Chapter 5: Acclimatisation

The bonding process is of particular importance to the juvenile foxlet glider. Those born within their natural environment readily assume such a bond with their birth mother and father or, in frequent cases, the Helper male or female present to assume such a role (see Sedate Gliders and Communal Parental Care below).

When bred in captivity, this coupled bonding is just as integral for the wellbeing of the juvenile, regardless of the nature of those bonded. Due to the sensitivity of the foxlet gliders to the emotional state of their bonded, they rely strongly upon their human counterparts' emotional stability, support and camaraderie. Should undue stress be experienced, the likelihood of maturing into a Berserker increases exponentially.

Draco's eighth year at Hogwarts was not going as he had intended or even assumed it would go. Not at all.

Firstly, there were his classes. They weren't nearly as stimulating, as consuming, as demanding of his undivided attention, as Draco had hoped they would be. He had attended Hogwarts the previous year for the most part, and though he alongside his fellow students had been distracted – very distracted – much of the time, he had actually absorbed more of the class content than he had realised. More than that, it was remarkably similar to what he was supposed to have learnt which, in any other circumstances, would have been a good thing. Eighth year? Not so much.

Secondly were the other students. They looked at him funny. Even the professors cast him sidelong glances, suspicion thinly veiled – Draco knew it. He was certain of it, even if Blaise and even the passively bored Theodore had informed him time and time again that they didn't, that no one was staring at him, that no one thought he might snap into a raging Death Eater any moment and attack them all. It didn't help that their arguments were enforced by the fact that, well… no one did do anything. When Draco glanced up from his breakfast, he didn't see any narrowed gazes settled upon him. When he glanced over his shoulder during class it wasn't to see his fellows staring daggers at him. The only eyes that he found consistently rested upon his were wide, black and nestled in a grey and white face that seemed to grin every time he caught sight of it.

And therein lay the third cause of his distress: the foxlet glider. Damn him, but Draco hadn't anticipated such a curved ball to be thrown at him. They were always there, at least one in every class Draco attended because for some reason Granger seemed to get jittery when she couldn't see at least one foxlet in her vicinity and she shared all of Draco's classes. They weren't disruptive, not really, unless Potter had decided to sit next to Draco and the little creature that coiled around his neck like a fur scarf chittered and yipped happily at Merlin only knew what. Life? The professors didn't object to their presence, and the rest of the students in the room seemed to grow from crooning adoration to mild awareness and finally to acceptance as the foxlets became just another piece of furniture in the room.

How Potter, Granger and Weasley had managed to convince the professors to allow them to bring the creatures with them everywhere Draco knew not. He couldn't only resign himself to the reality that he was, more often that he would have liked even in the past when he'd actually gloried in being in the spotlight, the focus of an unblinking black-eyed gaze.

Creepy. It was creepy. And worse than that, Potter had made good his words from their first day back at school and seemed to silently and studiously ensure they spent time together. Just spent time, often with no words exchanged, because apparently it seemed to 'soothe' the Pip – the rabid squirrel.

Worst of all, however – the absolute, absolute worst – was that maybe, just maybe, if only a little bit and only sometimes… maybe Draco might have thought it was cute.

Maybe.

Sometimes.

Just a bit.

Draco didn't like animals. He didn't, except for some reason, something in his brain caught sight of Pipsqu – of the rabid squirrel and melted slightly like a simpering old grandmother over a newborn baby. He hated how filthy they were, except in his sidelong study he'd noticed that Pips – that the squirrel – wasn't dirty in the slightest. That she – it – didn't even seem to shed its fur. Animals were noisy, except that Pipsqueak wasn't really but for her nearly inaudible chitters, and they were demanding, which again, Pips didn't appear to be. She seemed content to simply drape her skinny little limbs and three tails around Potter's neck.

Draco didn't like animals, but for some stupid, ungodly and absolutely ridiculous reason, he didn't mind the foxlets. Maybe. Just a bit. Draco would never admit as much of course – never – but he suspected that Blaise might have guessed as much if the hastily smothered smiles that drew across his face whenever Draco caught him watching him staring at Pipsqueak was any indication. Blaise and Pipsqueak herself, because for some reason, Draco seemed to simply know that the creature was intelligent. And that was in addition to the whole 'empathy' thing.

It was infuriating. And besides, when had Draco become unable to think of her as anything but a she? As Pipsqueak – stupid name that it was – rather than a horrid little creature? He wasn't sure. Draco didn't like to think about that too much either. In fact, he steadfastly refused to do so for he swore that Pipsqueak and Blaise both seemed to know when he thought about the foxlets. Their eyes seemed to draw naturally towards him, knowingly. Even Potter's did sometimes, though his more in simple regard than actual understanding.

