Thank you for the reviews and alerts on the first part!

Part Two

Harry stood rigid in the garden for several minutes, unsure what to do. Whichever way he looked at it, he was in an extremely unusual situation. He had two suspects incarcerated and ready for transfer to the Ministry, and one sound asleep pussy cat who was formerly his Auror partner and schoolboy enemy, curled up snugly in his arms. He was trying hard not to panic about that just yet. In the end, Harry decided he wouldn't leave Malfoy alone in this state and, unwilling to Apparate with cat and criminal, he raised his wand, thought of the moment he'd qualified as an Auror four years previously, and cried, "Expecto Patronum!"

The silvery, translucent stag burst from Harry's wand.

"Go to Kingsley Shacklebolt," Harry told it. "Tell him I'm at Octavius Peterson's address and that I have detained two suspects and need his help. Tell him to come alone." The stag bowed its head as if in understanding and disappeared. Five minutes later the Minister for Magic Apparated into the garden. He saw Harry quickly and walked over to him.

"Harry, what's going on?" Kingsley said. Harry could almost see the man's brain working; Kingsley glanced at the Petrified form of Peterson, then peered into the greenhouse and saw Brockway, secured in Harry's ropes. His gaze fell to the cat who was still sound asleep. "And why in the name of Merlin is Draco Malfoy curled up asleep in your arms?"

"Ah, about that," Harry said. "Kingsley, Peterson hit Malfoy with a spell. I don't know what it was but it seems to have trapped him in his Animagus form. He can't change back. But, almost worse than that, is he seems to actually be a cat right now, rather than a wizard." Kingsley's eyes widened. He stared at Malfoy, then closed his eyes. The situation seemed to be causing him mental anguish. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and Harry suspected that the Minister was desperately trying not to swear. Eventually he looked up, and sighed deeply.

"Right," he said. "I'll get these two into Auror custody, then we'll discuss what to do with that pillock there, OK?" He bound Peterson in his own set of ropes, then released him from the Body-Bind Curse. He disappeared into the greenhouse, emerged with a defeated-looking Brockway, grabbed them both with his hands, and Disapparated. Twenty minutes later, he returned.

"They're in the cells," Kingsley said. "I'll need you there this afternoon though, Harry. You need to fill out an incident report. Although I'll interview them for you, and demand Peterson tells us the counter-spell for Malfoy." He looked around at the greenhouse. "Potions ingredients in there, I take it?" Harry nodded. Kingsley smiled. It wasn't a totally happy smile, but it was kind and, Harry thought, held a certain pride.

"You did very well with both of those berks, Harry," Kingsley said in the end. "I'm just sorry that you've been lumbered with Malfoy in the process."

That got Harry's attention. "I'm sorry, sir, but what exactly do you mean by 'lumbered'?" he asked. Kingsley had the grace to blush.

"Well, Harry, it's not as if Malfoy's Animagus status is common knowledge now, is it?" he said. Harry noticed that the Minister wasn't quite meeting his eye. A feeling of weary resignation crept over him, as he cottoned on quickly to what he was being asked to do. "Not even his own parents know, and given the situation, now is hardly the most prudent of times to explain it to them- I feel that the knowledge will distress them somewhat. And Malfoy can hardly look after himself now, can he? He will end up in that rescue place legitimately this time if he's left alone. No, Harry, I think what is best is if, ah, well, what I mean to say is-"

"Sir, are you asking me to take Malfoy in?" Harry interrupted. Kingsley's blush deepened and he nodded. Harry sighed. He'd known this was coming from the moment the bloody spell had hit Malfoy, but that didn't make it any more pleasant. However, he recognised the 'request' from Kingsley as what it was- an indirect order. He nodded slowly in defeat.

"Fine," he said, "I'll take care of him. But I expect the Ministry to pay for everything he needs. I won't be out of pocket for this. And you'll need to speak with Peterson about the spell, and how it can be reversed, or whatever."

A wave of relief crossed Kingsley's face.

