Chapter 6: Berserker

The link between a foxlet glider and their bond-parents in many ways resembles that of a witch or wizard to their Familiar. This phenomenon is largely a result of the empathetic capabilities of the creatures – the bond only enhances their sensitivity to the emotions of their bond-parents, and juveniles will respond with joy, sorrow or aggressive anger accordingly.

Throughout the sub-adult stage of the foxlet glider's life, they will be as an additional limb to one or other of their bond-parents at all times. Not only does this soothe the distress of the juvenile but it similarly eases any discomfort or rising unease of the bonded. With greater exposure, the concern of the parent for the juvenile will only increase into both affection and protectiveness. It has been observed on several occasions to become an almost obsessive need to ensure the wellbeing of that juvenile, at times even at the expense of the parent's.

Harry woke up early, as usual. Sometimes he didn't sleep at all, so the surprise lay more in that he'd slept at all. The curtained enclosure of his bed made it as black as full night, but he suspected that it would still be considerably early and likely as dark had the curtains been drawn open.

Rolling over, Harry reached up to his chest to shift Pipsqueak before she could slide in a tumbling squeak onto the mattress. His chest had apparently become her own mattress and she'd routinely curled like a sleeping cat in just such a position for weeks now. Any opportunity to do so, including when Harry didn't simply forego taking himself to bed and simply spent the night on the common room couches, she seemed to grasp with both paws. Although, he considered, she probably wouldn't be able to sit on top of him for all that much longer. Pipsqueak had grown significantly in the past weeks and was now more akin to the size of a small dog than a cat. She was still smaller than both Tod and Kitsune but that hardly meant she was tiny.

Pipsqueak immediately pricked her ears and blinked her wide, dark eyes open as Harry shifted her, her paws wrapping around his arm as though insisting that no, actually, he could not force her to budge. In the darkness, her grey face looked paler, almost white, the black tips of her enormous ears making it appear as though they were cut off in a stunting. Her black nose twitched before jabbing at Harry's face in an affectionate nuzzle.

Harry smiled. Pips always made him smile. He'd never had a pet other than Hedwig, and she was hardly as much of a constant companion. Pipsqueak was always with Harry, letting go of him only long enough to take herself to toilet when he led her outside and then only in the early days; strangely, astoundingly, she seemed to have developed the understanding of a lavatory and proceeded to use it accordingly which, if Harry was to be honest, was actually very convenient. They were never apart, the two of them, with Pipsqueak even going so far as to accompany him into the shower because, in the early days if their bonding, Harry couldn't urge her to untangle her paws and tail for long enough to leave her behind and go by himself. The soft little sobs she'd whimpered when he'd left her in Ron's arms – Ron, who was surprisingly a massive sap when it came to the foxlets and who was just about blubbering himself to witness it – was heartbreaking. Harry caved in an instant. At first Pipsqueak had protested the spitting water, her yips echoing off the tiled walls resoundingly. That was then, though. Now, she revelled in the spray, even growing excited when Harry rifled through his trunk for his robes and picked up his towel. She'd long since grown to recognise the items and what they meant.

Harry knew she was excited. He could tell now. He recognised when she was happy, when she was sleepy, when she was playful. He knew the yip that specifically meant she was hungry, or the pitch of the whimper that told him she wanted to be just a little closer to Malfoy – he, as objectionable as always, still refused to even touch her and Harry couldn't bring himself to fight with him over the matter. Besides, he didn't care all that much. So long as Pipsqueak was content so was he. She didn't seem to altogether need his contact, just his proximity.

Besides, Harry would have to admit he coveted her attention just a little bit. It would be strange to have Pipsqueak away from him, he'd realised of a morning barely a week after she'd all but glued herself to him. That was the morning that Harry had realised that he was very definitely smitten. It was a little pathetic perhaps, how he almost seemed to need her around him, how he could read her so well it was as if she was more than just a pet but an actual friend.

Which she was. Pipsqueak wasn't just a pet, Harry decided. Not at all. She was so, so much more than that. And Harry needed her. He didn't know why, exactly, only that he knew he felt… calmer when she was around. That he slept just a little better.

Propping his arm behind his head, Harry dropped the fingers of his other hand to Pipsqueak's head, scratching between the two lines on her head just above where her third eye should be. It was her favourite spot to be scratched and her eyes narrowed to contented slits, ears drooping and a purr bubbling from her throat. She snuggled closer to his chest once more.

"How did you sleep, Pips? You were out like a light last night." Harry slipped his fingers down behind one of her ears so that she cocked her head and loudened her purr contentedly. Her eyes actually closed, and Harry could swear that she smiled. "Fell asleep in my lap by nine o'clock, you did. Needed an early one, did you?"