Draco had been spending more and more time with Potter. It just seemed to happen, just as Blaise somehow seemed to fall in step alongside him when they just happened to sit alongside the ex-Gryffindors in class and just happened to leave the Great Hall at the same time as one another to head back to class, or to the common room, or to the library as they had numerous times in their first week.

It was unnerving to realise how it just seemed to… happen. Draco hadn't consciously made the decision to fall in step alongside Potter wherever he went – quite literally wherever, for Potter was attending most of his classes alongside him now to simply sit and complete his own homework, or play with Pipsqueak, or to do Merlin knew what when he simply sat, a hand resting on Pipsqueak's head staring vacantly ahead. It was a strange sight to see, Potter being listless, one that Draco wasn't entirely sure how to feel about.

In fact, the only times that Potter wasn't alongside Draco with the grey fluff ball in tow, or seated across the Great Hall at the Gryffindor table within sight of one another, was when he took himself down to the sixth year Care of Magical Creatures sessions that the gamekeeper apparently routinely requested him for. They attended in a round of sorts, varying between the three foxlets each week with the fourth having them all visit. Granger had been particularly nervy that Arithmancy session when they were all absented. Draco didn't think she took more than a handful of notes throughout the entire lesson. Even stranger was that Draco seemed to have taken precious few himself. Professor Vector must have been light on that day.

Suffice it to say, they had become something of a group, the lot of them. There was Draco and Blaise, Blaise seeming to find the whole situation unerringly hilarious. Potter kept pace with him when not alongside Weasley and Granger, their three foxlets most often hanging off their three shoulders. Brown generally trailed after them, a step or two behind as though she didn't want to be exactly a part of their group – she'd changed, that girl, and Draco had never thought he would be one to consider it but her quietness, her down-trodden attitude, was actually worse than her previous incessant bubbliness. Although, distant as she was… Draco thought she might have come a little out of her quiet shell with the presence of the foxlets, especially when she had one slung over her shoulder. It seemed to give her some sort of emotional strength or some such bollocks.

Weaslette tagged along much of the time too, an unhappy coincidence given that seventh and eighth years shared the same classes. And more often than not, wherever Weaslette went her vague, incessantly-confused friend Lovegood would follow. Occasionally – more frequently with Weaslette than Brown – the foxlets would pass from the exclusive and direct care of the Golden Trio to be shared between their partners. Weaslette actually demanded it sometimes, going so far as to bodily drag the black foxlet – what was it's name? Toddler or something equally stupid – from her brother and into her arms. There had been more than one shouting match between the siblings about where the foxlet would sleep, and Weaslette was winning on increasingly frequent occasions.

How had this happened? How had Draco Malfoy come to spend the majority of his time with Gryffindors, ex or otherwise? It was mind-boggling. And surprisingly, it was that more than anything else that urged him to shake off the frequently descending melancholy that threatened to settle upon him whenever he considered his situation, or the past, or when he got a letter from his mother at home. One couldn't afford to be careless when around Gryffindors; they were strange, predictably unpredictable, and, though Potter appeared to have vanquished their past rivalry like a Pepper-Up Potion shrugged off a cold. It was confounding, and just a little annoying. Why was Potter so disregarding of him?

That, perhaps as much as the simple presence of the foxlets, served as a distraction from the heaviness of Draco's thoughts. Potter and their rivalry had always been present, something that was always there just as much as the school was. A constant. A solid. But this? This was different. Just another thing different, but changed in an alternate way to the changes that arose from the war.

Draco didn't like it any better. Not one bit.

That, and the fact that, in spending more time alongside the ex-Gryffindors, Draco had come to see a side of each of them that he hadn't before. Oh, Weasley and Granger were mostly predictable but for a few key aspects; Granger was incessantly bossy, would tell her two friends what to do with such frequency that they appeared to simply take it in stride, the words flowing in one ear and out the other with barely a "Yep" of acknowledgement. Weasley was generally a layabout, doing minimal work and appearing to need Granger to urge him to pick up his quill before he even contemplated beginning the constant and increasingly large pile of papers they were being given from their numerous professors. He was only taking five N.E. but he seemed to be drowning beneath them.

But besides that, Granger appeared to have a soft spot that Draco hadn't realised before. She assisted those around her in their work unconditionally with such ease and familiarity that Draco knew that such couldn't have been a new thing. She must have been doing it for years without his notice. She even helped Margery Silverswell, a seventh year Slytherin, when she'd worked herself into such a fit of distress during one Potions lesson that she looked on the verge of doing herself serious damage with her flailing. That was a surprise. Just as it was a surprise that Weasley, though a layabout, actually appeared to be quite perceptive and, despite leaving his homework to the last minute time and time again and nagging at the selectively deaf Granger to help him, got moderately good grades. That, and he was surprisingly sappy – he clearly fawned over Granger, rarely taking his eyes off her for long, and then only to spare his attention to his black foxlet who he seemed to dote upon nearly as much.