"That's reasonable," he said, "thank you, Harry. Now, I think you've earned a couple of hours off, don't you? Why don't you take Malfoy back to Grimmauld Place? I'll go and see what I can find out From Peterson about the spell, and I'll join you there shortly."

Harry made his goodbyes then, clutching the still sleeping Malfoy close to his chest, he turned on the spot and Disapparated.

He landed in the small room on the second floor of Grimmauld Place that he used for Apparition. He realised that Malfoy had woken up. The cat, clearly frightened by the Apparition, scrambled to get free from Harry's arms; in the process his claws nicked Harry's Auror robes, tearing the sleeve on the right side and drawing blood from Harry's arm when he tried to tighten his grip on the wretched animal.

"Ow!" Harry yelled, and instinctively loosened his grip. Malfoy instantly sprang from Harry's arms, darted across the room, and hid under the small dresser that was kept in the corner. Harry took out his wand, healed the gash on his arm, and glared at the cat.

"You can bloody well stop doing that," he said sternly. "I'm only trying to help you, you brainless prat. We've managed to work together now for a year without physically injuring each other, and I'm not about to start now, not when you're a sodding cat." Draco meowed pathetically. Harry sighed. It had been an extremely long day, and it was still only eleven in the morning.

Harry was in the living room, watching crap daytime TV, when Kingsley arrived by Floo just after one. He dusted the soot from his robes and sat down. Harry reached for the television remote and switched off the set.

"Where's Malfoy?" Kingsley asked.

"Hiding," Harry said. "He's been under the dresser in that old study since we arrived. I don't think he likes Apparition very much."

"Well, there's some good news at least," said Kingsley. "I've spoken to Peterson and have identified the spell and, despite its wording, it has not made Malfoy's situation permanent, thank Merlin. The spell has a finite period of time in which it is active, after which time it simply ends. One calendar month from today, he will return to his human state. Until that time, well, he will continue to have all the instincts and behaviours of a cat."

"I'll pencil it onto my calendar," Harry said drily. "Fifteenth of February 2005, Draco Malfoy becomes a twat again."

Kingsley gave a small chuckle.

"They're expecting you in the Auror Office," he said. "You need to fill out a report. Don't worry about identifying Malfoy as an Animagus; I've had to tell Robards anyway. I suggest you then pick up some supplies for the month. On the Ministry, of course. I'll stay here with Malfoy."

Harry stood, realised too late he had forgotten to repair the tear in his robes when Kingsley's eyebrows rose, and sheepishly cast Reparo over the sleeve before grabbing a handful of Floo powder from a jade green box that Ginny had given him once the renovations to Grimmauld Place had been completed eighteen months earlier, and tossed it into the fireplace. He stepped into the flames, called out his destination, and disappeared.

Three hours later, he emerged from the Ministry feeling grumpy and fed up, but at least that he had accomplished something. He had given a detailed report as to the morning's events, signed his name in thirty-three different spaces on seven separate sheets of parchment, and was just looking forward to returning home and grabbing a very late lunch/early dinner when he remembered he still had to buy stuff for Malfoy. With a sigh he turned on the spot, arriving in the delivery bay of a large Muggle retail park on the outskirts of Birmingham he had investigated once, where he knew there was a huge pet shop. He made his way to the front of the shops, walked past two DIY stores and a large sofa shop that seemed to have a perpetual sale on, and reached the entrance to Pets at Home. He dug in his trouser pocket, found a solitary pound coin, and pushed it into the slot of the first shopping trolley in the stack. The trolley sprung free, and Harry wheeled it into the shop, only just managing to resist the urge to draw his wand and correct the wonky front wheel that made steering the bloody thing very difficult.

Having never owned any animal other than Hedwig before, Harry didn't know where to begin, so started simply wondering up and down every aisle, picking stuff off the shelves as he deemed necessary. He filled the trolley with the essentials: a large multipack of Whiskas, a bag of dried kibbles, water bowl, food bowl, cat bed. And, because the Ministry was paying, not him, Harry also put in a huge scratching post, some toys, and- because he could, and he knew it would piss Malfoy off if he knew- a collar in red and gold stripes, that reminded him of his Gryffindor scarf.

