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Draco awoke, shivering, with his eyes seemingly glued shut. His head was aching. Taking a deep breath, he tried to stay calm. What the hell had happened? His brain was drawing a blank but then, he must have taken a solid hit to his head for it to be throbbing the way it was.
He tried to push himself up to a sitting position, but a sharp stab of pain shot through his left forearm. He blindly stretched his right hand out in front of him and his nails scratched on the rough surface he was laying on. Wait. Nails? Draco always kept his fingernails absolutely pristine with biweekly manicures. His nails hadn’t been long enough to catch on anything since before 6th year.
He blindly felt around with his hands for a moment before realizing something was stuck in his mouth. He did his best to cough whatever it was out, and finally managed to dislodge some kind of slimy paper from his mouth.
Rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, he tried to flake off whatever substance kept his eyes shut. Although something about the maneuver felt wrong, it worked and he was able to wrench his eyes open.
His vision was almost doubled and he blinked several times to try and clear his sight. While it did clear up, it too seemed off. Parts of his surroundings seemed unfocused, but he was keenly aware of the movement of the leaves sweeping down the street in the autumn wind. He blinked again. It was dark out. He was in an alleyway. Draco tried again to right himself and a strangled noise escaped his throat as he was reminded of his wounded arm. He glanced down to see the damage and froze.
His arm was covered in snow-white fur, which was stained pink and red with blood. For one horrifying moment he thought he’d been transfigured back into a ferret, but he soon noticed that the limb was too long to be that of the little weasel-like creatures. His heart rate picked up. He inspected his hand— no, paw. It was stubby, and stretching his fingers revealed sharp, hooked claws. He turned the limb over to find perfectly shaped pink pads. Merlin. He was a cat. He’d been transfigured into a bloody cat! How had this happened? His fear mounted as he realized he still couldn’t remember how he’d ended up here, never mind as a feline. Trying to dispel his rising panic, he thought back to what he had done early in the day, only to find that the last thing he remembered was a leisurely breakfast in his flat.
A few more drops of rain hit him and brought him back to his current predicament. Never mind how he’d gotten here, he needed to get somewhere safe. Whatever had befallen him, it was clearly foul play. Someone might return to finish him off.
The first step was to assess the extent of his injuries. He gazed down at his injured limb. There were several deep gashes on his foreleg, one bisecting a single black patch of fur on what would have been the middle of his forearm. Most of the wounds had scabbed, but the deepest one was still oozing blood. At worst he might bleed out, but even if it eventually stopped bleeding, it was a clear infection risk. He fought off a curious urge to lick the torn skin, before appraising his surroundings more thoroughly.
Peering around the dark passageway, he could see the light from street lamps bleeding into the mouth of the alley. He scrutinized the lamps. It was Diagon Alley. He had to be in some claustrophobic walkway between the buildings.
He tried again to stand up, this time avoiding putting any weight on his left foreleg. Wobbling he rose to a standing position on three paws. He hobbled toward the lights at the end of the alleyway. The sky was still pelting him with rain. He wondered how long he’d been out in the elements. Another shudder passed through his body as he reached the edge of the main thoroughfare. His fur was soaked through. Even through he was now walking under the awnings of various businesses, fat drops of rainwater dripped off his long coat, speckling the cobblestones.
What time was it? There was hardly anyone out in the streets. He limped along the edge of the road, trying to find an open store. He couldn’t figure out where in Diagon he was. It was exceedingly difficult to try to read the signs from his ridiculous vantage point of 25 cm off the ground.
He surveyed the length of the street, trying to find a building with lights still on. There! On the righthand side of the street there was a single shoppe with light glowing in the windows. It didn’t seem like it was that far away at first glance, but it felt like ages until he could clearly see the warm light pouring our into the night’s gloom. His vison was starting to get fuzzy again. He was so cold, so tired. His head throbbed as he approached the storefront.
Draco didn’t recognise the shop, although that was less due to his cat-sized stature and more to do with the fact that he hadn’t been to Diagon alley since just after his 7th year. He peered in the glass door, wobbling again as his waning strength began to fail in earnest. He tried to shout for help, but his ears were met with the wailing meow of a cat.
Meowing again, he tried to push the door open but only succeeded and falling against it, smearing some of his blood on it in the process. His last meow was quieter. Or was it? The noise of the wind in the street suddenly seemed far away. Blackness encroached on his vision. In the distance, he heard footsteps. His eyes closed. He felt a woosh of warm air – someone had opened the door. He caught the smells of coffee, tea, cinnamon, and a hint of something floral. And then, the darkness took him.
-------------------
The next time Draco woke, he was warm and dry. He could hear the sounds of someone rustling around in a kitchen. The hope that being spelled into a cat was a nightmare was immediately dashed, as he opened his eyes to see that he was laying on what appeared to be a massive sofa. Draco knew that in reality, the sofa was a regular size and he was over-small. He inspected his leg. The blood stains were gone and most of the cuts healed. The deepest cut from the previous night was wrapped in a small white bandage.