Potter was a different story.

The Boy Hero was the Boy Hero. He was chivalrous, brave, courageous and righteous. He was strong and steady, was the rock to which so many clung in the war. He was the centre of attention, drawing eyes seemingly without his will or desire and similarly seemingly unaware that he even did so. The focus of fellow students and teachers alike seemed to follow him wherever he went, like sunflowers towards the sun.

Potter didn't seem notice it at all. Far from revelling in the spotlight as Draco once had, as he used to suspect that Potter did, he seemed entirely removed from the situation. Or, when he did notice, it seemed to unnerve him slightly, to make him uneasy. He was moderately studious, sitting somewhere between Weasley and Granger and somehow managing to fly beneath the radar of Granger's notice when she was scolding her boyfriend – yes, Weasley and Granger were actually dating now, sickeningly enough – for his lacking study habits. Potter was surprisingly quiet much of the time too, and Draco wasn't sure if that was a product of the war or simply something that he hadn't noticed because they'd always been trying to yell each other's ears off whenever they'd confronted one another in the past. More than that, he was very obviously the third wheel of his friend's relationship. Whether such was a new thing or not Draco didn't know; had he always been the 'third' one to Weasley and Granger? Surely not. Surely not Boy Hero, Saviour of the Wizarding world and all-round 'Great Guy'.

Draco wasn't sure, though. He'd thought he'd known, but now he wasn't certain. Maybe that was why Potter spent so much attention upon the foxlet? He seemed to have taken to caring for Pipsqueak like a duck to water, and Pipsqueak seemed to revel in the attention that he afforded him. More than Toddler or whatever its name was did under Weasley's attention, though the idiotic creature did have a bit of a tendency to delight in quill-play – Pipsqueak was definitely smarter – or when Weaslette snuggled him like a plush toy to her chest. Nor Granger's foxlet, whatever it's name was. It was something Japanese and Draco didn't attend enough to Granger's words to really hear. The white foxlet seemed to be constantly curled upon Granger's shoulder, or nestled in Brown's hands and snoozing like a baby in a cradle.

Potter definitely had a way with his foxlet. Maybe it was just that he spent more time with it then the rest of them because Pipsqueak didn't have to divide her time between two bond-parents so much? It wasn't Draco's fault, of course; it wasn't his fault that he wouldn't touch the thing. Not after weeks would he touch it. It might not be dirty, true, but he'd had one close encounter with the foxlet-gone-rabid and that was one too many in his opinion. No, Potter could sit next to him if he must, but he wasn't going to have Pipsqueak sitting on him.

Still, even if he wasn't going to touch it – ever – Draco could appreciate that Pipsqueak was cute. To himself only, of course, but yes, he could admit it. She was especially cute when Potter turned his full attention and that stupid, lopsided smile upon her and tickled her belly to make her wriggle in his lap like a worm. Draco could hardly help but be distracted in Ancient Runes of a Thursday afternoon by the pair of them. And if he had a little difficulty discerning whether he looked at Potter or Pipsqueak more... well, no one was inside his head and he was fairly well-practiced at Occlumency from his mother's teachings. His thoughts at least were safe.

In fact, when Draco shook himself out of his staring, he realised he hadn't paid attention to anything Babbling had said in the past five minutes. Potter wasn't speaking or making a sound, and they sat at the back of the room so any of Pipsqueak's movements wouldn't be disruptive to anyone else. Potter was slumped lazily in his seat, his gaze downturned and Potions essay neglected. One elbow was propped upon the desk before him, cheek resting in his palm as the fingers of his other hand danced and tickled over Pipsqueak's belly. That damned smile was stretching wider with every moment he watched the foxlet wriggle in his lap. That smile was actually fairly absent most of the rest of the time. Not that Draco cared but one did notice such things.

In his lap, Pipsqueak lay on her back with her four little paws in the air. Her pointed snout was pointed towards Potter, mouth slightly open and tongue poking out just enough to see a touch of pinkness. With each touch of Potter's fingers, she would wriggle and twist, her mouth opening wider as if in a smile as her ears flicked and spun. The fluffy coils of her three tails batted at one another, brushing against Potter's stomach and wagging like those of a dog in disjointed asynchrony. One would have to be blind to overlook the fact that Pipsqueak adored Potter. Her eyes only ever left him to glance towards Draco, and then only briefly and only occasionally.