Pipsqueak hummed in a reply that sounded like an agreement. Harry smiled. She was only a baby after all, regardless of the fact that both Luna and Hermione claimed she could 'mentally mature' at any moment. Harry almost feared the day that would happen. Not only could it mean Pips might become a Berserker; Luna may claim that it wasn't 'that bad' but he couldn't imagine Pipsqueak becoming, as Malfoy called it, a rabid squirrel. It made him feel sick to even contemplate, both because it was so vastly opposite to how Pipsqueak was – she was about the least aggressive creature Harry had ever encountered – but because it would mean that she would have to be taken back down to Hagrid's and kept out of the school. A potentially dangerous creature, no matter how small, could hardly accompany their 'bond-parents' to their classes.

More than that, however, Harry dreaded the very thought of that maturity itself. Even if Pipsqueak grew into a Sedate – which she would. She had to – would Harry have to take her back down to Hagrid's? Would she be sent down to the cottage and he only able to visit her between classes? Surely not. Surely. Foxlet gliders apparently took about two years to reach their full size, something that ranged between the sizes of a German Shepherd and a wolfhound. They wouldn't be quite as sturdy, no, but would reach that size all the same. Even if Pipsqueak grew to nearly so large in Harry's final school year, he would still be able to have her with him, wouldn't he? The size of a dog wasn't that big, even if it was a Big Dog.

It often got Harry to thinking, though, and not only with the melancholy of potential disaster. For it would be a disaster if Pips was taken away from him, her knew. It got him to thinking about that which he strove not to. Sighing, Harry paused in his petting for a moment to rub his fingers over his own forehead. Pipsqueak's eyes blinked open, peering up at him with the grin vanished from her face. Harry would swear that, even without her third eye opened, she could somehow read his thoughts. Or maybe it was his feelings. There would surely be no other reason for such a solemn expression upon the foxlet's face.

Forcing forth a smile, Harry dropped his fingers back down to Pipsqueak's head, grazing his fingers through her downy fur. She didn't look deceived by his attempt in the slightest. "It's alright," he reassured her. "I'm just thinking."

Pips' ears pricked at his words and she cocked her head slightly as if in question. Harry's smile came easier this time. Though he might be talking to an animal that likely didn't understand a word he said, but it was soothing nonetheless. He didn't really feel he could talk to Ron or Hermione about things like his concerns, his worries for the future. It was something private, and besides, they didn't need to hear that from him. They were both firmly set with stepping towards their own futures. Together. Harry's own listlessness would only be a downer. "I'm just thinking," he murmured again.

Pipsqueak's small "yip" sounded like nothing if not encouragement to continue. He smiled at her once more, leaning forwards slightly so that her reaching snout could brush gently upon his chin. "I don't know. Just stuff. I don't really want to be an Auror and all that anymore, and I don't know what else to do with myself. What does an ex-Chosen One even do?"

Pipsqueak gave another yip, butting her nose against his chin once more. There was another question in her mew that Harry interpreted as it likely wasn't even intended. "Yeah, maybe. But I don't exactly enjoy having cameras flashing at me or anything. I never have. People don't seem to realise that." He set to stroking at Pipsqueak's head once more. "Honestly, I'd rather just kind of spend my time looking after you."

The humming purr that Pipsqueak mumbled was definitely in response to his words, only enhancing Harry's suspicion that she took more from his words than would even something as intelligent as a kneazle. She seemed to be saying "That's perfectly fine. Why don't you just do that, then?" Harry could only agree with the sentiment.

They spent another hour or so simply lying in bed before Harry bothered to reach for his wand and check the time. Six fifteen, his Tempus Charm read, which was probably a little early to be up and about but Harry found lying abed for too long both boring and largely pointless, even if he did spend that time with Pipsqueak. He'd never really been given the liberty of doing so when he was younger and the habit had stuck. Even when failing to fall to sleep, he rarely bothered spending more than an hour doing so before giving up the attempt as a lost cause.

Scooping Pipsqueak up into his arms, Harry kicked aside the curtains of his bed and clambered from the mattress. He had always thought the school mattresses were ridiculously soft. The eighth year dorm beds seemed even softer somehow. So soft as to be almost uncomfortable. Pipsqueak quickly and efficiently scaled his arms to drape herself over his shoulder, setting up a string of chittering "yip-yip"s as he made his way to his trunk, fumbled around in the dark for his towel and robes for the day, and made his way to the bathroom. She was bouncing excitedly enough to stagger him by the time they stepped through the door.

Twenty minutes later and, with a thoroughly drenched foxlet in hand, Harry returned to the dorm. It was still quiet, despite the fact that one or two beds appeared to hold waking occupants, and still dark enough that Harry nearly tripped over the end of his trunk. One would think that, after nearly two months back at school, he would manage to avoid stubbing is toe every morning that the trunk stuck out just a little too far, but no, apparently not. Pausing only to grab his school bag, sparing a glance for Ron's bed – still very much still and silent – Harry made his way down to the common room. He'd rather wait for Ron downstairs anyway than in the dark confines of their room.

