Potter stumbled into the room and collapsed face-first onto the bed. A small, tacky-looking cup fell from his Quidditch-gloved fingers and settled against the pillow.

Draco pawed at the wire door, wanting out. He'd been stuck in the cage and ignored since he'd arrived three days ago. Potter had been in the room once, to sleep, and had mumbled a "Bye, Draco," before leaving again. Draco joined the ranks of people who were annoyed by Potter's disappearances.

Potter lifted his head wearily and squinted in Draco's direction. His glasses rested crookedly on his nose. "Oh. Hi."

'Oh. Hi.' That was it? Draco's nails clicked impatiently on the cage door.

Potter blew out a heavy breath of air, pushed himself to his knees, and straightened his glasses. He inched to the side of the bed and opened the latch. He caught Draco mid-leap from the cage to the bed.

"Tssss," Draco said irritably, wiggling in Potter's grasp.

Potter flopped back onto the bed, carrying Draco with him. The cup rolled towards Potter, a wrought handle bumping against his shoulder. He gave it a disgusted glower and knocked it onto the floor. "Bloody Horcrux."

Draco paused his escape attempt and looked in the direction the cup had fallen. A Horcrux? What was a Horcrux?

"It's evil," Potter said, making Draco wonder if he'd spoken human English until Potter tapped his nose in warning. "Ferrets shouldn't play with that cup. No cup."

Draco scowled. As if he would listen to Potter. That cup is mine.

"I probably shouldn't leave it around where you can get to it, then, eh?" Setting Draco on his chest, Potter pulled off his Quidditch gloves and threw them on the floor, as well. He began petting Draco, a pensive expression settling on his face.

Draco kept still, lest Potter move the cup. If Potter could be lulled into a sense of complacency, he'd forget about it being on the floor and Draco could nick it. He only had to wait, and suffer through the petting while he did so.

"Dook-purrururr-dook-dook-dook."

Who knew Potter could be so good with his hands?

Potter's lips quirked and his eyes fell shut. He seemed to relax more and more with each stroke of his fingers. His hand smoothed the fur down Draco's back over, and over, and over, and over. Draco's eyelids drooped.

Potter's hand stilled, and Draco's head jerked upright. He blinked the drowsiness away. Potter's full lips parted and he let out a soft snore.

Potter was asleep. Draco stared at his school nemesis. Potter was completely vulnerable. Great Salazar, the things Draco could do… if he were human. Draco cursed. Potter was at his mercy, and all Draco could do was possibly smother him with fur.

Actually, that wasn't a bad idea.

Draco slinked from under Potter's heavy hand and crept cautiously forward. Potter didn't stir. Draco's paws slid against the curve of Potter's cheeks and chin. Potter continued snoring.

Smirking, Draco curled his body and settled right over Potter's nose and mouth. The snore cut off. He could feel Potter's warm exhale against his underbelly. He knew the next inhale would be blocked—

"Ah-choo!"

—but he hadn't factored in his fur tickling Potter's nostrils.

Potter's head flung forward with the force of his sneeze, and Draco tumbled off his face with a squeak. Potter swiped his hand under his nose, grunted, and rolled onto his side. Draco scrambled not to be crushed and waited for the yelling or stuck back in his cage.

Neither happened. Potter was still asleep. His glasses magnified the fan of his eyelashes against his skin.

Draco sighed in relief and then perked up. The cup! He jumped from the bed and scurried around to where it lay. The fading sunlight coming through the window glinted off the gold rim. Ooh, shiny.

Draco stopped his approach abruptly, as a wave of unease washed over him. He sniffed in the cup's direction. The fur on the back of his neck rose. Lowering his body close to the ground, Draco crept nearer. His discomfort grew the closer he got to the cup. He sniffed again. The cup smelled… evil.

Draco knew about dark arts objects, had a manor full of them, and was smart enough not to touch. He caught sight of Potter's Quidditch gloves. Black streaks marred the brown leather of the palm and fingers of one glove. Potter obviously knew not to touch, either, but that didn't explain its presence. What was Potter doing with a dark arts object? Why would he risk whatever curse had been put on the cup?

