Chapter Text
The door shut closed with a not-too-gentle bang, and the shoes clattered to the side, robes thrown to the side before being hung up a second later and chair slamming to the ground.
Draco immediately regretted his act of impulse.
Sucking in a sharp breath, Draco leaned against the countertop as he nursed his now sore foot. He supposed that’s what he got for kicking things that weren’t meant to be kicked.
He was just so tired of it—the judgment, the insults, the suspicion. It wasn’t as if he personally gave a flying fuck about society’s view on him and ex-Death Eaters, but it was tiring. Day in, day out, there were always one or two customers who walked in, saw him, and expressed their horror or disgust seeing him at the counter until he threw them out on their arses.
Then they just looked half scandalized, half terrified.
Really, did nobody possess basic civility these days? That was all he asked for. They could’ve just walked out instead of disturbing his business to hell and back, discrediting his potions to anyone within a five mile radius.
As if they knew a single bloody thing about him, or Voldemort. His potions were among the highest quality on the market, and anyone who knew anything knew it.
But to the average joe, he was just the black mark on his wrist.
Draco knew it, and he didn’t care, because he admitted it, he had made many a poor choice in his life, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it. It was tiring, putting up with the same old thing everyday, and usually, he could brush it off.
Today, though, there’d been four customers like that, and one of them had had the gall to break some of his merchandise. Draco wanted to kick something again just thinking about it.
No, no, no taking out his anger on his furniture. He would just hurt himself, first of all, or break his own possessions, and second of all, this was exactly why he’d picked a flat near the woods.
Strolling out the door after putting his things away and enjoying a nice bite of pastry, he seamlessly transformed at the edge of the small woods after making sure no one was around.
Muggles were one thing, but Draco didn’t want wizards or witches to see him either.
He was unregistered, after all.
That and, this form was a bit…embarrassing, to say the least.
Scampering through the woods on his furry white paws, Draco relished in the fresh air and the quiet, the solitude and the peace. To be honest, he didn’t particularly like the outdoors and most likely never would, but he didn’t know how else to get this same sense of peace and calm. It was as if no one could touch him when he was out here in this form, a secret only his friends knew—by accident, when they’d made a surprise visit—and there was something about how large everything looked from this perspective that put him at ease.
That was, until he stumbled into a ditch.
He couldn’t get out, the walls of the pit too high and too steep, even for his human self, and, well, he just hadn’t cared at the time. A wave of his wandless magic and he’d be scot-free, Draco knew, so he hadn’t been particularly worried, simply deciding to stroll along the bottom of the ditch, which was a giant, giant mistake, because he’d gotten himself stuck squeezing in between a tree root and the leafy ground. The root had risen from the ground by a few inches, creating a gap, and Draco, being quite small, had thought he could walk through.
He couldn’t.
And he bloody well couldn’t change back, because the tree root looked thick, and he’d really prefer not to break all his ribs and die in a ditch crushed to death by a root.
Of course, he’d die in the ditch anyway, if he couldn’t get himself unstuck. Nothing worked. His limbs flailed uselessly, his midriff hurt, his stomach grumbled, and what felt like hours passed, the sun already almost completely setting. Draco tried calling for help, because he really had no other options, though he didn’t expect anything, considering he was a small animal in the middle of forest in a ditch.
If someone actually heard him, they wouldn’t even know he was crying for help to begin with, and besides, Draco wasn’t sure he’d want to be saved by a stranger that liked to take walks in the forest after sundown. They would be either up to no good, a weirdo, or a hunter—all of which Draco would prefer avoiding, thank you very much.
Then again, he’d take what he could get, because it was looking increasingly like he’d be spending the night in this forest.
A branch cracked from above and Draco froze.
There was a possibility he hadn’t considered yet.
He was a small, trapped animal with immaculate fur and good health—any predator would eye him like a Christmas present.
Draco began to panic as rustles sounded from above him.
No, he couldn’t die like this! No! He flailed his limbs as much as he could, but his body didn’t budge an inch, and then he heard a sliding sound right. beside. him. Merlin’s ballsacks, please no—!
“Shh, shh, I’ve got you,” a soothing somewhat familiar voice murmured above him.
Draco’s heart started beating again. A human! An actual human!
He’d take a human over some wild wolf!
At least with a human, they’d free him first, whereas with a wolf…. Well, Draco wouldn’t be surprised if it would just swallow him whole, wood and all.
Draco shuddered at the thought. He didn’t want to die by getting eaten.
There was a snap, and then the branch pinning him to the ground fell free, and a pair of very large hands picked him up before he could react.
“…I’ve never seen a creature like you before,” the man remarked, holding Draco up to look at him. “Are you rare?”