"You know," Draco murmured, "your Potions essay isn't going to get written if you sit there playing with the squirrel all day."

"You know," Potter replied without even glancing up, "your class notes aren't going to write themselves if you sit there watching all day. You should pay more attention to Babbling. Interesting stuff, she's saying."

"You'd know, would you?"

"I've been listening."

Draco snorted quietly. "I'm sure. And you're entirely comprehending it too, of course."

"Mmhm," Potter hummed in reply, tugging on one of Pipsqueak's tails as he did so that she arched and kicked her legs as though running on the air. Her open-mouthed grin widened, ears batting. "All that stuff about the rituals – I didn't even know that the age of the charcoal you use to inscribe the runes affects the potency of the ritual. I assume you'd have to use stuff that had burned at least a week ago for a Cross-Bound Ritual, right? Otherwise you'd probably bind too closely, I'm guessing."

Draco stared at Potter for a moment as he shifted his cheek in his palm. Had he missed Babbling saying that? When he thought about it, Potter's reasoning was fairly obvious. Draco just hadn't ever considered it before. Had Babbling said it aloud or had Potter just guessed? Was he actually paying attention to the class or… "You're not as stupid as I thought you were," Draco found himself saying, and had to snap his eyes closed in a wince a moment later when he realised he'd spoken aloud.

"Gee, thanks. I appreciate it, Malfoy."

"It wasn't a compliment," Draco muttered, cursing himself. It wasn't.

"Sure. You keep telling yourself that," Potter replied distractedly, gently pulling at the tufts of Pipsqueaks ears so she writhed and snapped in playful delight.

Draco pressed his lips together momentarily. "It wasn't. I was merely highlighting the fact that I have indeed considered you a helpless case and that such basic knowledge puts you on par with the lowest of the rung rather than being an irretrievable simpleton."

"Mmhm," Potter hummed in that infuriating way that Draco had come to realise he had. "You know, if you have to explain your insults it makes them a whole lot less insulting."

"It wasn't a direct insult or a taunt, it was the simple truth," Draco fumed.

"You sure about that? You weren't just trying to bait me into a rise?"

"No, I wasn't. I would never be so petty."

"Oh, so that time in fourth year with the badges?" Potter murmured barely loud enough to be heard in what was evidently a nonchalant tone. He still hadn't even glanced up from Pipsqueak, appeared to be paying the foxlet more attention than he was Draco. It was infuriating. "Or in third year when you pretended to be a Dementor to scare me off my broom? Or in fifth year Defence when you went on that week's splurge of copying Hermione's every answer to Umbridge's question from the back of the room – I know you knew I say you."

"Of course I knew, I –"

"'Cause that was kind of pathetically immature, Malfoy."

Draco blinked at Potter. Blinked and couldn't fathom what to say in reply. They had been bantering – not really even arguing but bantering in a positively infuriating way – and Draco was rendered speechless. Pathetic? Immature? The way Potter said it made it seem merely an observation, not even really an accusation. As though he was simply stating a fact as he saw it with no personal investment in the matter. What…? Why did he…?

Potter had definitely changed. Matured, maybe, if more mentally than physically. Draco didn't like it one bit.

He was spared from having to reply to Potter's words, however, for the bells' ringing. Snapping his attention to the front of the room – damn, he really had missed an entire boards-worth of notes – he swept books, parchments, quill and inkwell into his bag and rose to standing. Potter rose alongside him, slinging his bag over his shoulder and stuffing his Potions essay into his bag as he hefted Pipsqueak up to his neck to drape her in his customary living scarf. It was so natural that the two of them could have been doing it for years rather than weeks.

Making their way from the Runes classroom, Draco ignored, as usual, Granger falling into step beside Potter. Just as he ignored Lovegood matching his pace on his other side. For some reason she always seemed to stick to his side, as though wishing to sandwich him next to Potter to prevent an escape. The quietly attentive regard she often turned upon Draco didn't allay his suspicions of that fact. She was a weird one, was Lovegood.

Typically, Granger reached up to run a hand over Pipsqueak's tails. Brown had taken to caring for their foxlet in the hours that they had Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, and Granger seemed to be suffering withdrawals from its absence. Predictably, Pipsqueak ignored her attention entirely. Granger may as well have been touching the scarf that Pipsqueak so resembled.

"Hey, Pips, did you have fun up the back there?" Granger turned a faintly admonishing glance towards Potter. "You didn't get your Potions essay done, did you?"

Potter only shrugged. "Did you by any chance take that last set of notes from the board?"

"Of course I did," Granger said with a frown. "Why?"