It wasn't the Gryffindor common room, but Harry found he quite liked the eighth year tower all the same. It was cast in cooler shades, and though it was smaller there was a very definite openness about it due to the significantly smaller number of residents allocated within its walls. Harry found he quite liked that, too. The students of Hogwarts, for whatever reason, seemed to attend to him more than they used to. He felt watched, almost scrutinised, and it was an unnerving experience that he had never become accustomed to regardless of how many years he had lived in the Wizarding world as the Chosen One. His fellow eighth years were different, though. Other than the initial curious consideration, the stares of speculation and even a little respect, they'd seemed to have subsided back to normal. The time Harry had seen such respect radiating from Malfoy had been shocking, though thankfully that respect seemed to have died somewhat into nonchalance and even a hint of his usual aversion.

Harry liked that. It was the same as it always had been. He might not get along with Malfoy, regardless of how Malfoy had finally graced him with the allowance that "Alright, I'll allow you to sit next to me. For the squirrel only, mind", but he found he quite liked that. It was the same as it had always been, if to a lesser degree, and Harry found it was… comfortable.

Seating himself down on the floor before the faintly violet fire, Harry tugged at Pipsqueaks still sodden tail until she obliged, uncoiling herself and pooling in his lap. Smiling down at her – she looked to have grown a Mohawk for the spiky wetness of her fur – he rolled her onto the carpet before the fire. "How you manage to retain so much water even after I've dried you with a towel I'll never know. You're like a sponge." Pipsqueak only yipped her agreement, wriggling with wagging tails as Harry fluffed up her fur with his fingers in an attempt to better dry her before the warmth of the fire. "Though at least you won't stink. You know Hermione still can't get Kitsune to take a bath? Lavender nearly did, but Kitsune just starts barking and scratching whenever she goes near the shower. Or any water source for that matter. Don't tell Hermione but I think Kitsune might like Lavender just a little bit more than her."

Pips stared up at him with momentary stillness, almost solemnity, and, with such a human gesture that she had to have understood Harry's words, tipped her head in a nod. Harry grinned widely. "I knew you could keep a secret. Mouth like a steel trap, you have, right?"

Pips yipped her agreement and wriggled on the floor once more.

Harry wasn't sure how long he spent beside the glow of the fire before the next person came down the stairs. He'd since descended from simply drying Pipsqueak into playing with her with the quill he'd had pulled from his bag. It was a game he'd adopted from Ron and Tod and, though Pipsqueak wasn't nearly as excitable as Tod was during the game – Sprout had actually had to stop Ron from disrupting the class the previous week because Tod had knocked over a pot of freshly turned fertilizer in his excitement – but she liked it all the same. Harry suspected it was as much because she thought that he liked the game as because she did.

"Don't eat it, you silly little idiot," Harry laughed as he tugged the matted quill from Pipsqueak's jaws. She grinned up at him, ears flapping and twitching like a pair of wings as her paws stretched up towards the quill elevated above her nose. The thinly-furred patagium between her wrists and ankles was stretched taut. "I know you liked chicken but this quill is raven feather. You wouldn't like it."

Pips barked in disagreement and Harry laughed once more. "How about I get you some chicken for breakfast then, hm?" He asked and Pips wagged her tails in her disjointed way in fervent anticipation. "Although, I don't know if there'll even be chicken at breakfast. How about bacon? Or sausages? You like sausage."

"You know, she can't actually understand you."

At the sound of Malfoy's voice, Harry lowered the quill and glanced over his shoulder. Malfoy leant against the back of one of the desk chairs, bag slung over his shoulder and legs crossed before him as he watched Harry and Pips with hooded eyes. Pipsqueak, in a display that told Harry his speculations as to her investment in their game were accurate, pricked her ears and scaled Harry's chest to peer over his shoulder. Her ears quivered and she gave a delighted "yip!" of welcome. Malfoy spared her only a glance, if a long one, before turning his attention back towards Harry.

Harry shrugged, slipping his mangled quill back into his bag and rising to his feet. He adjusted Pipsqueak so she slipped around his shoulders and about his neck as usual. It was a bit of a struggle these days; she was definitely getting a little too big for such a pose. "I think she does."

"She doesn't. She's an animal."

"A very smart animal."

"It doesn't matter how smart she is, she's still an animal. She can't understand English."

Harry shrugged once more, and didn't miss the slight twitch of Malfoy's nose as he did so. He didn't know what that was all about but chose to disregard it. "Obviously you haven't spent enough time with her then to notice. She does."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes slightly before, with what was evidently a determined attempt at disregard himself, he jerked his head to the side and glanced back up the stairs towards the boys dormitory. Harry settled for leaning against the back of one of the couches and raising a hand to scratch at Pipsqueak's chirruping head as he watched Malfoy with a sidelong glance.

