A.N.: Hmm, this took forever to write. Mostly cause I had something of an
epiphany and decided to move cross country, transfer colleges, and get lots
and lots of jobs. So I've been a bit busy. Should be updating more
regularly though now, and I've got the whole story planned out now. There
will be at least two really funny slash scenes coming up (probably two
chapters away), so hang in there.
Oh yeah, and I realize I'm jumping around slightly in the timeline when I switch PoV's sometimes. I don't think it's confusing, but if your confused, maybe this is why?
Chapter Six:
Draco was slightly peeved. It'd been at least two hours since he'd carried through his little "prank" on Granger, and he was still in the box she had unceremoniously thrown him in. It hadn't really bothered him at first--he'd been far too busy celebrating his inherent evilness. But now, he was tired. He hadn't actually slept for two days, not since he was human. Sure, he'd been unconscious once or twice, but it just wasn't the same as a good night's sleep.
But despite all that, there was absolutely no way, no possible way, that Draco Malfoy was going to sleep in a box. Especially not a ragged old muggle shoe box.
Unfortunately his transfigured body didn't seem to be understanding that. More than twice now he'd curled up (boxes weren't the warmest) only to jerk himself awake moments later.
Now he paced. The strangeness of pacing a pitch-black, small enclosure on four feet proved enough to keep him awake, though just barely. Perhaps that was why, an hour later, when the box lid was pulled aside and a warm hand cautiously wrapped around him, picking him up and setting him down in a soft cupped palm, he immediately fell asleep.
He woke inside a pocket. Which was slightly off-putting, but relatively normal compared to what he'd recently been waking to find. He yawned a bit, stretched out to his daunting height of six inches, and peered sleepily over the edge of pocket.
He was in a train compartment, across from Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Which could only mean—he craned around to check his assumption—yep, he was in the pocket of Harry Potter. Figures.
The body under his personal pocket shifted slightly, and Draco found himself flung to his left just in time to see the trolley witch open the door before his view was cutoff. He landed curled slightly and mostly up- side-down, but all irritation was cut short as his mind latched onto the smell of candy.
He ignored the plebian conversation of the students and the witch, as his nose sniffed delicately and sent urgent messages to his brain to move. An animalistic instinct seemed to overcome him for the first time since his dramatic leap toward the dormitory stairs and with nary a thought he crawled out of the pocket, across a lap, and launched himself at the trolley of sweets.
Air whistled through his ears and the smell of sugary goodness filled his nostrils, his eyes went almost dilated as a chocolate frog larger than himself grew closer. Abruptly, he stopped in mid-air. His legs kicked empty space in vain hopes of moving himself forward, but it was no use.
For possibly the hundredth time since he was twelve, he vehemently cursed Harry Potter's seeker skills.
"Oh no you don't." Harry plucked the entranced sugar-glider out of the air, and then frowned when it started flailing and squeaking loudly. "Hey Hermione, do you think it's hungry?"
"Probably . . . now that I think about it, it probably hasn't eaten in at least two days." Harry thought Hermione looked strangely happy about this.
"Oh. Well, what does it eat?"
Ron looked on as the creature struggled desperately to get at the cart. "Seems to like sweets."
"That can't be healthy for it though. You ought to feed it vegetables or meat—something with nutrients."
"Do you have any of that kind of stuff?"
"No."
"So," Harry broke off a piece of his newly acquired chocolate frog, "sweets it is."
He handed it to the still struggling animal in his hand and watched in mild amusement as all thrashing ceased and an enraptured expression emerged. After a minute, he broke off another piece of the chocolate and handed it over.
"Are you going to name it, Harry?"
Harry looked up at Ron and shrugged. "Hadn't really thought about it actually. Suppose I could. Got anything in mind?"
"Well, no, not really. You could name it . . ." he thought for a moment, "wait, is that thing a girl or a guy?"
All three turned to look at it.
"You could check." Hermione suggested.
"Yeah . . ." Hesitantly, Harry picked up the sugar-glider (who was nibbling on a chocolate frog leg) and held it up for the other two. He allowed a moment for close inspection, and the returned the animal to his lap.
"So?"
"No idea." They said simultaneously, then glanced weirdly at each other, and finally turned back to watch the animal totally engrossed in licking it's paws off. Finished, it turned black eyes onto those above him.
"Well, that looks kinda feminine." Ron offered. The 'feminine' creature bristled.