His eyes blinked, slow and heavy. Draco felt as if he could go back to sleep. Something flicked in front of his face. He swatted at it with his good paw. Oh— it was his tail. Right. He fought the urge to return to sleep. He needed to figure out where he was, and who had healed him. Standing, he tested to see if his foreleg could bare weight. A slight ache remained, but he could walk on it. His body arched into a stretch of its own accord. Satisfied, he hopped up onto the back of the sofa to look around the room.
Even from his vantage point as a cat, the place looked small. Behind the couch was the rest of the living room, which had been converted into a makeshift library and office space. Bookshelves lined the walls, the shelves straining and over-burdened. The small desk was tucked into the corner, parchment and books stacked in haphazard piles on the worktop. The walls were adorned in artwork of both wizarding and muggle origins.
His face scrunched up and he took a deep sniff of the air in the flat. He could still smell coffee and tea, although it was less prominent. There was a warm, floral smell mixed in, along with a pungent scent Draco couldn’t place. The latter smell unnerved him for some reason, and Draco felt the fur on his back prickle up.
He caught movement beside him and jumped back as a massive orange cat with a squished snout hopped onto the sofa beside Draco. He felt his ears flatten as the larger cat approached him. The dangerous smell was overwhelming now. He backed up, hissing.
The ginger bulk took another two steps forward, tail flicking. Draco felt his fur fluff up. He bared his teeth and hissed again.
“Oh Crooksy! Don’t scare the poor thing. They’re injured, my sweet! That’s not very sporting,” a voice chided his would-be attacker. The voice sounded familiar, but he found he wasn’t able to place it. He caught a whiff of the same floral smell he’d encountered before he passed out.
A witch rounded the corner from the kitchen, and Draco hissed again as he caught sight of a bushy head of hazelnut brown hair. It was Granger. Of all the people to find him, why did it have to be her? The universe was simply torturing him now. He wanted to find a do-gooder, not the most insufferable one of the lot.
“Now, now,” she cooed at him. “It’s all right. No one’s going to hurt you little one. At least, not anymore.”
She reached out a slender hand to touch him and he slunk away to avoid it. Draco raised his good paw to take a swipe at her should she try to touch him again, but instead she crouched down to his level, training her honey-brown gaze on him. He growled.
“Shhh. It’s okay.”
Very slowly, as if she was falling asleep in front of him, she closed her eyes. She opened them again at the same sluggish pace. After several of these bizarre long blinks, Draco noticed that his fur had returned to normal. He felt…safe? He tried to sneer, but it only made his whiskers twitch.
“That’s better. See? I’m not a threat,” Granger said, in a babying tone.
His irritation caused his tail to flick of it’s own accord.
“Are you hungry little one?”
Draco realized he was and nodded. Granger’s eyes narrowed and her hand moved to her pocket to produce her wand. He bared his teeth again and backed away from the wand tip. “Finite Incantium,” she said sharply as a shudder of magic went through him. Granger appraised him. Nothing happened.
“Homorphosis originis reditus! Homenum Revelio!”
Again, nothing happened. Granger tilted her head toward him. “You understand me, don’t you?”
Draco considered his options. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be at the mercy of someone he didn’t trust, but then he didn’t have much of a choice. Insufferable or not, Granger was an intelligent and capable witch. Perhaps she’d be able to get him back to his proper form. He looked her in the eyes and nodded his feline head again.
“Are you a human?”
Draco tried to nod but found his whole body frozen in place. He tried to meow and it caught in his throat. The moment past and he shuddered, flicking his tail with malcontent. Whatever spell he was under must prevent him from communicating about it.
“Are you unable to talk about it?”
He paused and then found he couldn’t answer that question either.
The little witch pulled her hair into a sort of knot on the top of her head and speared her wand through it. “I suppose if you were spelled this way, there could be a part of the spell that prevents communication about it. So really, we’re got two options. Either you’re a human who’s been turned into a cat, or you’re a cat that’s been bestowed with increased intelligence. Tricky feat of magic either way really. Well, let’s have a look at you. Perhaps we can figure this out.”
Granger reached out and picked him up with practiced hands. She looked closely at his eyes and in his mouth. She also inspected the inside of each of his ears. He allowed this of course, until she had the audacity to pull up his tail and look underneath. He squirmed in her grasp and shouted ‘Hey!’, which of course, only came out a sort of yowl.
Fumbling out of her grip, he landed on the couch again, thoroughly perturbed. The horrible witch only laughed. “Well, given the intact trouble-puffs, I’d guess you’re a stray. Was someone performing experimental magic on stray animals?” she wondered aloud.