He cut a clean, sharp figure in a way that Harry knew he could never achieve. It was something that he'd always noticed but never really appreciated all that much before, given that such observations were usually tagged with a mental "stupid git" or "bloody Slytherin". It sort of detracted from any potential for compliment. But Malfoy was indeed well groomed. Not a hair on his white-blond head was out of place, nor a wrinkle visible in his robes. He carried himself tall and straight in a way that had always made Harry consider him so much taller than himself but recent study had proved to be hardly an exceptional discrepancy. He wasn't a large person, not really any bigger than Harry himself, but the hold of his carriage gave him a greater presence than that he possessed.

Or maybe that was just his arrogance, Harry wasn't sure.

"What are you doing down here so early, Malfoy?" He asked before he'd even realised he was going to speak.

Malfoy drew his gaze slowly back towards him, a single eyebrow rising. "It's not that early."

"How early is it?"

"You said what you did without even knowing what the time was?"

Harry shrugged. "It was just a question," he muttered, turning very deliberately away from Malfoy to give his full attention to Pipsqueak. He didn't know why he'd chosen to speak to Malfoy at all, actually. He might not hate the other boy quite so much anymore but that didn't make him any more of an agreeable person. He was actually quite the opposite for the most part. Harry didn't think he would spare a second thought for him if not for Pips and the bond-parent thing. He didn't even answer questions properly –

"It's nearly seven-thirty. And I'm waiting for Blaise to haul arse out of bed."

Blinking, Harry turned his attention back to Malfoy. Had he… actually answered him properly? Actually answered him? They'd spent a lot of time together over the past weeks and if Harry knew one thing it was that Malfoy didn't want to talk to him. He would accept that Harry was near him out of necessity, but he clearly didn't feel any particular need to talk to him. Their only interactions had been when they spoke – briefly and rarely – of Pipsqueak, or when they were exchanging information on foxlet gliders in their early days of research on the magical creatures. Harry was still a little surprised that Malfoy had actually agreed to help with that. He wouldn't have been surprised in the slightest if he'd abandoned them to their work.

"Do you usually get down here so early?" He asked before he could stop himself.

Malfoy frowned with something approaching indignation. "Why? Do you?"

"Yeah. Pretty much every morning." Surely Harry would have noticed before if Malfoy arrived so early. Wouldn't he?

Malfoy's frown gradually faded into something less objectionable and he shook his head. "No. Not usually. I… appreciate my late mornings when I can get them." He paused and Harry could swear he was on the edge of embarrassment for such an admission. Then he shook his head and frowned towards Harry once more. "You don't."

Harry shrugged – and blinked at the repeated twitch to Malfoy's nose. Really, what was that all about? "Not really. Never have."

"That's remarkably committed for a Gryffindor."

"Ex-Gryffindor," Harry corrected. "And what do you mean by that?"

"Only that it entails hard-work and a readiness for the day. I would associate early rising with Hufflepuffs more than Gryffindors."

Harry pursed his lips to the side thoughtfully, tapping at Pipsqueak's head. "Not all Gryffindors," he murmured. Then he shook his head. "Whatever. Maybe I've got a bit of Hufflepuff in me?"

Malfoy arched his eyebrow once more. "You? A Puff?"

"Is there a problem with that?"

"Hufflepuffs are pathetically coddled little sheep who –"

"Who just so happen to carry the characteristics of people who are hard-working, loyal, just and kind. I don't really see any of that as being a bad thing," Harry reasoned. "And as far as I've heard, they're hardly coddled. You know they have to crawl through a tunnel to even get to their common room?"

Malfoy blinked at Harry for a moment in what he could have sworn was surprise. "Please tell me you're joking."

"What, you've never heard of that before?"

"Merlin, no."

"Have you ever actually asked a Hufflepuff –"

"I don't mingle with the Puffs," Malfoy sniffed, tipping his head back so his nose pointed into the air.

Harry rolled his eyes. "And therein lies your problem," he muttered beneath his breath.

"What was that?"

"I said I could have expected that."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Is that so."

Harry deliberately turned away from Malfoy. "Why are you acting so indignant? I'm just agreeing with what you said yourself."

For a moment, Malfoy was rendered silent. Actually silent, as though Harry's words had stunted any potential reply. Harry struggled to smother the urge to grin. He had never before engaged in wordplay with Malfoy before, hadn't expected himself adept enough, for pretentious git though he was, Harry knew that Malfoy was more educated, more cultured even, then himself. It hadn't been a compliment, a recognition of superiority in his mind when he'd first thought it, but Harry had registered it nonetheless. The fact that Harry had beaten Malfoy – or at least sort of beaten him – at his own game was…

It was kind of fantastic. Did that make him a little twisted, that Harry actually quite enjoyed arguing with Malfoy? Yes… yes, surely it did.

What was wrong with him?

"What are you doing down here so early, then?"

Malfoy's words broke into Harry's musings and he blinked his attention back towards him. "Hm?"

Malfoy sighed with more long-suffering than the situation merited. "Why. Are you here. So early?"