"Oh please." Hermione rolled her eyes. "You lick your fingers all the time, does that make you a girl?"
Ron just shrugged.
Seemed like a good place to stop. More to come soon.
Oh yeah, and I realize I'm jumping around slightly in the timeline when I switch PoV's sometimes. I don't think it's confusing, but if your confused, maybe this is why?
Chapter Six:
Draco was slightly peeved. It'd been at least two hours since he'd carried through his little "prank" on Granger, and he was still in the box she had unceremoniously thrown him in. It hadn't really bothered him at first--he'd been far too busy celebrating his inherent evilness. But now, he was tired. He hadn't actually slept for two days, not since he was human. Sure, he'd been unconscious once or twice, but it just wasn't the same as a good night's sleep.
But despite all that, there was absolutely no way, no possible way, that Draco Malfoy was going to sleep in a box. Especially not a ragged old muggle shoe box.
Unfortunately his transfigured body didn't seem to be understanding that. More than twice now he'd curled up (boxes weren't the warmest) only to jerk himself awake moments later.
Now he paced. The strangeness of pacing a pitch-black, small enclosure on four feet proved enough to keep him awake, though just barely. Perhaps that was why, an hour later, when the box lid was pulled aside and a warm hand cautiously wrapped around him, picking him up and setting him down in a soft cupped palm, he immediately fell asleep.
He woke inside a pocket. Which was slightly off-putting, but relatively normal compared to what he'd recently been waking to find. He yawned a bit, stretched out to his daunting height of six inches, and peered sleepily over the edge of pocket.
He was in a train compartment, across from Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Which could only mean—he craned around to check his assumption—yep, he was in the pocket of Harry Potter. Figures.
The body under his personal pocket shifted slightly, and Draco found himself flung to his left just in time to see the trolley witch open the door before his view was cutoff. He landed curled slightly and mostly up- side-down, but all irritation was cut short as his mind latched onto the smell of candy.
He ignored the plebian conversation of the students and the witch, as his nose sniffed delicately and sent urgent messages to his brain to move. An animalistic instinct seemed to overcome him for the first time since his dramatic leap toward the dormitory stairs and with nary a thought he crawled out of the pocket, across a lap, and launched himself at the trolley of sweets.
Air whistled through his ears and the smell of sugary goodness filled his nostrils, his eyes went almost dilated as a chocolate frog larger than himself grew closer. Abruptly, he stopped in mid-air. His legs kicked empty space in vain hopes of moving himself forward, but it was no use.
For possibly the hundredth time since he was twelve, he vehemently cursed Harry Potter's seeker skills.
"Oh no you don't." Harry plucked the entranced sugar-glider out of the air, and then frowned when it started flailing and squeaking loudly. "Hey Hermione, do you think it's hungry?"
"Probably . . . now that I think about it, it probably hasn't eaten in at least two days." Harry thought Hermione looked strangely happy about this.
"Oh. Well, what does it eat?"
Ron looked on as the creature struggled desperately to get at the cart. "Seems to like sweets."
"That can't be healthy for it though. You ought to feed it vegetables or meat—something with nutrients."
"Do you have any of that kind of stuff?"
"No."
"So," Harry broke off a piece of his newly acquired chocolate frog, "sweets it is."
He handed it to the still struggling animal in his hand and watched in mild amusement as all thrashing ceased and an enraptured expression emerged. After a minute, he broke off another piece of the chocolate and handed it over.
"Are you going to name it, Harry?"
Harry looked up at Ron and shrugged. "Hadn't really thought about it actually. Suppose I could. Got anything in mind?"
"Well, no, not really. You could name it . . ." he thought for a moment, "wait, is that thing a girl or a guy?"
All three turned to look at it.
"You could check." Hermione suggested.
"Yeah . . ." Hesitantly, Harry picked up the sugar-glider (who was nibbling on a chocolate frog leg) and held it up for the other two. He allowed a moment for close inspection, and the returned the animal to his lap.
"So?"
"No idea." They said simultaneously, then glanced weirdly at each other, and finally turned back to watch the animal totally engrossed in licking it's paws off. Finished, it turned black eyes onto those above him.
"Well, that looks kinda feminine." Ron offered. The 'feminine' creature bristled.
"Oh please." Hermione rolled her eyes. "You lick your fingers all the time, does that make you a girl?"
Ron just shrugged.
Seemed like a good place to stop. More to come soon.