Then he entered an aisle that made his mouth turn dry. The litter tray aisle. Harry pulled what he was quite sure was a repulsed face. Why hadn't this occurred to him when he agreed to take the bloody cat in? He was going to have to clean up the cat's shit. No, his brain dutifully corrected, you're going to have to clean up Draco Malfoy's shit. Which was a whole other load of disgusting that Harry really didn't want to think about. He looked at the prices of cat litter, then, deciding that he didn't care because he wasn't paying for it, he added in the largest, heaviest sack of cat litter the shop did, deciding there and then he would simply Vanish the entire contents of the litter tray every day, rather than the 'remove solid waste daily, and completely empty the tray at least once a week' that the pack instructed. He was not, not, picking up his schoolboy nemesis' faeces. He just wasn't. For good measure he threw a huge tub of cat litter freshener into the trolley, then headed to the checkout.

He balked slightly when the cashier gave him the total, but shot her a smile and reached for his wallet. He took out a few notes, handed them over, and pocketed his paltry change from a hundred pounds. He then wheeled the trolley outside, and wondered how in the name of Merlin's mother's saggy tits he was going to get the stuff home. He couldn't just Apparate from the car park with about sixty Muggles all within close proximity. The trolley had some sort of anti-theft device in it, meaning Harry couldn't remove it from the car park and return to the loading bay to Disapparate, and the contents were far too heavy to lift by hand. Swearing under his breath, he drew his wand slightly and cast a Notice Me Not spell before deciding that Pets at Home would have to do without this particular trolley, and he Apparated away, taking the trolley and its contents with him.

It wasn't one of his better ideas. The old study he arrived in was very small, and Harry managed to wedge himself between the trolley, wall, and the dresser that Draco had hidden under earlier. The fact that there was no frightened meow emitting from underneath it meant that he'd finally moved. Extremely embarrassed by the fact that he had got himself stuck in his own bloody study, Harry turned in the small amount of space he had and Apparated three feet across the room, so he was no longer wedged in. Then he realised he was on the second floor and had to lug the heavy shopping down two flights of stairs.

"Oh for fuck's sake," he said aloud, before once again drawing his wand and Levitating the contents behind him as he made his way downstairs. It was all extremely heavy and required Harry's full concentration to hold the spell. He was panting slightly from exertion by the time he dumped the contents in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs.

He found Kingsley in the living room, standing stiffly and looking extremely agitated.

"Malfoy's missing," he said in response to Harry's questioning look. "I went up to check on him about half an hour after you left, and he wasn't under the dresser anymore. I've looked all over the house, except for your bedroom, but the door is closed so he can't be in there anyway. I just have no idea where he is."

"Oh wonderful," Harry said. "He's been a cat less than six hours and we've already lost the git."

They spent the next hour looking for Malfoy. Harry searched his bedroom anyway, to no avail, whilst Kingsley pulled out every single drawer to every piece of furniture Harry owned. There was no sign. Harry didn't understand it; all the windows in the house were closed, and they had checked anywhere he could have squashed into.

"You don't think that, somehow, he returned to his human form and went home, do you?" Harry asked hopefully. Kingsley shook his head.

"No, he's definitely going to be a cat for a month," he said. "More to the pity."

They made their way into the kitchen to make tea. Or, more accurately, for Harry to make tea, whilst Kingsley sat at the kitchen table, looking older than his years. Harry made the tea and slid a mug towards him. Kingsley accepted it gratefully.

"When I became Minister, I thought I'd be more involved in agendas such as Wizengamot reform, not looking for idiots stuck in their Animagus form," he said, taking a large gulp of tea. "If we've lost him… this is going to be a tad embarrassing, not to mention incur a lot of paperwork for us both."