Draco recalled Hagrid's griping on Potter's unknown adventures. If obtaining the cup was one of the results, what else had Potter collected? And why?

Draco's curiosity grew tenfold. Spying on Potter took on a higher level of significance. Messing about with dark arts items wasn't something he'd pictured Saint Potter doing. Potter was too noble to stoop to that level. He might use his fists like a brute, but he always fought face-to-face. It's why Draco thought the Dark Lord would win; a Slytherin didn't have qualms about cursing someone in the back.

What are you up to, Potter? Draco glanced at Potter's elbow, sticking out over the side of the bed. The material of the robe was nearly worn through at the point.

Taking a final sniff of the cup, Draco went prowling in search of other dark arts objects. His nose twitched rapidly as he sniffed his way through the room. He found a lot of dirty laundry, empty chocolate frog packages, an uncapped inkbottle, which he knocked over, and a tattered copy of Quidditch Through the Ages. Under the bed, a dust bunny bared its teeth at him, but no evil-smelling items (aside from Potter's pants) crossed Draco's sensitive nose.

Potter had mentioned removing the cup from the room, Draco recalled. If he had a collection, it had to be kept somewhere. Draco trotted across the bedroom to the door. Potter hadn't closed it completely and Draco was able to squeeze through the gap.

Shadows bathed the hallway outside Potter's bedroom. Draco remembered coming down a set of stairs from one direction, so he set off the opposite way. Light shone from a cracked-open door further along the corridor. He could hear Granger and Weasley's voices coming from inside.

"I still think we should get rid of them now," Weasley said, as Draco slunk into the room.

Granger sat on the edge of a bed with a burgundy duvet. The bedroom was larger than Potter's and cleaner. Twin wardrobe cabinets bookended a writing desk stacked with books and scrolls. A lit candelabrum stood on the night table. Burgundy draperies hung closed over the tall window across from the door. A laundry basket stood in a corner, which Draco darted to hide behind. "We've discussed this, Ron. We don't know if Voldemort—oh, honestly, stop flinching. We don't know if he'll feel a backlash and figure out what we're doing."

"But what if something happens to us before we can destroy them?" Weasley pulled his robe off over his head and tossed it towards the laundry basket. It landed partially in the basket, partially on Draco's head, blinding him.

"Fred and George know the Horcruxes must be destroyed," Granger said. "It's pointless to worry otherwise. Nothing can be done until all of them are found, and we're still missing one."

There was that word again: Horcrux. Draco wormed from beneath Weasley's smelly robe and promptly wished he hadn't, when he saw the pale, freckled globes of Weasley's arse.

Weasley picked up his pants and threw them over his shoulder. They landed right in front of Draco. Draco repressed a gag and retreated back behind the basket.

"Don't remind me," Weasley said. "I was nearly toast getting Helga Hufflepuff's cup. What's gonna happen when we go after the last one? Me becoming jam, is what."

Draco's ears flickered. The evil cup in Potter's room had belonged to Helga Hufflepuff?

"Good thing I love jam, then," Granger said.

"Oh, really?"

"Mm-hmm. Especially brave, heroic jam."

"And where do you like spreading this jam?"

"Lock the door and I'll show you."

Draco's stomach churned in dread. Did he just hear what he thought he'd heard? Creeping forward, he peeked from behind the basket.

A naked Weasley sauntered from the door to the bed, his burgeoning erection swinging with each step. Draco's stared in revulsion as Weasley and Granger began devouring each other's faces. He glanced at the door, hoping to escape, only to see it closed completely. He was trapped.

Two thumps drew Draco's attention back to the horror unfolding in front of him. Weasley had dropped to his knees in front of Granger. He grinned, lifted the hem of her robe, and ducked his head beneath it. A moment later, a pair of knickers sailed in Draco's direction. They landed on top of Weasley's discarded pants.

Draco spun around and dove back under the robe. He heard Granger gasp, followed by moaning and slurping, and he tried covering his ears with his paws. It didn't work. Curled in a ball with his eyes tightly shut, he listened to Weasley and Granger rutting and wished he were still with the Dark Lord; anything done to him would've been less torturous than this.

tbc...