Draco’s jaw dropped, as well as his heart.
It was time to panic. Oh, was it time. to. panic.
Salazar, why, why of all the possible, populous people, was he staring at the most vibrant, greenest eyes he’d ever seen, eyes he’d recognize anywhere?
Why?
Did the universe hate him this much?
Please no, oh Merlin, he absolutely had to escape—
But he couldn’t.
A sharp pain shot through his side when he tried to writhe his body out of those large, warm hands, and he cried out, immediately stiffening.
“Shh, don’t worry, I won’t hurt you,” the man shushed as he walked, carefully cradling Draco in his hands. “How about a nice bath and then I take a look at those injuries, hm? Or should I bring you to a vet?”
Draco immediately jerked up at that, because there was no way in hell he was letting himself be taken to a vet, but he fell down again, what felt like a stinging brand constricting his body.
“No vet, no vet,” the man immediately said, and he peered down worriedly at Draco through his round glasses. “You don’t seem to be too injured, but if you are, there’s no choice, you know? I’m not versed in mediwizard spells, especially for animals.”
Draco couldn’t argue to that. Even he would rather be humiliatingly embarrassed than suffer severe injuries and die.
He tried to crane his head around to see where they were going, now that he couldn’t see trees anymore and only the hastily darkening sky, and then he felt a ripple of magic pass through him—a ward, no doubt—and a small, red mailbox with the words, “H. Potter,” written in cursive.
Draco just had to accept it, didn’t he?
Harry Potter, the most eligible and hottest bachelor as dubbed by the Daily Prophet, was going to bring Draco Malfoy inside his abode, which was top secret considering no one knew where Harry Potter lived—and not for lack of trying, Draco was sure—and then Harry Potter would personally bathe him and tend to his injuries, all the while clueless as to Draco’s identity.
Merlin, Draco could never, ever, let Potter find out about this. Potter would have his hide, along with his many, many friends and many, many fans, thinking Draco had tricked him on purpose to find out Potter’s darkest secrets, when in reality, Draco had just gotten stuck in a tree root.
Draco sighed as Potter carried him through the door.
It’d be fine. He’d be gone once he could move without wanting to cry.
“Hm, I could just spell you clean, but I imagine a warm bath would be better,” Potter said as they passed by warm autumn walls, up wooden stairs, and into a bright room that had Draco squinting and turning away. “I know I’d want one if I were you, and who knows how long your poor little body was trapped out there in the cold.”
It wasn’t actually that cold, especially since Draco had something commonly known as fur, but he felt no need to correct Potter. Not that he could.
Pulling out his wand, Potter Conjured a large, shallow basin and filled it up with water in the sink before gently setting Draco down in it.
“How is it? Warm enough?” Potter asked, as if Draco could respond.
Did Potter always talk to animals like this?
If so, well… No comment. Potter had always been a bit odd.
Draco padded around in the water, then tried to clamber onto the tap to no avail; his sides stung every time he so much as moved.
Potter carefully picked him back up and hovered him over the sink tap handles. “Warmer? Colder?”
Draco tapped the warmer side with a paw and a snort. Potter was lucky he wasn’t an actual animal; Draco imagined Potter would be having much more difficulty if he was, what with wild animals not being the friendliest nor fluent in English. They’d probably bite and scratch Potter, and they would definitely not understand a single word Potter was saying.
“There. Better?”
Draco sank down in the water in approval. Not too hot, not too cold. As much as it irked him, Potter was right.
A warm bath was just the thing after the shoddy day he’d had.
No, wait, he took it back. He took it all back.
He’d forgotten he couldn’t bathe himself in this form.
Ugh, why were Potter’s hands so large and warm and gentle? Sure, he didn’t hold any more animosity towards Potter—how could he after Potter had saved from the Fiendfyre, and then again from Azkaban?—but he sure as hell didn’t like him either, certainly not enough to warrant Potter’s grubby hands all over him.
But it felt so good to have his fur washed and petted; Potter had even cast some sort of numbing spell so the soap and water wouldn’t irritate his injuries.
Ugh.
The last thing he wanted was to feel even more grateful towards Potter; he’d had enough of that to last three lifetimes. Why did Potter have to be such a… good person all the time? Weren't Aurors too busy and exhausted off-hours to be saving random stray animals and treating them? That was the impression Draco had gotten from hearing Blaise and Theo talk about their work, which frequently involved collaboration with Aurors, as well as the fact that the Aurors were a reckless, rowdy bunch, and yes, Potter actually was the real deal considering the number of times he’d saved their butts out in the field, and no, Pansy, you don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell with Potter.
Not that Pansy was ever serious when she made flirtatious remarks about Potter. She was already seeing somebody, though she hadn’t told them who yet.