Draco did his best to give Granger a scathing look. Trouble-puffs? Had she just referred to his bollocks as trouble-puffs? Hideous wench! He began grooming his long white fur in an attempt to get resettled.
Granger observed him for a few moments before producing a muggle note pad and scribbling notes furiously. After a few moments, she tossed it down on the table. “Well, I suppose you did admit you were hungry. Come Crooksy! It’s time for lunch my little love!”
The orange monstrosity followed his mistress into the kitchen and Draco reluctantly followed. The was a metallic pop as Granger opened a can of pate and split it between two small dishes. She plopped them on the kitchen floor without ceremony. The Crook dug right in, but Draco eyed the brown mush with unbridled distain. He took a cautionary sniff. To his feline senses, it smelled absolutely heavenly. He sat stiffly beside the dish, fighting the urge to partake as his hunger roared to life. He was a Malfoy for Circe’s sake! He did not eat non-descript meat stuffs.
He heard a scoff above him. “Are the free meal and lodgings not to your liking, your highness?”
Draco licked his paw and refused to look at her.
“Ugh! Fine. One moment.” She opened the fridge and produced something else, before popping it into a weird muggle contraption. She pressed a few buttons the front and the odd little machine whirred to life.
Granger’s huge familiar had moved onto the second dish of slop by the time a chime sounded on the machine. The witch drew a plate out of the appliance and placed it in front of him. “Be careful. The plate’s hot.”
He glanced at the plate and gave it a quick sniff. It was chicken, clearly reheated somehow in the muggle machine. He gave it a lick or two to check the flavour before digging in wholeheartedly.
He looked up from his meal to find Granger standing over him with an amused smile on her face. “What decerning tastes! Maybe you are a human then,” she paused, her brow furrowing. “I wonder if you could tell me your name?” She snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it!”
The witch hurried away to another part of the house while Draco finished his meal of leftover chicken. Once he was finished, his cat instincts seemed to take over and he began grooming again. He was still smoothing down the fur of his face when Granger returned, face flushed. “Come here you!”
She picked him up and Draco immediately tried again to escape her clutches. She was ready this time though and held fast while he struggled against her. “Oh settle down,” she scolded.“ She dropped him in front of a sea of papers, each with a letter drawn on it.
“Go on then. Can you spell your name?”
Merlin, it was such a simple solution! And to think he wasn’t sure if he should trust the swot. He trotted forwards towards the ‘D’ letter and suddenly froze up again. The same horrible feeling poured through him and he found he was unable to attempt to spell his name. He tried a different tactic, heading to the ‘W’ to spell Wizard, but again, the spell stopped him in his tracks.
“It’s stopping you, isn’t it?”
He turned back to look at her, unable to do anything but blink.
“I suppose that would have been too simple…” she trailed off and began scribbling more notes down on her muggle paper pad. “Or perhaps you’re just a clever half-kneazle like Crooks?”
He tried to meow a ‘no’ at her but realized that she could interpret that either way. A loud beeping caused Draco to jump to full alertness, his fluffy tail expanding to an alarming size. and caused Granger to swear under her breath. “Oh bugger it all! It’s time for my shift.”
She began rushing around her apartment collecting things, and Draco was hit was a jolt of panic. She was going to work. He’d be alone with the ginger-haired beast.
He followed her around, meowing. ‘Hey! You can’t leave me here with that thing! He’ll eat me alive! That hideous mush was only an appetizer. An amuse bouche. Granger! Salazar, take me with you!’
Granger looked at him with surprising tenderness. “Are you afraid to be left up here, little guy?”
He scoffed internally. He wasn’t afraid, per se. It’s just that the orange cat was a clear risk and much larger than him and couldn’t be trusted in the slightest.
“Crookshanks might look intimidating, but he’s not going to hurt you, you know.”
Draco did not find comfort in learning the animal’s moniker. How could one trust a creature with shanks in the name? He sat in front of the door and peered up at Granger. She bit her lip.
“Okay, fine. I’ll bring you with me, but you must behave because I cannot have a wild little animal roving around my shop!”
Her shop? Last he had heard, Granger was an auror. Not that he kept careful tabs on the Golden Gits. He wondered vaguely when she’d left the Ministry. She reached down to scoop him up again and this time he didn’t fight her. She supported him so he could sit upright in her embrace, allowing him to look around the environment as she left the apartment and went down a cramped flight of steep stairs that came out in what looked to be some sort of vestibule. There was a door which led to an alleyway, and another door that Granger opened and stepped through.
They were in a crowded stockroom which was filled to the brim with boxes, and stacks of books on one side with a refrigerator and shelf filled with food on the other. He sat as tall as his diminutive frame could muster in her careful embrace and took a deep sniff of his surroundings. The strong scent of tea and coffee was back. And something else – dust? Parchment?