Potter shrugged once more. "No reason," he replied, but he did turn a pointed sidelong glance towards Draco. A glance Draco would have to have been a fool to misunderstand. What, so Potter was unnecessarily observant now? How did he even notice that Draco hadn't written up the last of what was on the board? Draco tried not to glare at him. That would give the game away. No, Potter might not be the same but he was an entirely new and different kind of annoying. Draco didn't like it any more. Not at all.

"You know, foxlet gliders don't really like being touched by anyone besides their bond-parents."

As one, Draco, Potter and Granger all turned towards Lovegood. The short blonde girl didn't speak loudly, always maintaining that airy, vague tone of hers, but her words drew their attention nonetheless. She spouted such things on a relatively frequent basis, Draco had noticed. It was as much intelligent commentary as a product of whatever fantasy ran constantly through her mind. She actually uttered some considerations about the foxlets that held some merit, even is just as often it was empty speculation that was entirely outlandish. Draco still had difficulty discerning which was which at times.

"I suspected as much," Granger said, her hand dropping from Pipsqueak who still didn't appear to notice in the slightest. "Kitsune doesn't really take to anyone besides me or Lavender."

"It's a danger thing," Lovegood intoned solemnly, nodding her head sagely. "So that, when they were in the wild, they didn't stray too far from safety."

"Sort of like stranger danger," Potter muttered.

Lovegood beamed abruptly, solemnity stretching into a smile so quickly as to be disconcerting. "Precisely!"

"You know quite a bit about foxlet gliders, don't you, Luna?" Granger asked the obvious, almost a mimic of Draco's thoughts of but moments before. "I've noticed you sometimes…"

Lovegood nodded with her persisting smile softening slightly. "Oh, yes. I came across them when I first started researching Umgubular Slashkilters. They were both in the same book, actually, though they are of course no way related. Foxlet gliders don't even have horns!"

Draco didn't bother hiding the roll of his eyes. Lovegood might come out with the odd rough diamond, but generally she just seemed to spout bollocks. Umgubular Slashkilters? True, Draco hadn't really heard of a foxlet glider until he'd seen one – he probably would have believed Lovegood had invented them had he happened to overhear her tell of them – but Umgubular Slashkilters definitely didn't exist. Definitely.

Fighting the urge to stride away from their party – Pipsqueak had affixed Draco with her unwavering gaze and for some reason Draco increasingly found he couldn't leave when under its study – he spared a sidelong glance for Potter as he turned towards him. No, when Potter turned towards Lovegood, he realised. "I didn't know you'd read up on foxlet gliders, Luna. Do you know much about them?"

Lovegood sighed heavily, tilting her head to turn her attention briefly to the ceiling as though pondering. She even went so far as to tap her chin. "I suppose you can say I know a little bit about them? I do quite like magical creatures, you know."

"I had noticed," Potter murmured, sharing a knowing smile with Granger. Draco rolled his eyes once more.

"Just bits and pieces that I've picked up really. Like their Empathy Eye –"

"I read about that," Granger interrupted a little pompously.

"And how when it's opened and looking directly at you the foxlets can impress a particular emotion upon you. Sort of like to soothe anger or distress or sadness or some such."

Draco felt himself slow in step and he wasn't the only one. He turned raised eyebrows upon Lovegood who continued for another few paces before realising that Draco, Potter and Granger had stopped. "What?" She asked with vague curiosity.

"I didn't read that," Granger said faintly.

"Are you sure that happens, Luna?" Potter asked, a frown settling upon his brow.

Lovegood nodded fervently. "Oh, yes. It definitely does. I read about it happening in the Diary of Cacklebury Cinders. She used to own one, you know. Her father adopted one for her when she suffered from terrible despair after the death of her husband."

"Cacklebury Cinders?" Granger echoed dubiously. "Is that a real diary or just a work of fiction, Luna?"

"Of course it's a real story. She was a real person, and she had a foxlet glider."

"I've actually heard of her," Draco said before he could help himself. He fought against the cringe that threatened to bunch his shoulders as all eyes turned towards him. He paused for a moment as a pair of seventh year Hufflepuffs passed them in the corridor. "Not from this diary or whatever – I heard she was one of the brightest witches of her time. That she was the one who first produced the Merry Malady Draught."

"That's… sort of at odds with Luna's story." Granger frowned at Draco as though she were questioning the validity of his words rather than Lovegood's. The outrage. Draco felt his lip curl as they picked up their step once more.

"Not really," Lovegood replied, walking ahead of them backwards so that Draco was certain she would likely tumble head over heels down the next stairwell they encountered. "She was a despairing widow until she got John, but after that she turned over a new leaf. She was a very good brewer, one of the best of her time. She set the foundations for developing the Calming Draught, you know."

"John?" Potter asked, raising an eyebrow.