“It seems quite shallow…,” Potter mused from above him after having carefully washed and dried Draco off. “Let’s see… Episkey!”
Draco’s sides warmed up as if a small heater was directly around his midsection, and he cautiously moved around in the bin to test himself.
It’d worked! He was back to his lovely, unblemished self!
Now, about how to get out of here….
“You’re already wanting to leave, aren’t you?” Potter asked somewhat accusingly.
Draco huffed as he clambered out of the bin. Of course, he wanted to leave, although he had no clue why Potter sounded hurt about it of all things.
“What about some food?” Potter asked, following Draco, who was making his way out of the loo and down the stairs. “You must be hungry. I have vegetables or…whatever it is you eat.”
Draco ignored him, heart rising in relief when he spied the front door.
“You could at least stay the night,” Potter continued from a mere foot behind him, though Potter made no move to pick him up and opened the door for him when Draco scratched at it. “Surely it’d be more comfortable than out there.”
Fresh air! Draco sprinted off the front porch. Thankfully, the heavens weren’t completely shitting on him today, and he could go home and forget this whole thing ever happened.
“…Well…you’re always welcome here…,” Potter said, trailing off. “I’ll have snacks for you…. Not that you’ll remember me….”
Draco paused beside the mailbox to glance back at Potter for the first time.
Potter looked like a different man from a mere few minutes ago. Green eyes weary and shoulders slumped, he looked almost as lonely as he sounded watching Draco leave.
A pang of shock jolted through Draco. This wasn’t the Potter he knew. This wasn’t the Potter he’d seen, or read, or heard about. The man was bloody Harry Potter, for Merlin’s sake! It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that he saved the whole world, and yet, the man was this lonely?
So lonely he practically begged a random stray animal he’d met for less than an hour to stay a little longer?
Merlin, what the bloody hell were Granger and Weasley doing?
Or was Potter hiding it?
That’s what it sounded like, since Blaise and Theo seemed to talk to Potter often about cases, and all both of them had to say was that Potter was just like what people said about him—friendly, more open-minded than most, and brilliant on the field.
And attractive, Blaise had added. Very attractive. And Draco had to agree, from a purely objective standpoint, of course.
But all Draco could see right now was a very lonely man, desperate enough to beg a wild animal who in any other case, wouldn’t have even understood a single word Potter had said.
Potter waved at him from the front door with a sort of half-smile, watching him in a kicked puppy sort of way, and that was when Draco decided.
What was one night in this form in Potter’s cottage? There were much worse things in the world than that, and it would serve as repayment for Potter finding him and treating his wounds, since Potter seemed to want him to stay the night so badly.
Draco slowly padded back to Potter, ignoring the way his chest fluttered at the surprised but happy grin that instantly lit up Potter’s face.
“You won’t regret it, I promise,” Potter enthused as he carefully picked Draco up and closed the door. “I’ll make this the best night you’ve ever had.”
Draco seriously doubted it, but Potter was welcome to try, and he pondered over theories for Potter’s odd behavior on the kitchen table where Potter set him down while Potter messed about with his fireplace.
Maybe Potter had a pet that passed away recently? Or just really loved animals?
Or maybe he was going through a nasty breakup?
Rumor had it that Potter really got around both the ladies and the gents.
Potter really wasn’t giving off that sort of vibe at the moment, though.
Draco startled when the fire whooshed green not once, but twice, and then Potter was soothing him softly as Granger and Weasley scrutinized him.
“You said you found him in the woods?” Weasley asked, dubious.
Potter nodded. “Do you know what he is? I’ve never seen an animal like him, besides your rat that wasn’t actually a rat.”
Draco smacked Potter’s hand at that. A rat?! How dare he!
“Ah, I don’t mean you look like a rat,” Potter quickly explained. “You’re way too big, first of all, but it’s just, you’re built similarly to a rat, and I don’t know what else to compare you to. I guess you’re more similar to a hamster, but those are much smaller, aren’t they? Maybe a rabbit? A somewhat large rabbit?”
“He looks like a guinea pig, Harry,” Granger said, looking at Harry a bit apologetically. “Which aren’t wild. At least here, anyways, although I’ve never seen a guinea pig quite so large…. You shouldn’t get too attached to him; he looks well taken care of, so his owner is bound to be worried sick looking for him.”
Harry let out a deep sigh and slumped in a chair, arms crossed in front of him on the table. “Of course. Just my luck. I’ll put up flyers tomorrow, then.”
Granger and Weasley exchanged a concerned look and sat down as well.
“Harry, mate, if you like guinea pigs so much, you can go get one at the pet shop,” Weasley suggested.
Potter shook his head, and held out a finger to Draco for whatever reason. Was he expecting Draco to sniff it?