She stepped through another door and he found they were behind the counter of a book shoppe. He was immediately hit with the exact smells he remembered from the previous night: coffee, tea, cinnamon. He noticed there was a little café in the corner of the shoppe, complete with a couple of small bistro tables.
“Hello, Clairece! I’m sorry I’m a couple of minutes late coming down.”
A young blonde girl just waved her hand. “I don’t mind Hermione!”, she said with a bright smile. Her brown eyes flicked to him. “Is this the stray you texted me about last night?”
“Yes. Poor thing was distraught when I tried to leave him in my flat.” Draco narrowed his gaze and flicked his tail. He was not distraught. He was merely uncomfortable with her beast.
“He’s a handsome little fellow isn’t he?” The girl reached out towards Draco and he swatted her hand away with a deft paw. “Oh! A touch feisty too! Are you going to keep him?”
Granger gave him a stern look for taking a swipe at Clairece and placed him down on the counter. “I’m not sure yet. I’m not sure if he has a home, but if he does, I’m going to try and get him back to it.”
For the first time, Draco felt relieved that Granger had found him. Some lesser do-gooders may have been okay with healing him and setting him free, but Granger saw a mystery to unravel and Circe knows she couldn’t resist that.
Granger noticed him looking at her, and cooed, “Isn’t that right, you handsome little man?” She then gave his head an absent-minded pat. He tried, and failed, not to preen. He’d caught sight of himself in the mirror and he was an incredible specimen of a cat. Certainly finer to look at than her dangerous ginger beast, he nodded to himself.
While the sights and sounds of a new space entertained him for a few minutes, it didn’t take long for Draco to get bored. He jumped down from the counter and explored the shop. As much as he was loath to admit it, it was a very well-appointed space. It struck a surprising balance between elegance and comfort, with just enough quirk to not feel stuffy.
He wandered the stacks, noting that Granger’s stock had far more in-depth options in the subjects of alchemy and arithmancy than Flourish and Blott’s ever did. If he ever got back to being a wizard, he’d certainly be by to purchase some books.
After sniffing around the shelves for a while, he wandered back to the register, to find that Granger was working in the back room sorting what looked to be new orders. She must have seen the motion of him coming in because she looked up instantly. “There you are! I was wondering where you’d wandered off to.” She gave him a good skritch between the ears and to his chagrin, he leaned into it. “Awe, aren’t you a good boy?”
This led to a few minutes of petting, which Draco couldn’t even pretend to not enjoy. It was akin to when his mother had stroked his hair as a child. Comforting, and more soothing than it had any right to be.
He tried not to feel put out when she returned to working through the orders he’d interrupted. She was working hard and had shucked her sweater as she worked. Draco wandered in that direction, smelling that same floral smell that he’d rapidly associated with her. After a few circles, he curled up on the cozy clothing pile and drifted off into sleep.
---
The days in Granger’s care quickly took on a routine. Granger usually went to bed around 11 pm, after reading what were, in Draco’s estimation, essentially textbooks. He would wait until she’d changed into her sleepwear—he was a gentleman after all—to push his way through the door she left cracked open and bed down on the pile of her sweaters that were stacked haphazardly on the top of her wardrobe. He’d picked the place because it was a difficult space for the great orange menace to fit his un-feline mass, and if the soft piles of fabric smelt of Granger, well, that was nothing more than a coincidence. He most certainly didn’t find that floral scent relaxing.
Every morning she would wake at the hideous hour of 5:45 am to run or do some odd muggle stretchy thing she termed a ‘yoga’. If she favoured a run, he would continue to sleep until she returned, but Draco would usually follow her to watch should she be doing her yogas. He wasn’t enough of a gentleman to dislike watching her arse in the skintight muggle pants she wore for the activity. He’d very nearly yowled in shock the first time he’d seen her wearing them. Merlin, the muggles were wild.
After her physical activity for the morning, she’d feed both him and the untrustworthy danger-beast she called Crooksy. For the first few days she’d tried to coax him into eating the delectable-smelling mush, but after Crookshanks got a double serving four days in a row, she finally gave up and gave him leftover meats from her previous meals. Now she’d merely roll her eyes and scoff, reheating the meat in her muggle quick-cook box.
She usually worked on whatever research project was tickling her fancy for a while before getting ready for her shift in her little shop. Draco would try to read over her shoulder to figure out what she was working on, but it was difficult since she’d get annoyed with him if he was too underfoot while she was note-taking. It was rude Draco thought, since he only wanted to help, but he was benevolent enough to let it go, seeing as how he was indeed still a cat. Draco typically tried to get her to take him along when she went downstairs to work but found that the ploy only worked about a third of the time. At first, he’d been terrified to be left alone with the Shanking Crook, but although the larger cat obviously distrusted him, he did not seem intent on disembowelling him. He supposed that this was likely more because Granger seemed fond of him, rather than the beast’s own goodwill.