"That was the name of her foxlet."

"Of course it was," Draco muttered, shaking his head.

"After her dead husband, you understand," Lovegood explained.

"That's… a little heartbreaking," Granger said, her hand drifting unconsciously towards Pipsqueak. The foxlet didn't appear to give a damn when she petted her head, still staring unblinkingly at Draco. "But I didn't know you were that knowledgeable about the foxlets, Luna. Why didn't you tell us when we were researching? We could have used your help, especially if you've knowledge that we can't find in the school library." Granger's words seemed to physically pain her to utter, as though she was wracked with guilt for questioning the school's resources.

Lovegood shrugged, dancing slightly as a trio of third years skirted around her to make in the opposite direction. "You didn't ask."

"You could have offered."

"I've always had an interest in unusual creatures, Hermione. I'd have thought you would have asked if you wanted my input."

"Yes, but I didn't know you knew."

"You could have asked."

"I know, but I didn't –"

"Anyway," Potter interrupted, much to Draco's relief. "What else do you know, Luna? Is there anything else you can tell us, anything we don't already know?"

Draco turned an expected gaze towards Lovegood as she tapped her chin once more. She had to be good for something, right? "Um… maybe?"

"Such as…?" Draco drawled, rolling his hand before him in a gesture to "get on with it".

Lovegood paused for a ridiculously long moment before replying. "Well, for instance I know, Harry, Pipsqueak could mature any day now. When they grow longer than half a meter from nose to rump they're able to mentally mature."

"We already knew that," Granger muttered. Her pride appeared to still be slightly stung by Lovegood's oblivious counterarguments of moments before. "They were pretty much able to mature since the day we got them. Mentally, anyway."

Lovegood nodded. "Yes, well, I suppose they probably were. It's alright though, Harry, I don't think Pipsqueak's likely to go Berserk."

As one, Draco, Potter and Granger all paused in step once more. Draco actually – horrifyingly and shamefully – found himself exchanging a surprised glance with the two of them before he realised what he was doing and snapped his attention back to Lovegood. "You know about them going… Berserk?"

Lovegood nodded. "When they possibly become Bersekers, yes."

"Why didn't you tell us about this before?" Granger asked, her frustration evident once more. "I know you've been around when we've been discussing it. Why didn't you say something?"

"Because you didn't ask."

"Yes, but you could have still said –"

"Anyway," Potter interrupted once more. "What do you know, Luna? All that we've been able to work out is that it's something that can happen when foxlets mature, that it can happen to a boy or a girl, and that it's because of stress or something."

Lovegood nodded, smiling at Potter like a professor would to a student who had just realised the answer to a particularly prickly question. "That's right." Then she fell silent.

"And?" Granger prompted. Draco had to bite back to urge to smirk in spite of himself. Granger and Lovegood were friends, he knew, but their entirely opposite personalities appeared to rub Granger at least the wrong way at times.

"Oh, yes," Lovegood started, as though she had forgotten she was meant to be explaining. "Well, from what I've read and from my own hypotheses –"

Oh Merlin, her own hypotheses, Draco thought with another roll of his eyes.

"- it can happen due a number of reasons. If they're unhappy, or if they undergo particular physiological pain or distress, or if their bond-parents don't treat them or each other very well. They're quite sensitive, you know, considering their empathy magic and all. More recently – in the last few centuries or so – there's been many more Berserkers maturing because of their environmental stressors."

"Meaning?" Potter asked. Draco didn't miss the glance he spared him at the mention of bond-parents 'not treating each other very well'. But Lovegood had said Pipsqueak was alright, hadn't she?

"Obviously, because of environmental damage," Draco explained, shrugging aside his concern. Honestly, it really was obvious. "Loss of habitat, cities encroaching upon their territories, pollution – that sort of thing. I assume." Draco wasn't certain – it was his own hypothesis of sorts, based upon absolutely minimal knowledge – but there was no way he would ask Lovegood for clarification.

Lovegood clarified anyway. She turned her approving smile upon Draco with such open satisfaction that he couldn't supress the curling of his lip once more. Lovegood didn't seem to care, or at least didn't notice. "That's pretty much it. I mean, it's not really a problem that they mature into Berserkers – they're needed in family groups to act as protectors of their community and all. It's more just because they're usually less fertile than Sedate adults."

"What exactly are they, when they turn into Berserkers?" Potter asked. His frown had settled more deeply and his hand was stroking compulsively at Pipsqueak's tail, firmly enough that the foxlet uncoiled slightly to touch his cheek with her nose, wide ears quivering questioningly.

"They're the aggressive counterpart of the Sedate foxlets, aren't they?" Hermione asked, for once seeming to submit to Lovegood's greater. Would the surprises never cease?

