
"Let us out right now!" Some bepimpled girl shouted. Goyle shoved her into the wall.
'Well now he's gone and done it.' Draco thought to himself, and watched the predicted surge of Hufflepuffs as they merged on Goyle. On kid screamed something that sounded suspiciously like "I'm going to die!" but they moved forward all the same.
It wasn't anything fancy, but about ten first and second years simultaneously attempted to clobber the hulk. His forehead scrunched up in confusion, not pain, and the entire student mass flooded around him and out the door. Leaving two very confused bullies.
That was the unfortunate thing about those Hufflepuffs, Draco mused, you couldn't really beat them up in groups. You could have a good maim with one, but if any others were within pouncing distance they'd throw self- preservation and the laws of physics to the wind and attack someone five times their size.
"Nut jobs, the whole lot of 'em."
He was shaken from his thoughts quite literally when the bag was opened. The sudden light blinded him, but when he felt the pudgy hand that gripped him too tightly, his stomach about fell out.
Draco was thrown on a hard surface—table, he assumed. Instinctly he arched his back, gave his best Malfoy glare, and hissed. That was when he learned that Malfoy glares filtered through the large eyes of rodents lost an important amount of effect. A very important amount.
"You got that thing?" Such eloquence.
"Yeah."
From his bag Crabbe produced a sinister looking plank—complete with restraints and gears. Draco's beady eyes tripled in size as they strapped him to it. He knew what this was. Hell, he'd invented it! This was so unfair.
He struggled against them as well as he could, but since any one of their fingers could break his ribcage he had little chance. When his four legs had been secured, they began adjusting the gears.
For his part, Draco was gaining new perspective on several previously fun memories involving cute furry animals and this same contraption. He was also praying to every God he'd ever heard of.
". . . I promise I'll never kill or maim-well, maybe maim—small woodland animals again . . ."
Crabbe gave one crank a twist, and Draco's left rear leg suddenly got a lot longer.
". . . and I'll never flush Blaise's underwear again . . ."
A second leg stretched out.
". . . I'll give that tooth back, I swear!"
A third.
". . . okay! I'll hand it back! No eye removal of any kind . . ."
A fourth.
". . . French hooker—"
Goyle's hand was getting way too close to that crank! One more twist and Draco would be the amazing 'three-legged squirrel-like creature.'
"NOOOOOO!"
"What have you got?" A booming female voice stopped Draco's manly screech.
In that moment Draco Malfoy felt pure, unadultered love for whoever had saved him He gazed up into his idols face, and the moment passed.
His disgust was momentary though, because he passed out.
******
His first thought upon waking was that he was spending far too much time disorientated lately. His second thought was that he'd like to stop coming to with huge faces hovering over him.
"So what is it?"
"Oh honestly! You'd think you had never been to a zoo before!" Ron's expression showed this was probably the case. "It's a sugar-glider!"
Harry harrumphed. "Sounds like something those two would have around them. Suppose they thought they could eat it?"
"Actually . . ."
"What are you going to do with it?" Harry spoke as he watched Ron poke it curiously.
"Well . . . I had planned to give it back to whomever it belonged to. But I asked around and no one's looking for it."
"It might actually be Crabbe or Goyle's then?"
"I suppose so, but I'm not giving it back to them. They'd probably rip a leg off before I even got out of the room."
Harry nodded his agreement.
"Are they usually this . . . boring?" Ron looked up from his inspection.
"No, but this one did just wake up from being unconscious for nearly twelve hours. I suppose it's disoriented." She tilted her head slightly, thinking back. "My cousin had one once. If it wasn't crawling across his head it was sleeping in his pocket. I expect this one will do that too. Just has to recover first."
"So quartering small animals is bad for entertainment value. Noted."
Ron turned to Harry quizzically, "how do you suppose they got a miniature quartering set anyways?"
They thought about this for a moment. Then simultaneously answered:
"Slytherins."
The sugar glider twittered.
******
". . . . we didn't really think it was anything until he missed the Ending Feast. He's been polishing his boots all week! There's just no way he'd have missed it unless he was tied up in some dungeon being whipped and fed curdled milk—"
"Someone's murdered him!"
"Miss Parkinson, kindly refrain from screeching in my ear. I am not, as you seem to assume, deaf. Nor do I wish to be. Mr. Zabini, have you any idea where Mr. Malfoy would have been going?"
Blaise, still horrified at the thought of missing a formal event, responded with a quiet "no," and expanded only when Snape glared. "Last I saw him was around noon Friday, up in the dorm. He said he'd be down in a minute to help me teach those two" he gestured to the opposite couch "their transfigurations." The two students in question added their vigorous flick-swish-twist's in affirmation. A cushion became a cupcake with fur, while a chair skittered away.
Professor Snape wiped out his wand and immediately sent the counter curse at both objects. The cushion returned to fabric, but remained fuzzy, and the chair turned into a boat. Botched transfigurations had the most bizarre reactions to other spells.
"Bloody idiots!" Snape turned menacingly towards the two on the couch. "I don't know what curse you actually shot just now, but you had better sort it out!"
They scrambled over the couch and ran straight out of the dorm. Stupid as they were, they knew they couldn't fix the bad spells and choose the better option.
Snape stood up and debated chasing them. But they had been surprisingly fast for people that slow, so he settled for angry pacing instead.
"So no one has seen him since Friday at noon then?"
Pansy burst into tears, but Blaise nodded.
Snape bowed his head slightly in thought. Something caught his eye. He approached it just as Pansy launched herself onto Blaise and wailed into his robes.
"Mr. Zambini," Blaise turned his eyes to his professor as he tried to peal the girl off him. "Has it escaped your attention, that wherever Mr. Malfoy has disappeared to, he has left his clothes?" He held out a black cloak, shinning prefect pin declaring it as property of one Draco F. Malfoy. "What does this tell you?" He was of course referring to possible methods of abduction.
". . . he's been kidnapped naked?"
Pansy stopped crying.
******
A.N.
There you go! It's not long, but it's long/I!