Regardless, during the afternoons that Granger was gone, Draco would try his best to think of a way to alert Granger to his plight. It turned out he couldn’t use a quill without thumbs, so writing a note was not a possibility. He’d tried scratching a rune into the side of a wooden table, but all that had earned him was a prissy lecture and a pair of paws with clipped nails. He’d started trying to leave toys in patterns for her to see, but the great ginger oaf saw to it that his carefully constructed patterns were destroyed by the time Granger returned home. Once Drace had even tried to pull a book out of the shelf to read, but Crookshanks had growled at him, so he spent the rest of the afternoon on top of the wardrobe. He tried not to feel sullen but unless someone else found out what happened to him, things were at a standstill.
Despite little progress happening on reversing his cat curse, he couldn’t help but feel excited every time Granger reappeared in her flat. In fact, evening was rapidly becoming his favourite time. Granger would return home, immediately bestowing love on both ‘Crooksy’, and himself, whom she’d started to call Sterling. She’d then cook herself dinner using an eclectic mix of muggle and magical cooking, before feeding Crookshanks and settling in on the sofa to read or watch her Teal-eye. Granger would always leave a bit of her meal on her plate, placing it on her coffee table so he could eat it.
Once everyone was fed, they would settle on the couch. Crookshanks always claimed her lap, but that was fine. Draco didn’t like snuggling anyways. If his perch on the back of the couch often left his foreleg or tail brushing Granger’s arm or neck, well, she found it comforting. He was only paying her back for the meals.
Life continued like this for a couple of weeks. Draco found himself frustrated a his lack of progress, but also thankful that the Head Swot had found him. He was increasingly aware that things could have been much worse for him, although he was starting to lose hope that he’d ever get out of this cat form.
Their cozy little routine was disrupted one blustery Sunday morning with a sharp knock on the front door that startled Granger. Draco remained curled on the back of the sofa, so he had a good vantage point of the doorway when Granger opened it to find his mother on her doorstep.
“Lady Malfoy!” Granger wasn’t able to suitably hide her shock. “Is there something I can help you with?”
His mother looked as prim and proper as a Pureblood lady ought but he could see the tension in her shoulders and the glamours under her eyes that indicated she wasn’t sleeping well. His mother nodded. “I’m very sorry to intrude on your weekend, Miss Granger. I do require help and I think you are the only person who can provide it.”
He couldn’t see Granger’s face but there was a pause and then she opened the door a little wider. “Please come in from the rain, Lady Malfoy.”
Narcissa nodded her head in thanks and stepped into the room. Draco could smell the Manor roses on her and he was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to get back to his normal life. He hopped down from the couch and wound his way around his mother’s legs. She froze, and Granger was quick to scoop him up. “Sterling! Don’t muss up her robes.”
She turned to his mother with his fluffy white form still clutched against her. “I’m sorry Lady Malfoy. He’s usually quite put off by strangers. Now, erm, what is it exactly that I can do for you?”
The blonde witch took a shuttering breath to compose herself. “My Draco is missing. I know—I know you’ve left the Ministry. I tried to go to them first but they didn’t take me seriously.”
She clasped her hands together so tightly they shook. “I’m sure that they don’t care what happens to him, because of his—our past. But he was acquitted. He hasn’t done anything!” Her careful explanation had given way to a wail and a few tears streaked down her face.
“Lady Malfoy-"
“Please, call me Narcissa,” the older woman said with a failed attempt at a smile.
“Narcissa, why come to me? I’m no longer an auror and there are loads of former aurors that do private investigative work.”
His mother composed herself and sat stiffly on the edge of Granger’s bland leather sofa. “You’re the only one I trust. I know it sounds rather daft, given your history with our family, but I know you have a strong sense of justice. And after what you said at Draco’s trial, well, I knew you were serious about giving him a second chance.”
She cleared her throat and then continued.
“When I talked to the Aurors at the Ministry, they almost made it sound like his disappearance was because he was up to something nefarious. I know the British wizarding world hasn’t seen much of my son since he was a teenager… but I know he wasn’t plotting anything.”
Granger took in this speech, her brow becoming more serious the longer his mother spoke. The two sat in relative silence for a moment, while Granger mulled over what his mother had said.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked finally.
“That would be quite nice. Please.”
Draco used the absence of Granger to slyly move close to his mother, sitting beside her on the worn cushions, willing with all his might that she would somehow recognize him. Narcissa barely spared him a glance. She was holding a bundle of letters in her hand, tied off with a single green ribbon. He recognized his handwriting on the top letter. It was dated for the day that he had gone missing! He didn’t remember writing his mother a letter, but he supposed if it happened after breakfast, he wouldn’t have. He tried to get closer to investigate it, but his mother simply shooed him off the couch.