Harry pursed his lips once more, frowning. "I'm waiting. For Ron," he replied, mimicking Malfoy's slowness.

"Weasley wasn't even awake when I came down five minutes ago."

"Oh, fantastic," Harry sighed. "I suppose I should kick him out of bed then."

"Why?"

"So he's not late for class. That's what friends do for each other, Malfoy."

Malfoy scowled but surprisingly brushed aside the backhanded criticism. "I just meant why do you have to wait for him? Why not just go down to breakfast? I've no doubt Granger would wait – they're practically joined at the hip most of the time."

Harry couldn't deny that. His friends weren't openly lovey-dovey – for which he was sincerely grateful as he didn't know how well he'd be able to stand it – but there was a very distinct sense of closeness. Of fondness for one another that they didn't necessarily have for Harry, or at least not in the same way. It felt just a little lonely to realise.

Harry's hand drifted towards Pipsqueak's head, scratching idly. "Yeah, you're probably right. Honestly, I can't much be bothered to wait for him anyway. It's always me waiting, you know? There's only so much I can take of that." He didn't speak it with any particular heat but his words were sincere nonetheless. He didn't begrudge Ron taking so long every morning – he had to wait for so long because Harry was the one who got up so early – but that didn't mean he particularly enjoyed the wait.

Pushing himself off the back of the couch, Harry hitched his bag higher onto his shoulder and turned towards the tower entrance. "Might just head on down then," he muttered, passing Malfoy. Onto to pause in step at the door. "Why are you waiting, then? I can't see you as one to wait upon the whims of your friends."

Malfoy shifted his lean into something that could have been awkwardness. Gaze averted, he plucked at the lapels of his robes, smoothing them with a distracted hand. "No reason."

"Why don't you just come down with us, then?"

Malfoy glanced up at Harry sharply, frowning as though he expected him to be teasing. Harry wasn't. It was a sincere offer, and made even more so by Pipsqueak's excited "eeeee-yip!" of hearty agreement to the suggestion. "Us?"

"Pips and me."

"You want me to walk down to breakfast with you?" Malfoy sounded genuinely incredulous, which Harry tried not to find as hilarious as it was.

Instead, he shrugged, turning to cross the room and tugging the common room door open. "You don't have to. I think Pips would probably like you to, though, which might actually be helpful considering I can't come with you to Arithmancy this morning."

"Why not?" Malfoy asked, more curious that affronted despite his words. Harry didn't miss that, as he stepped out through the door into the corridor, Malfoy followed behind him without a word. Probably deliberately without a word, considering it was him. He was likely too embarrassed to admit he would agree with any suggestion Harry posed.

"It's my week to head on down to sixth year Care of Magical Creatures," he explained.

"Again? Already?"

"I've only gone twice before, Malfoy. I'm – we're looking after the foxlet gliders for Hagrid's class." Harry glanced over his shoulder at Malfoy who was, surprisingly, frowning. It was almost as though the situation vexed him, which was strange. Harry would have thought he'd appreciate the reprieve from his and Pipsqueak's near constant accompaniment. They rarely spoke to one another, certainly not as much as they were doing that morning, but it must get annoying. Harry at least had the diversion of Pipsqueak's presence to distract from any objections he may feel to the situation.

Malfoy didn't reply to his words but fell into set alongside Harry, as though to walk behind him was a slight to his pride. Which, Harry considered, given that it was Malfoy, it likely was.

The Great Hall was almost empty when they entered. Besides a scattering of upper-year students, getting a bite in before diving into class and studies, there was only, expectedly, McGonagall and Sprout in attendance. They two were the early risers of the professors of Hogwarts, Harry had noticed. He'd seen the tail end of their breakfasts more times than he'd counted.

They paused, he and Malfoy, just inside the door, both turning in opposite directions towards their respective tables. Or old tables, Harry reasoned. He didn't have to sit with the Gryffindors anymore, even if it was expected of him. The neutrality of the eighth years was as pronounced as the black and white striping of their ties, of the mascot-less insignia's on their robes. Apparently the school was were ordering some 'eighth year' scarves for this rapidly encroaching winter season.

Even so, despite their apparent houseless-ness, Malfoy always sat with the Slytherins and Harry with the Gryffindors. It was a bit of a pain, actually, for on more than one occasion he'd endured a meal with Pipsqueak whimpering softly in his ear because of the distance of the hall between them and the Slytherins. Still, he didn't comment when Malfoy turned towards his own table, hesitating for only a moment for some reason and casting a brief, frowning glance behind him through the doors of the Great Hall before striding away without a word.

Pipsqueak whimpered in what was more of a wistful sight.

Sighing himself, Harry raised a hand to pet at her head. "Sorry, Pips, but he wants to go and sit by himself like a loner. It'sot my fault."

Pipsqueak gave a disconsolate "yip".