“I like him,” Potter said, his dejected mood back. “He came back, you know. Maybe his owner doesn’t actually take good care of him. I mean, how could they let him get lost and trapped in the middle of the woods? He wasn’t even near a trail.”
Granger and Weasley exchanged another look.
“He probably scampered off,” Granger said. “He looks well fed, and his fur looks soft and well groomed. I’m sorry, Harry, but he looks…well, like a very loved pet. And Ron’s right. You should at least take a look at the pet shop. I think…I think a pet could do you good right now. If not, you can always come over to see Crookshanks. She’s always had an unnaturally affectionate liking for you.”
Potter sighed. “Maybe I’ll do that. Come see Crookshanks. I just want some company…. Animals won’t leak my information to the press. They’ll just like me. For me.”
Aha. Draco understood now.
Potter’s last lover must’ve turned out to be a loose-lipped backstabber, and from the resigned way Potter looked and the upset glances Granger and Weasley gave each other, this must not have been the first time.
Draco wondered just how many of Potter’s lovers had been like that for Potter to become like this.
Padding closer to Potter, Draco placed a paw on Potter’s face, who smiled at him like he’d done something amazing.
Draco never said no to an ego boost, but Merlin, how low were Potter’s expectations?
It was just a foot. On his face. It wasn’t like he’d snuggled up to him or anything.
“See?” Potter asked like a foot on his face was proof of anything. “He likes me!”
Draco patted Potter’s face again. He didn’t particularly like Potter, but whatever Potter needed to imagine to make himself feel better.
Who knew he’d spend his Thursday night doing charity work, and for the Savior no less?
Granger, on the other hand, was still staring at Draco quite oddly while Weasley reached out a hand to pet him.
Draco hissed at him and promptly chomped down on his hand.
“Bloody hell, what the fuck?” Weasley swore as he glared at Draco.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard a guinea pig make that sound…,” Granger mused, and then she tried the same thing as Weasley and promptly got the same treatment.
As if he was letting either of those two so much as touch his silky fur. Draco spluttered from biting them so thoroughly, though, so he nibbled on the base of Potter’s thumb to get rid of the slight taste of iron on his tongue.
“Merlin, he really does like you,” Weasley muttered as both him and Granger nursed their slightly bleeding bite marks. “I thought guinea pigs were supposed to be friendly!”
“I don’t think he’s the average guinea pig you’d find around here,” Granger said thoughtfully. “I’ll have to do some reading up on it before I say anything for certain, though.”
Potter brought a kitchen roll and bandaids over, looking abnormally happy in spite of his two bleeding friends. “He’s not average, alright,” Potter told them as he stroked Draco’s head—Draco only let him because it felt nice, okay?—with a wide grin on his face. “He’s a smart little bugger. Aren’t you? Aren’t you?” he crooned, and Draco batted Potter’s hand away.
Ugh. He was an animal, not a baby.
“Anyway, do you know what guinea pigs eat?” Potter asked. “That’s what I Floo’d you about.”
“Oh, vegetables, fruits, stuff like that,” Granger said as she glanced at her watch. “Just try some leafy greens or whatever you have in your fridge for tonight. He won’t eat it if he doesn’t like it.”
“Anything else? Is there anything I should be careful of or keep him away from?”
“Um…no?” Granger paused. “Harry, you are going to put flyers up, aren’t you? You know you won’t be taking care of him for long…right?”
Potter slumped over again, the smile on his face fading, and Draco lunged at Granger’s hand for another good chomp. The whole point of him staying the night as repayment was to cheer Potter’s sad soul up, and he couldn’t bloody well do that if Granger was constantly reminding Potter about reality!
Of course, a reality that was completely unnecessary since it was completely false, because Draco would be out of here in the morning regardless of what Potter did or didn’t do, so he’d thank Granger very much to keep her piehole shut.
Draco clambered onto Potter’s arm this time, onto Potter’s shoulders—wow, were they really this broad?—and gave Granger a look.
That’s right, frizzlehead. Don’t you say another word.
Granger stared back with a bit of a grimace and worry, as if Draco was some rabid animal that was going to give Potter rabies. Draco snorted.
As if. He kept up with all of his shots.
“That thing’s vicious,” Weasley muttered. “It’s worse than Crookshanks, and that’s saying a lot.” He helped Granger put a bandaid on her second bite. “C’mon ‘Mione, let’s go home before it attacks us again.” To Potter, he said, “If I don’t see you at work tomorrow, I’ll know it killed you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Potter just snorted as he waved the couple goodbye. “I won’t, because I’d be dead. See ya.”
The fire roared, and they were gone. Finally.
“Now then, what do you like to eat?”