Her shooing of Draco coincided with Granger returning to the room, two mugs on a quaint little tray with milk and sugar. “Oh, was Sterling bothering you again?”
“I believe he might have been after this ribbon,” his mother replied, gesturing to her lap. “I’ve brought you my last correspondence with Draco, in case it should help.”
Granger placed the tray on the coffee table gently in front of the elder witch, before moving to her ‘study’ on the other end of the space, tying her wayward curls back as she went. She picked up one of those odd muggle paper pads and a muggle self-inking quill, and returned to the couch.
“Okay Lady Mal- Narcissa. Tell me what happened. Every detail you can think of.”
His mother’s bright blue eyes shot up to meet Grangers. “You’ll help then?”
Granger looked grim. “I’m not promising anything but I’ll try. I don’t have the same resources as an Auror would.”
Narcissa’s thin lips quavered. Draco recognized the look as his mother trying desperately not to cry. She reached over and grasped Granger’s hands. “Thank you. Thank you, Miss Granger. You can’t imagine what this means to me.”
Granger gave his overwrought mother a soft smile. “Please, call me Hermione.”
Granger spent the rest of the afternoon taking notes and listening to everything that Narcissa had to say. His mother explained to Granger that his note from the day he disappeared had said that something had come up with his business that required his attention but that he would come and see her for their lunch date the following day instead. She had replied that this was fine but her owl returned the letter that evening, unable to find him.
When he didn’t turn up for their planned lunch, she had gone to his flat. She found the door unlocked, but no sign of a struggle, nor any trace of a magical scuffle. She had gone directly to the Aurors after that but was told he hadn’t been missing long enough for it to be a true missing persons case. When she returned several days later, she was only briefly interviewed by Aurors and assured that they would look into it. After several more visits with no further information or leads, Narcissa had found her way to Granger’s doorstep.
Draco sat stiffly on the chair across from the exchange, at ill ease from witnessing his mother’s distress at his absence. He longed to comfort her; to tell her that he was all right. Well okay, being stuck as a cat was distinctly not all right, but he wasn’t dead. There was still hope. He’d tried once more to get on his mother’s lap, but he was shooed away with the same vigour as the first time.
His mother had reviewed every written letter between them for two months before he disappeared to look for any sign that it was voluntary, or for a hint of anyone that might have been out to get him, but had come up with nothing.
“I’ll need the address for his flat, and the key. I’ll have to go have a look at it myself.”
His mother simply nodded at this, producing a key and one of Draco’s private business cards. He found himself oddly hopeful as her deft fingers swept over the matte black of his embossed card. He hoped that she would… be impressed. His tail flicked as he scowled internally, shoving that particular hope down as far as he could muster.
“Caliginous Apothecary. Malfo- Draco is a potioneer?”
His mother nodded. “He did his N.E.W.T.s by correspondence during his house arrest and completed his mastery in France after that. He started the business when he returned to England, but he didn’t want his… name, attached to it. He was worried it would hurt the business to be outwardly associated with him.”
Draco watched as Granger’s amber eyes lit up with recognition. “Don’t they supply the low-cost wolfsbane to the Ministry?”
Narcissa took a delicate sip of her tea. “Yes. He brews it himself so that the only cost to the ministry is the supplies, rather than the wage of the master brewers. He’s subsidized the cost of the aconite as well.”
Granger looked lost in thought until his mother caught her attention again.
“He’s a good man, Miss Granger. Better than I ever raised him to be. He didn’t deserve this.”
There was a fire in her amber eyes when she looked up again. “I’ll do what I can Narcissa. I promise.”
Draco hadn’t felt more hope since he’d woken up in an alleyway covered in fur. He knew that look. Granger had an important problem to solve, and she wouldn’t rest until she had. Almost overwhelmed, his cat-like instincts took over and he butted his head against her leg before rubbing the length of his body against her. Granger would save him.
Soon after his mother left, and Draco found himself feeling a depth of loneliness that he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager burdened with the impossible. It was late enough that after a quick snack, Hermione went straight to bed. Once she had, Draco silently entered the room. It was lit dimly by the moonlight streaming in the window, and he could see that Crookshanks was in his normal position at the foot of the bed.
Rather than make his way to his usual perch, he found himself slinking onto the bed. Careful to avoid her orange guard-cat, he made his way up to the head of the bed. She hadn’t quite fallen asleep yet, but he could see she was relaxed enough to be on the way. He curled up next to her shoulder, pressing against her warm skin. He felt a little of the stress melt away, and then he was asleep.
---
Draco woke next to the sound of a scream. He jumped up from the couch he was lying on, fumbling for his wand. He knew that scream. It’d stayed with him for a decade, and he was sure he wouldn’t ever forget it. Granger wasn’t in the room with him, although the scream sounded like she was right beside him.