Harry nodded with a sigh that bordered on exasperated. "Yeah, but I mean what actually are they? The Sedates are pretty self-explanatory from the name, right? They're not aggressive and we worked out that they were the ones who reproduce or whatever, right? So the Berserkers are…?"

Draco sighed loudly just as Lovegood opened her mouth to reply. "I'd say that the term 'Berserker' is similarly self explanatory." He ignored the frowns that Potter and Granger both turned upon him, Granger's surprisingly fiercer. Potter – as had become his norm – just looked slightly thoughtful and maybe just the faintest touch annoyed. Maybe not even that.

Lovegood was nodding her approval once more, however – damn, but Draco wished she would stop doing that – as she settled her smile upon him. "I'd say so. It's sort of like they go a little bit crazy with confrontation. They tend to be a bit bigger than Sedate's when they're fully grown – they keep growing quite a bit after they mentally mature, you know – and they're angrier."

"Angrier?" Potter asked. He glanced once more down at Pipsqueak, who peered up at him with something that Draco thought very definitely resembled worry. It was as though she was could feel his concern – which, Draco reasoned, considering she had that weird empathy magic, she possibly could. "I couldn't imagine Pips ever getting angry."

"It used to only be one or two per family group, I suppose," Lovegood explained. "Until more recently, that is. I guess that's probably why their numbers have been decreasing?"

"Because they're not Sedate so they don't mate as easily." Granger surmised. Lovegood nodded.

All eyes, even Draco's, settled upon Pipsqueak. He wouldn't admit it aloud – Merlin, he'd never admit it aloud – but Draco didn't like the thought of Pipsqueak becoming an aggressive rabid squirrel for real. Or worse than a rabid squirrel, considering that apparently, from what he'd read of them, they grew to the size of a large dog. Already Pipsqueak was nearly outgrowing her self-assigned role as Potter's scarf. She seemed to almost smother him half the time.

"I guess we know why Hagrid wanted the foxlets to be properly looked after then," Potter muttered. "To try to mature them into Sedate's, I suppose."

"There's nothing all that wrong with Berserkers," Lovegood reasoned, turning on her heel and finally beginning to lead them down the corridor once more. Draco, Potter and Granger followed slowly in her wake. "I mean, they're more aggressive for sure, and they react more angrily to triggers than Sedates do. But they're only really uncontrollable except with magic when they come across an opponent or a trespasser or something. Or just when they reach their moment of maturity. It's supposed to be quite sudden, I've heard."

Draco glanced back at Pipsqueak just as Potter and Granger shared a glance of their own. Lovegood's words weren't reassuring in the slightest. "Well, now we know why McGonagall wanted eighth years to look after them," Granger reasoned, though she did eye Pipsqueak a little warily after that.

We do indeed, Draco thought to himself. Trust an ex-Gryffindor headmistress to assign potentially crazy magical creatures to the care of students. Honestly…

They entered the Great Hall with barely another word amongst them, all lost in their own thoughts. Well, except for Lovegood that was, who appeared to have taken up singing a tune to herself in a surprisingly clear and pretty pitch that even so set Draco's teeth on edge. She followed Potter and Granger towards the Gryffindor table, already half filled with what had to be all of their students, as though she was more of a Gryffindor than a Ravenclaw. Draco wondered if, even after six years, she'd somehow forgotten which house she belonged to. He wouldn't put it past the girl.

Draco took himself to the Slytherin table, folding into the seat beside Blaise who, despite his lack of inclination towards friendship, was sitting alongside Theodore. He barely spared them both a nod of acknowledgement before reaching across the table to the pot of Irish stew and ladling himself a bowlful. They didn't exchange a word until Draco was halfway through his dinner.

"You're thinking awfully hard for so late in the afternoon."

Draco glanced up. "What?"

Blaise was smirking in a way that put Draco in mind of a cat with its sights on a mouse. "You. What's ticking through that big head of yours?"

"I don't have a big head. That would insinuate arrogance."

"So it's a fairly suitable description, then?" Theodore said with his usual blunt tactlessness.

Draco scowled as Blaise laughed. "He's got you there."

"I'm not arrogant."

"Yes, Draco, you are."

"No I'm not. There's a difference between arrogance and pride."

Surprisingly, Blaise's smile faded slightly. "Pride?"

Draco glanced up from his bowl of stew to spare his friend a frown. What was with that unnecessarily deep-thinking tone? "What?"

Blaise only shook his head. "Nothing, I just…"

"What?"

Pursing his lips, Blaise shrugged. "Just that at the end of… last term, what you said to me…" He trailed off, shrugging once more.