Harry swallowed his own mouthful of tea and opened his mouth to reply, but he never got the chance. A loud scratching noise from the top of the kitchen cupboards drew both his and Kingsley's attention, and the next second what appeared to be a furry white cannonball shot from it and landed squarely on Kingsley's shoulders, claws dug firmly into the flesh in a desperate scramble to hold on. Grunting in pain, Kingsley swiped at the mass of fur, sending it catapulting to the floor, where it charged out of the kitchen, its claws scratching against the wooden floor Harry had fitted two years ago. Both men stared at the doorway in shock.

"I think we found Draco," Harry said eventually. Kingsley could only nod numbly in agreement.

Twenty minutes and half a bottle of Dittany later, Kingsley's shoulders were repaired, Draco had been found (again) and shut in the dining room, and Harry was wondering how it was still the same day from when he was sat on the park bench eating a bacon sandwich. It seemed like a lifetime ago. His stomach gave a large growl then, as if to remind him exactly of the fact it had been hours since he last ate, and his mouth watered in anticipation of the fat, juicy rump steak he'd treated himself to from the butcher's yesterday that was to be tonight's dinner. Kingsley bid Harry a slightly irritated farewell, as if it was his fault that the damn cat had ripped his skin to shreds, and disappeared through the fireplace, muttering about having to stay late all evening catching up on his work after spending the day 'chasing after a bloody feral animal', and Harry went to the dining room to let Draco out. He was rewarded with a huge purr as the cat entwined himself in Harry's legs as he walked, nearly tripping him several times.

"You hungry, Draco?" he asked.

"Meow," said Draco.

Harry led Draco, still weaving dangerously between his legs, into the kitchen, and pulled his steak out of the refrigerator to come up to room temperature before cooking. While he waited, he set up the litter tray and placed it at the far end of the kitchen, away from all the food. Draco immediately jumped onto it and began to dig in the litter, before squatting down in the hole for a few seconds. He then covered the mess with clean litter and jumped back out. Harry took a deep breath, pointed his wand at the tray, and said, "Scougify." He then topped the tray up with more litter, washed his hands, and filled one of the new dishes with water. Then he put a small handful of kibbles into a bowl, and opened the box of Whiskas.

"Do you want poultry, duck, rabbit or lamb?" he asked Draco.

"Purr," said Draco. Harry selected one of the pouches at random- duck, as it turned out- and squeezed the vile-looking chunks of meat and jelly into the bowl with the kibbles. He Summoned a place mat out of one of his kitchen drawers, laid it on the floor, and placed both the food and water bowls on top.

"Dinner!" he said. Draco swaggered over to it, had a sniff, and then looked at Harry as if to say, 'You really think I'm going to eat that shit?'

Harry ignored him, thinking that if Draco got hungry enough, he would eat. He busied himself by pouring olive oil into a cast iron frying pan and turning on the burner. He waited until the oil began to sizzle and crack, then placed his steak into the pan, salivating at the delicious smell of pan-cooked steak.

Apparently his new furry friend appreciated the aroma too. The bowl of Whiskas and kibbles was still untouched.

"OK, you," Harry said, deciding that if relenting on the food on Draco's first night as a cat would make it easier for him then it was worth doing, "how about some fish? Cats are supposed to like fish, right?"

He flipped his steak over in the pan and grabbed a bag of salad from the fridge. Then he opened his cupboard and took out a tin of tuna in spring water. With a flick of his wand he removed the lid from the can, and held it out for Draco to sniff. Draco pressed his nose to the can, glared at Harry, then turned round, giving Harry an unwanted yet crystal-clear view of the cat's genitalia.

"It's this or nothing," Harry told Draco firmly. "Because that steak is mine."

He turned off the burner and slid the steak onto a plate. He threw a handful of the salad onto the side and placed the plate on the table. Then he turned to the breadbin and cut himself two thick slices of crusty bread. He turned back to his steak, and swore loudly. It wasn't there. Harry's eyes darted to the floor quickly, where Draco was attacking Harry's steak with gusto, evidently having nicked it from the plate while he was facing away from him, cutting the bread.