He looked around and his heart sank. It was the manor. Or was it? He looked up and noted the ceiling looked more like the Hogwarts Great Hall than anything in his childhood home. Confused, he looked down at himself. He was wearing what he normally wore when he was brewing: a black cotton shirt and high-end joggers. He’d never wear this to the manor – his mother would be horrified.
Feeling around again for his wand, Draco found a wand holster on his chest. Curious, he hadn’t been wearing that a moment before. A small sense of relief hit him as he grasped his wand. It gave him the courage to search the room next to his.
There was another scream that sounded like it was coming from all around him. Steeling himself, he opened the door, only to be met with a terrifying and confusing sight.
On the floor of the Drawing Room, Granger was pinned by his mad aunt, brandishing her knife. It was a scene that he would never forget, so it was easy for him to spot the incorrect details. The drawing room was much larger than it should have been, and on the far side, it was open to what looked like the grounds at Hogwarts. He watched as a dark figure carried another faceless figure out of the trees.
Something about the faceless figures froze him with fear until another scream reverberated around him.
“Granger!” he shouted, turning back towards his aunt and her victim. “Incarcer-“
“Get off me you vile bitch!” Granger shouted before Draco was able to finish his incantation.
He watched as Granger shoved Bellatrix off her with an unnaturally powerful kick. The mad witch flew backwards and crashed into the back wall, which had appeared at some point to block out the forest with the unnerving figures. Granger stood, and he realized that it was Granger as she was today. An adult, not a child. The letters on her forearm weren’t bleeding in the slightest when she brandished her wand at the spectre of his dead aunt.
“Lumos maxima!”
The light from Granger’s wand was so bright that he had to shield his eyes, and when he opened them again, he and Granger were standing in a sunny vineyard. Draco turned in a circle, baffled.
“What the fuck is going on Granger?”
She tilted her head to the side, appraising him. “Why’re you still here? And why do you look so old?”
Draco gasped, affronted. He looked fantastic for his age. “My skin is perfect Granger, I do not look old.”
Granger chuckled. “That does sound like him. I suppose this is what I get for interviewing his mother all damn day.”
He walked up to her with his arms crossed. “Stop talking as if I’m not right here Granger; it’s rude.”
That made her pause. She squinted up at him. “Go away Malfoy! I don’t want you here!”
He frowned. “Still rude. I don’t want to be here either. How’d we end up in a vineyard, anyway?”
She didn’t answer him and only flicked her wand at him. He moved to put up a Protego but then realized she hadn’t actually cast anything.
“I can’t control you.”
He quirked a brow. “I should think not.”
Granger grabbed his shirt and pulled him down to her face level, inspecting him. “How old are you?”
“W-what? I’m 28! Shit Granger, get off me!” He pushed himself out of her clutches.
He glanced back at her and she looked dumbstruck. “You’re here somehow. How are you here?”
“Merlin Granger, how about you start with where we are?”
Her brows furrowed together as she answered him. “You’re in my dream.”
That stopped him. What? But how- then again it did make sense. Nothing looked quite right and Granger seemed all-powerful. How did he get here?
He watched her golden brown eyes flick back and forth as if she was working something out.
She looked at him again suddenly. “Malfoy where are you in the real world right now?”
He tried to think back. Where was he? He was….he had been having breakfast and then….
All of a sudden the last several weeks caught up with him. He was a cat. Her cat!
“Of course! Perfect, I’m wit-guh!” He choked on his words. He tried again. “I’ve been t-ahhhguh.”
He raked his fingers through his hair. “I guess… I can’t say.”
“But you’re alive.”
“Yes Granger, I’m alive.”
“Oh good,” her body sagged with relief, and she sat in an armchair that appeared when she was halfway to seated. “I’ve spoken to your mum you know. I was worried I was going to find out you’d been murdered and have to be the one to tell her the news.”
A matching wingback chair appeared across from her, and she gestured to it. He sat across from her, crossing one ankle over his knee. “So where are we Granger?” he asked, gesturing the vineyard around them.
“This is the vineyard that Neville and Hannah married at. It was so beautiful that I take myself back here sometimes, whenever my dreams start in, well, a less-than-ideal place.”
“How do you do that anyway? Is it a spell?”
She shook her head, causing her curls to bounce. “I suppose there might be. But I learned it the muggle way.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Muggles can control their dreams?”
“Not most, but some people can learn. It can be a powerful tool.”
“I’ll bet.”
They sat in silence for a while, Draco looking over the landscape and Granger inspecting him. “Is this how you normally look?” she asked suddenly.
“Pardon?”
She conjured a mirror and made him look at himself. “Is this what you look like, out in the real world?”
He glanced at his likeness in the reflection. “Yes. This is usually what I wear to brew. Why?”