Draco's frown deepened. At the end of last term? He and Blaise – and just about everyone else – used such a reference as a euphemism for 'after the battle'. What was Blaise referring to, exactly? What had he said to him? "What are you talking about?"

Blaise shrugged in that frankly irritating way that made Draco want to reach down and clamp a hand upon his rising shoulders. "You just said that you didn't have all that much pride left after everything that had happened. I guess I'm just happy that it isn't true."

Draco stared at his friend. He stared and didn't speak a word as he slowly turned back to his bowl. He didn't have all that much of an appetite after Blaise's words. "Oh," was all he could think to say.

An elbow jostled him slightly, enough that Draco shifted aside his thoughtfulness for a moment to raise an objectionable eyebrow at Blaise. "Look, I'm not saying it's a bad thing."

"Even if it does entail arrogance?" Theodore asked through the pieces of dinner roll he was popping into his mouth.

"Shut up, Theo," Blaise said without even glancing towards him. He cocked his head slightly to smile at Draco in a positively unnerving manner. "Really, it's actually kind of good to see. I wasn't sure if, after the train trip here, you know…"

"I know what?" Draco raised his eyebrow further, sitting up taller in his seat.

Blaise shrugged once more and Draco couldn't help himself; he clamped a hand down upon one raised shoulder with a darting snap of his hand in such a way that Blaise started slightly before smirking. His smirk softened, however, as he replied. "Nothing. Just that I wasn't sure if I'd maybe lost the old Draco. I mean, he's a prat and all, but he is my friend."

Draco blinked at Blaise for a moment, his mouth opening and closing with shameful ineloquence. He dropped his hand from Blaise's shoulder as he turned back to his dinner, lips pressing together firmly for a moment before replying. "I don't know what you mean," he lied. That train trip, that first night back, Draco hadn't been sure what to expect. He hadn't known if it was a good thing to have returned to Hogwarts at all, what with all of the memories, after everything that had happened. But…

No. It had been a good idea. Even if somehow, within twenty-four hours of his return, he'd managed to land himself with Potter as a mutual bond-parent. How that had even happened still baffled Draco.

Shaking his head, Draco deliberately picked up his fork and set about his stew once more. "I've got no idea what you're talking about," he reiterated with a sniff.

He could feel Blaise's smile without needing to look at him. "Oh, I think you do."

"I do not."

"Yes you do."

"Shut up, Theo," Draco replied mildly, gaze still downcast.

Blaise laughed once more. "You do. And I think you probably also even know the reason for it all. For everything being… better."

Draco didn't mean to. He honestly didn't, but somehow, quite without his direction, he found his gaze drifting upwards and across the room towards the Gryffindor table. He noticed the Golden Trio – they were, quite frankly, hard to miss, especially with Weasley and Weaslette initiating their nightly argument, cries of "Stop being an idiot" and "He was with you last night" ringing across the room. And naturally, his eyes drifted to Potter, to Pipsqueak, as they were want to do.

Potter, who was watching his two friends snarl and snap at one another's throats with a hand propped beneath his chin. Potter, who seemed to have neglected half of his dinner in favour of offering it to Pipsqueak at his shoulder who ate far more daintily and cleanly that her siblings, Draco was sure. Potter, who somehow seemed to feel Draco's gaze upon him and glanced in his direction through the mess of his overlong fringe. He didn't smile but he didn't frown either, simply regarding Draco as he was regarded in turn.

Draco hastily dropped his gaze down to his bowl once more, resolutely ignoring Blaise's muffled chuckles at his side. Stupid Potter with his stupid fringe and his stupid stare and the ridiculously, stupidly cute way he smiled at the foxlet that lived on his shoulder. It annoyed Draco to no end.

Although, he would consider later as he lay in bed and stared up at the curtains of his four-poster, at least he was annoyed. At least he felt something other than despair, something more than regret or disappointment for how the world had changed. He'd wondered after the war if he ever would look upon the world the same as he once had through anything but the darkly-tinted glasses of his regret.

Apparently he had. Did. Quite without realising it, Draco did. And damn him but Blaise was right. He might be annoying, and the squirrel just as much, but Potter and Pipsqueak actually had quite a bit to do with that. Even if they were hardly more than a distraction from his thoughts.

Everything was… better. Slightly. Returned to normal just a little bit. It had become constant, routine, and though Draco was swamped beneath homework, was constantly looking over his shoulder with the expectation of meeting the glares of his fellow students, it wasn't anything particularly noteworthy. His N.E. were hardly as difficult an endeavour to undertake the second time round, especially given that this time it lacked the threat of torture by particular professors.

It was good. Better, even. It might have even remained that way, too, except that but days later the first of the foxlets went Berserk.