"Yeah, I know, he's an idiot. He couldn't just make things easy and sit with us, could he? And after what I just told him about having to miss Arithmancy and everything." Shaking his head, Harry turned towards the Gryffindor table. Only to pause in step as a thought occurred to him. Ron would likely blow a fuse but… maybe he could just for a little while.

Turning on his heel, Harry banked and headed instead towards the Slytherin table. Without a word, ignoring the surprised stares of the seventh year girl as she pause in her breakfast with mouth falling ajar to watch him pass, he headed towards where Malfoy had seated himself. He didn't speak when he dropped into the seat beside him to the music of Pipsqueak's contented purring and resolutely ignored Malfoy's startled glance when he turned towards him, buttered knife in hand and slice of toast apparently completely forgotten. "Don't say anything, Malfoy," Harry warned without glancing his way. "Pips is the one who asked for it."

"Pips…" Malfoy muttered faintly. Then he shook his head, seemingly more to shake himself from him momentary stupor than in dissent. Harry saw him frown at him from his periphery. "She's a flying squirrel, Potter –"

"A foxlet glider, actually."

"- and she can't speak."

"Obviously you haven't spent enough time with her to realise that yes, actually, she does."

Malfoy shook his head more slowly this time. He was still staring, still otherwise immobilised. "You're insane."

Harry paused in the act of reaching for the toast rack, considered, and shrugged. "Yeah, probably a little bit."

"You're not even going to object to that?" Malfoy asked, apparently growing only more incredulous.

"Nope. I think it's probably true for most of us."

"Not me," Malfoy muttered.

Harry spared him a glance, allowing himself a small smirk as he dropped two pieces of toast to his plate. "Well, aren't you special?"

"Of course I am," he sniffed in reply, deliberately turning back to buttering his toast. How someone could make such an act appear so graceful Harry didn't know, and he almost had to stare for a moment. He'd never sat beside Malfoy at a meal before – of course he hadn't; there were knives at the dinner table and though mostly blunted he wouldn't put it past Malfoy to resort to using one as a weapon just because he could – so he'd never witnessed it before. He made it seem as though he were sitting at high tea and daintily buttering scones.

Shaking his head, Harry turned back to his own breakfast and was quickly distracted when a waft of Pipsqueak's tails flicked him in the face and reminded him of his earlier promise. Reaching across the table, he speared the smallest sausage he could see and offered it upon his fork to the foxlet on his shoulder, leaning dangerously far towards the buffet spread. Her little paw stretched towards the morsel like the grasping fingers of a child.

"Use both hands, please," Harry murmured, waiting until she sat back on her haunches and obliged. "Thank you. And please don't drop it down my shoulder again. I'm not so good with Cleaning Charms."

Pips yipped in acknowledgement and, with a grasp as dainty as Draco buttering his toast, tugged the sausage into her grasp, nibbling at it with little hums of delight. She looked like she'd fallen into heaven, even more so for Malfoy's proximity than she usually did.

It took Harry a good five minutes and a whole slice of toast before he realised Malfoy was staring. He glanced at him sidelong, pausing in the act of chewing. "What?"

Malfoy dragged his attention from Pipsqueak to Harry. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it briefly, then opened it once more. "She eats at the breakfast table."

"She does," Harry agreed.

"Why?"

"Well, where else is she supposed to eat?"

"On the floor maybe? Where every other animal would eat?"

Harry frowned, a flicker of annoyance rising within him. Noticing such annoyance effectively vanquished it to be replaced by surprise – he was annoyed? That was a first in a long time – and Harry shook his head to rid it of the thought. He knew that dogs, cats, kneazle and crups or whatever did indeed receive their food on the ground. He'd seen Aunt Marge with her dogs often enough to know that. Pips was just different.

"Pips is different," he said, verbalising his thoughts. "Besides, she doesn't make a mess. I've talked to her about this."

"You've talked… to her about this?" Malfoy echoed dubiously. His eyebrow arched and Harry knew what he was going to say before he spoke. "You really are insane."

"Maybe a little bit."

"Although… I must admit she certainly is one of the cleanest eaters I've ever seen. For a creature, of course." Malfoy continued to regard Pipsqueak as she finished her sausage, actually going so far as to lick her fingers in a very human-like manner, before shaking his head and turning his attention back to his own breakfast.

Harry stared at him. Did Malfoy just… did he just freely offer a compliment? To Pips? Regardless of the fact that it was true – the foxlet was a cleaner eater than a good portion of the first years, actually – but Malfoy? Complimenting? Was the sun about to implode?

Harry had only just shaken himself from his astonishment to fall back to his own breakfast when Zabini arrived. Zabini who, with the easy swagger of one entirely confident and comfortable with himself, paused mid-step when he drew up just before Harry and Malfoy. He blinked, glancing between the two of them with a grin rapidly spreading across his face. "Well, well, what do we have hear?"

"Quiet, Blaise," Malfoy drawled.

