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Draco blinked, then blinked again. One moment, he’d been enjoying snuggling with his fuckbuddy in postcoital bliss. Now, his arms were scratched and there was a black cat under his bed, hissing.
The obvious explanation was that Potter had turned into a cat, suddenly and inexplicably, the abruptness of which left him scared and lashing out. At least, Draco hoped that was the reason Potter scratched him rather than a desire to cut Draco open.
“Here, Potter, Potter,” Draco said, extending his hand below the bed, wiggling his fingers a little, and feeling ridiculous. A second later, he regretted his decision as Potter-kitty took a swipe.
“Ow!” Draco pressed on the little scratch and debated what to do. He was loath to actually cast a spell on Potter-kitty because that felt excessive. On the other hand, he couldn’t spare many more of his fingers — a Potions master needs an intact sense of touch! — and Potter wasn’t responding to words.
He reflected on what little he knew of cats. Millicent’s at Hogwarts was an old dame who barely moved. Draco remembered her fondness for climbing into any available Slytherin’s lap and purring louder than a bookshelf of Hagrid’s textbooks. During class, Millicent left her on a windowsill looking into the lake so she could watch creatures swim by.
None of this seemed applicable to Potter-kitty. Draco peered dubiously at the feline cowering below the bed and then regarded his bare bits. No, Draco did not want to put Potter-kitty’s claws anywhere near his lap. And this window looked directly into the neighboring flat rather than a calm lake, so that was also out.
Maybe a blanket? Draco shoved on his underwear and crouched with his fluffy duvet, murmuring, “Here, kitty Potter, Potter kitty... pspspspsps? AH!”
Draco regarded the cat now clinging to his chest, wrapped in warm blanket and shaking miserably. Hesitantly, he raised his hand, lowered it, then raised it again and rested it atop Potter-kitty’s head. To his surprise, the cat immediately shoved his head into Draco’s hand as if taking comfort from his touch.
“There there, good kitty,” Draco soothed. He frowned. Now that the immediate crisis was over, he was at a loss for what to do.
He flopped back against the bed, arms cradling and stroking Potter-kitty. This was not what Draco’d expected after this latest round of fantastic sex with his on-again, off-again (recently, mostly on-again) fuckbuddy. He’d been anticipating another mindblowing round (or four) before awkwardly ushering Potter out of his flat after.
Back when he and Potter had first fallen in bed together, he’d subtly asked Pansy what to do after a hookup. She’d told him to “kick the boy out before he gets any ideas”, so that’s what he’d been doing since. It never got less awkward, though.
(Draco tried not to think about how lately, he’d much rather Potter stay afterwards.)
He sighed gustily. And now Potter was a cat, and his friends would probably assume the worst and murder Draco on sight if he approached them with Potter-kitty.
“Well, Potter, seems you’re stuck with me until you can be human again. I did always want a pet cat. Mother was staunchly a Crup person, though.”
Potter mrrped.
“You would say that! Well I’ll have you know that I am a highly sought-after companion. People fall over in the streets out of desire to converse with me! I once had a group engage in fisticuffs over the right to make my acquaintance! It would be to your whole and undivided kitten benefit to be mine!”
Potter rubbed his cheek firmly up Draco’s chest and then began kneading.
“Your wounds do hurt me so, Potter. You’re right.” He slid down, lying on his back forlornly. “No one wants to hang out with me. And when the one person I want to spend time with is here, I push him away because I’m scared he’ll know I have feelings for him.”
Potter mewed (it was fucking adorable!) and then began purring (!!!).
He couldn’t help but squeeze Potter-kitty tighter. “I wish I could tell you all this when you’re you, but it’s much scarier to reveal your deepest feelings when you might get an answer. And I can hardly ask a kitten on a date, now can I?” He chuckled at his own joke.
Potter chose that moment to sink his sharp kitten fangs into Draco’s shoulder, and he released the cat reflexively. Potter leapt to the ground and bolted. The next thing Draco heard was the crash! of his Floo-powder jar and the roar of the flames. The blood drained from his face. Potter understood him the whole time!
(Also, apparently cats could use the Floo, which was bloody weird.)
In the midst of his mental breakdown, the Floo flared again and Potter stepped in, eyes wild, brandishing an enormous bouquet of freshly Diffindo-ed wildflowers and dress robes that had clearly been haphazardly thrown on.
“Draco,” he said. “Will you allow me your company for the evening at the Dancing Phoenix? I can tell you all about the Peaceful Pussycat Potion I was doused with on my last raid that turns me into a cat when I’m feeling truly content and also how I’m head over heels for you.”
Draco pretended to think about it. “Throw in an actual pet cat and we have a deal.”
"Done."