Her eyes narrowed and she didn’t respond. “Are you a legilimens?”
He paused for a moment, before deciding on being truthful. “I am.”
“And what were you doing before you ended up here?”
He propped his head up on the arm he had braced on the wingback chair. “Sleeping.”
“That’s not a normal part of legilimency.”
“Nope,” he supplied, letting his lips pop on the ‘p’.
She was silent again for a moment. “I’m at a loss of what could cause this phenomenon. This is a perfect opportunity though. What happened the day you disappeared?”
He shrugged and leaned further back into the chair. “I’m not completely sure. The last thing I remember was eating breakfast in my flat. I woke up…l-later that evening. The whole day is gone. And it seems I can’t talk about what happened after that.”
“Was there anyone that had a problem with you, who might have escalated to violence or kidnapping?”
He shot her a scornful look. “Truly Granger?”
A slight hint of red coloured her cheeks. “Well, okay but I mean, besides that?”
“Besides more than half of wizarding Britain?” he clarified in a dry tone.
“Don’t be so dramatic Malfoy, surely it can’t be that many people these days?”
He glowered but assented. “Beyond the normal dirty looks and occasional howler, no, I don’t imagine there are many people I’ve pissed off enough to tu-ugh“ he sputtered as his tongue locked up on him again. Draco took a calming breath and clenched his fist. “That is to say, there aren’t many people that I can say truly would carry out… what happened.”
“Who would fall into that category Malfoy? Please, give me something to work off of other than exploring your flat. Your mother seemed to think it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary there.”
“I know, I’m thinking!” he snapped.
“Wait- how do you know what I spoke about with your mother?”
Draco tried to answer but couldn’t, again held back by the curse. Pressing his lips together he just shook his head.
Granger leaned forward in her seat as if to insect him closer. “What am I thinking about right now?”
He sneered. “I haven’t the foggiest Granger. I didn’t set out to use legilimency on you! I fell asleep and woke up in your bloody nightmare!”
The curly-haired witch didn’t react to his outburst. Instead, she sat back in her chair, clearly lost in thought. “Point taken, I suppose.” She let out a heavy sigh. “Let’s circle back to people that could have it out for you. Was there anyone who might have been angry with you due to business dealings, etc?”
He shook his head. “Nothing I can think of. My business mostly supplies larger suppliers and I don’t see to that part of the business dealings directly. I have a go-between that meets with the buyers so that my ill reputation doesn’t influence the buyers' choices. 90% of our business is health care facilities and government contracts.”
“Hmmm,” she bit her lip, still thinking. “What about in personal dealings?”
He carded his fingers through his hair again. “Not that I can think of. My potions lab is the only place I spend a lot of time aside from my flat, and for social visits, I typically visit my friends at their residences rather than going out.”
“Romantic interests?”
“My romantic life is not your concern, Granger.”
It was her turn to cross her arms. “Of course it is! Loads of violent crimes are perpetrated by disgruntled ex-partners. The statistics on that are undisputable from both magic and muggle sources!”
He glared at her, suddenly annoyed that his mother had picked Granger to approach for help. In his irritation, he started to think that he’d have been better off being rescued by someone else that fateful day but found he couldn’t continue that thought. The floral scent of her sweaters crossed his mind. He shook his head.
“Fine. I haven’t had a serious relationship since Astoria and I broke our engagement. Her father was livid, but ultimately acquiesced when he was paid substantial restitution. Between Astoria and I, it was a mutual decision. Mother has set me up on occasion, but nothing has panned out.”
“No romantic contacts whatsoever?” She didn’t sound convinced.
“No.”
“So you’ve been celibate for over five years?”
Heat rushed to his face. “What? No! Of course not! All such, liaisons, were either overseas or with muggles!”
Granger was unable to hide her shocked expression at his confession about the muggle women, but she made a valiant effort to school her face. “Right okay. So no…no concerns there.”
Draco smirked at her. “No concerns nor complaints.”
She dropped her face into her hands and for a moment the entire front of her head was obscured by a curtain of chestnut curls. Granger brought her head back up. “Why did I agree to this?”
His smirk widened. “Because you’re still a bleeding heart Gryffindor.”
Granger flopped backwards into her seat and it morphed from a stiff wingback style armchair to a plush-looking papasan chair. “I really don’t want to be working in my sleep. This is the true nightmare,” she added, gesturing between the two of them.
A chuckle escaped him. “I suppose you don’t have to continue to interview me, Granger. I don’t know that there is much else I could tell you at this point anyway.” Leaning back into his own wingback, he tried to get comfortable. “I don’t suppose you could….” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely at his chair.
“Of course.”
His chair instantly matched hers, and it was just as comfortable as it had looked. “So what do you usually do in these dreamscapes?”
A slight smile graced her lips as she glanced around the vineyard surrounding them. “Whatever I want really.”