"No, really, do please tell me."

"Sit down and eat your breakfast."

"Potter?" Zabini asked, turning towards Harry instead as he slung a leg over the bench to drop into his seat. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"

Harry raised an eyebrow at Zabini, considering his inclination towards answering his leering classmate, but before he could act upon it an eruption at the doors to the Great Hall drew his attention. An eruption in the form of two redheads as first Ginny carrying Tod then Ron stormed into the room. Hermione and Lavender, Hermione with Kitsune snuggled against her shoulder, trailed after with visible winces.

" – don't care, I'm taking him to Muggle Studies," Ginny bellowed over her shoulder, striding towards the Gryffindor table. "It's my turn!"

"You just had him for the entire night. That's not fair, it's my –"

"You promised me after you took him to Herbology on Tuesday that I could have him today! You don't even need him to take down to Hagrid's. It's Harry's turn to –"

"We were going to go together, you pain in the arse. Tod and Pips like spending time together."

Harry watched the back and forth shouting that echoed through the Hall as if it were a tennis match. As always, his hand drifted to Pipsqueak when she shrunk slightly into his shoulder. She didn't particularly like it when people yelled. Neither did either of the other two foxlets for that matter, Harry had noticed. He knew that Ron and Ginny knew it too but they didn't seem able to help themselves. Their familial animosity just sort of spilled out.

Harry knew why. He knew exactly why, and it wasn't just because they possessed equally volatile personalities. It wasn't simply because they were siblings, or that they were equally possessive of Tod – though both factors were significant contributors. Surprisingly, both Ron and Ginny had taken to Tod like a bitch to her puppies. Much as Hermione and Lavender had to Kitsune, and, Harry had noticed, just as he had to Pipsqueak. The problem was that the tie between Ron and Ginny was tenuous at best since the war. They were strained, as all of the Weasleys had horribly become after Fred's death. Far from bringing them closer together as Harry might have anticipated, it somehow made them more awkward with one another. It was horrifying to witness; the Weasleys, the family that Harry had seen as being the family, were distancing themselves from one another.

It was but one more casualty of the war.

Ron and Ginny exemplified that distancing on a more profound and aggressive level. They were still close – they were siblings, after all – which was probably what Tod had picked up on when he'd chosen them to be his bond-parents to start off with, but that closeness descended into anger more often than not. It was elicited by the smallest of things, too, like who would get to take Tod to the lessons they had apart that day. Harry knew that both Ron and Ginny knew it upset the foxlets, but they didn't seem able to help themselves.

"Why should you be the one to always get your way?" Ron yelled at Ginny, stopped a foot where he stood with hands clenched at his sides.

Ginny turned from where she'd stopped beside the seventh year Gryffindors, all of whom were watching the fight with wide-eyed attentiveness. "I always get my way? Me?"

"Yes, you. Who was the one that demanded they take him last night?"

"That's because it was my turn!"

"After you'd had him with you all day yesterday?"

"We shared all of our classes together yesterday, Ron, you wanker."

"Yeah, and he was sitting with you the whole time."

"Merlin, they sound like children fighting over a toy," Zabini muttered. He, alongside everyone else in Hall, was turned towards the performance as if it were a theatre act.

"Pathetic," Malfoy muttered, shaking his head with his lip curling just slightly. For once Harry felt he actually agreed a little with the sentiment, if only because Pipsqueak was cringing only further into his shoulder. From what he could make out Tod and Kitsune were little better.

"Mr Weasley, Miss Weasley, stop this at once!" From the head table, McGonagall rose to her feet and planted her hands upon the table before her. She affixed the siblings with a hard stare, eyebrows lowered behind her square spectacles. "Such behaviour is highly unbecoming of seventh and eighth year students."

As one, Ron and Ginny both turned towards McGonagall. "Professor, he's being such a bastard –"

"Ginny's being an idiot who won't just –"

"I said enough," McGonagall thundered once more.

Hermione hastened to Ron's side, and though she little more than whispered her words could be heard throughout the hall. "Ron, really, can't you just leave it? Just this once? It's not going to kill you. Let Ginny just –"

"What, let her just take him again? That's not fair, Hermione. How would you like it if Kitsune was with Lavender all the time."

Hermione actually looked faintly guilty at his words, dropping her gaze from Ron's and shifting her hold upon the foxlet curled with head ducked into her shoulder. Zabini gave a sympathetic hum from across the table. "Strike one for Weasley. What the hell is it with these little fox things?"

"Absolutely pathetic," Malfoy reiterated.

Harry didn't agree with him this time, not even mentally. Not because it wasn't just a little warranted but because, as Ginny started up with another shout of "For Merlin's sake, Ron, fair? You want to talk about fair?" his eyes drew towards Tod. Sudden concern drew him to his feet.