"Draco! You fucking little thief!" Harry yelled, so loudly that the cat jumped in alarm and his ears went back. "I turn my back for thirty seconds and you steal my steak!"

"Meow," Draco cried pitifully. His grey eyes widened, and Harry felt his anger relenting. Bloody manipulative cat…

"Fine," he said. "Fine. But don't you ever do that again. It's Whiskas or starve, you hear me? And when you're human again you're replacing that steak."

"Purr," said Draco, and tore another strip of steak off with his teeth. Harry sighed and made himself a tuna sandwich with the opened tin, his cut slices of bread, and the salad leaves. It wasn't the same as a perfectly cooked, juicy steak, he lamented, as he bit into it. February the fifteenth couldn't come quickly enough.

After his dinner of not steak, Harry cleaned up the kitchen quickly, then decided to relax with some television. It was still early evening and nothing much was on except mind-numbing soap operas, most of which seemed to consist entirely of characters shouting at each other and accusing their siblings of sleeping with their spouses. He began to channel hop, eventually settling on a nature documentary. He laid on the sofa, resting his head on a plump cushion, and began to watch.

"Meow!"

Draco ran into the living room and jumped onto Harry. Harry swore at the cat and pushed him off, tired from his exhausting day, but apparently Draco was not to be deterred. He jumped back up again and laid himself flat against Harry's chest, purring, obscuring Harry's view of the television screen. Harry was getting annoyed now; aside from feeling tired and just wanting to unwind for an hour or so before grabbing an early night, Harry really didn't want to spend his leisure time petting Draco Malfoy, cat or not. First he'd had to clean up his crap. Then he'd had to feed him his steak. He drew the line at tickling a former Death Eater- albeit a coerced and completely reformed one- under the chin.

"I'm not doing it," Harry said sternly, as Draco kneaded Harry's casual jumper with his paws and tilted his chin up in a plea for attention. He turned those huge begging quicksilver eyes on Harry, and once again Harry felt his resolve crack; Draco really did make a beautiful cat. "Malfoy, I'm not… oh, for God's sake." Harry reached down with one hand and began to scratch. Draco purred loudly in victory, curled into a ball, and fell asleep. Harry vaguely wondered if Human Draco was this demanding with the people he was closest with. Had the child Draco demanded cuddles and tickles from his parents? Somehow, Harry couldn't see Lucius as the type to play tickling games with his son. What about lovers, Harry thought. Did Draco demand to be touched, how hard, how fast, all the time digging his nails into his lover's back as he arched into their caress…

He bolted upright from the chair, causing Draco to hiss and jump from his lap. Where the bloody hell had that thought come from? He checked his watch. It was only just eight, but he'd got very little sleep the night before, plus he had worked all weekend. He picked up the TV remote and switched off the set, took the cat basket out of its wrappings and set it near enough to the fire that Draco would be warm all night, and extinguished the candles with a wave of his wand.

"You sleep here," Harry told Draco firmly. He picked the cat up and placed him into the bed. "I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight, Malfoy. Oh, and tomorrow, I'm collaring you."

He had just got into his bed and was seriously contemplating a nice long wank when he heard scratching on his bedroom door, followed by a pitiful, heartbroken feline cry. Swearing loudly and willing away the bulge that had formed in his boxers, Harry flung himself back out of bed, shivering as the cold January air touched his skin, and opened the door.

"What?" he yelled. "Draco, go back downstairs. Now." He closed the door and climbed back into his warm bed. Several minutes of silence passed, and Harry was just beginning to think his unwelcome house guest had got the message, when the scratching started up again.

Desperate now to just sleep, Harry opened the door once more and, without a word, let the cat in. Draco snaked around Harry's ankles, purring, then jumped up onto the bed. He immediately settled himself in the spot Harry had just vacated, and therefore the warmest, comfiest spot, and immediately fell asleep. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The latter seemed more likely, though.

"Bastard," he said quietly, then climbed into the cold side of the bed, pulled the duvet over himself, and finally fell into oblivion.