The foxlet was pressed against Ginny's chest, curled as tightly as Kitsune was to Hermione's, but while Kitsune appeared to be cowering in stillness, Tod was visibly trembling. Not in fear but in something like spasms, tail flicking sharply and shoulders quivering like a child running high on too much sugar. His black fur was standing on end, like hackles raised on a wolf, and he seemed at odds as to whether he wanted to push himself from Ginny's chest or sink into the sort-of comfort she provided with her simple presence.

Oh no. This can't be good.

Harry was on his feet and starting at a quickstep that rapidly became a run around the Slytherin table. His hand rose to hold Pipsqueak in place as he hastened across the room. "Ron, Ginny, I think you should –"

"You're always, always like this. Why don't you grow up a little, Ron?"

"That's rich, coming from the angel daughter herself. Spoilt little brat that you are –"

"Mr and Miss Weasley, stop this at once –"

"Ron, Ginny, please, can you just –"

"- try and see it from my perspective –"

"- always been a bloody cow since the moment you were born –"

Instantly it snapped into a shouting match once more. Bellows rang across the room, rebounding from the walls, from Ron, Ginny, McGonagall, Hermione, and even Sprout when she rose to her own feet with an uncharacteristically thunderous expression upon her face. Harry unconsciously drew his wand from his pocket as he ran to their side, the foreboding sensation that he would have to use it rising within him.

He made it only to Ron's side before Tod snapped.

The wailing howl of "WAAA-OOO" that erupted from the foxlet silenced everyone in an instant. It cascaded and crashed around the room, striking eardrums painfully in its mixture of anger and grief. Harry didn't know how he knew it to be those two emotions he heard but it was very definitely that. Ginny visibly flinched, turning horrified eyes down towards Tod's suddenly tucked head. Ron was of a similar expression and everyone else in the hall, students and teachers alike, were still, wide-eyed and staring.

Then Tod launched himself free.

He tumbled onto the Gryffindor table with a scattering clatter of cups and plates, of spraying juice and flung food. With a snarl that Harry had never thought capable of coming arising from one of the foxlets, his teeth bared and head bowed like a wolf falling into aggression. Somehow, suddenly, he seemed larger. More fearsome. It shouldn't have been possible but he actually looked bigger than he had been. Even larger than Pipsqueak as he was, Harry knew he shouldn't have been that big. But whether it was a combination of his fur standing on end, shoulder's hunched and mouth snarling with tail whipping back and forth or whether he actually was larger he didn't know.

Tod snarled at the immobilised students around him, teeth bared and glistening. In the centre of his forehead his third eye, opened and pale blue as it hadn't been since he'd bonded with Ginny, glared.

After that, everything happened so fast that Harry almost didn't see which order it occurred in.

A fifth year student shifted slightly to Tod's left and he turned and snapped at the air beside her.

In an instant, McGonagall was on the rampage. A silent spell of bright red launched towards Tod, striking him, only for him to spin with a snap of teeth and growling snarl towards his attacker unharmed. In an instant he was charging like a rampaging bull down the table towards her, platters and cutlery flying in his wake.

Sprout shot another curse – Harry thought it might have been a petrification spell – but it too seemed to do nothing. The immobilisation of everyone in the room seemed to have dissipated and students abruptly started screaming and throwing themselves to their feet, the Gryffindors away from their table.

Harry saw Ginny's face, eyes blown wide, watery and horrified.

He caught a glimpse of Ron's almost identical to his sisters.

He acted without thinking.

"Incarcerous!" He cried, wand pointed towards Tod. Ropes sprung into existence and shot towards him.

In hindsight, Harry suspected it to be more luck than ingenuity that had him casting such a spell. McGonagall and Sprouts' had rebounded off the crazed foxlet; as a magical creature, direct spells themselves had little effect upon him. That was something Harry hadn't even considered before then.

Others called him a quick thinker. A supposed 'Saviour' once more. Harry didn't see himself as such. He couldn't draw his eyes away from Tod, swollen large and aggressive and racing towards the head table as he was abruptly flung from his feet, bound in thick vines of rope to tumble crashing through the dishes and cups before him for a full half-dozen extra steps. Then he stopped.

The room abruptly froze once more. The screams ceased. All that could be heard was the snarling and snapping of Tod as he writhed in his ties. Harry, his wand still raised, felt sickened to hear it. His hand clasped tightly, almost desperately, upon Pipsqueak who had huddled chokingly tightly around his throat. It was a horrible sight.

McGonagall looked frazzled, her wand still raised. Sprout was actually breathing heavily, and she looked ready to launch another spell at the Berserk foxlet. For that's what he had become, Harry realised. One of the foxlets had fi/nally gone Berserk.

Turning slowly, Harry glanced at Ron, then towards Ginny. Their faces were mirroring masks of absolute horror, anguished, and Harry couldn't blame them. It lasted all of a few seconds before Ginny abruptly dissolved into sobs. Ron didn't look far behind her.

Harry couldn't blame them for that either. He only held onto Pipsqueak all the tighter.