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One moment Draco was sneering and in control, and the next moment he felt the snapping of his bones. It hurt. It felt like his muscles were shrinking, getting compressed. Needles seemed to sprout from within his skin. He felt himself falling and whirling to the ground, falling ungracefully.
And then he realized the feeling wasn’t just a feeling. Out of eyes that suddenly felt too zoomed in, he could see the blurry laughing faces. His nose suddenly felt too sensitive–he could smell the woody scent of Diggory, that all too familiar odor that seemed to emanate from Mad-eyed-moody that he never could seem to place, and everything was so, so, loud.
The laughter, the quiet snickers, the shocked snorts – it didn’t matter who they were from, only that not one student was not emanating such sounds. Draco didn’t know what to think of that. He stood up on his hind legs, trying to get a better view of what he was. Soft white fur, short paws–he was a ferret.
Draco didn’t have much time to dwell on the fact that he was currently a fucking weasel before he felt the heavy thud of a limping foot towards him. Somewhere in that hind brain of his he registered that he should probably run, that this was dangerous, that this man currently prowling towards him had a burning hatred for him.
He scrambled to get his feet–no, paws, underneath him, before the ground fell out beneath him and he let out a very undignified squeak of terror. Calm down don’t embarrass yourself anymore than you already have- but his ferret brain didn’t seem to understand. His hind legs kept flailing around, as if enough kicking would somehow bring the ground back to him.
Draco lunged, trying to bite his assailant, only to find his teeth clacking on nothing. It must have been some magical spell throwing him around then. And yet, the noose around his throat felt so real. He watched the blurry silhouettes of the students blur in with the foggy gray clouds, the green of the trees as he was yet again launched into the air.
Need to get to land- Draco thrashed around in terror. Birds of prey tended to let go when they thrashed enough, right? He registered that his spine was suddenly very, very flexible, and twisted around, trying to find the talons. But there were no talons. All he found was the tip of a wand.
Where had that thought come from? Draco didn’t have time to finish the thought before the spell had let go of him, and he felt himself flying, twisting through the air and crashing into a wall.
A blinding burst of pain shot through his ribs and paw as he crumpled against the brick wall. There were more footsteps approaching him. Too late did he notice the black blob that was looking more and more like a boot and was now much to close for comfort-
With reflexes Draco didn’t know he possessed, he dodged neatly, the sudden movement aggravating his bruised ribs. Distantly Draco noted that if he had such agility in Quidditch he would easily find the snitch each time. Stop, focus.
He needed to find a teacher. Then that teacher would tell his father, and Mad-Eyed Moody would be fired as he should’ve been from the start, (and hopefully his father wouldn’t be too enraged at Draco) and Draco would pretend it never happened and scare the whole school into believing that as well. The only problem right now was a) finding a teacher, and b) trying to make his ferret body move rationally.
Too lost in thought, Draco finally noticed the encroaching black lumps of shoes, the cacophony of sneers coming from somewhere high above him.
Trapped.
Run!
Adrenaline coursed through him as he sprang forward, before crashing in the opposite direction as he was hit out of the air, the wind rustling his fur not unlike the feeling of flying on a broom, other than the fact that his eyes were squeezed shut in pain and the panicked breaths he were taking suddenly felt like someone was driving nails into his chest.
There was the slap of hands and a cheer.
“Nice volley, mate.” Then the sounds of growing laughter.
It was too much. Too much sound, too much pain, too many blurry moving lumps that all hated him. He needed out. Seeing his opportunity, he darted forward, making another ambitious leap.
The ground was coming up too fast. In vain he tried to twist his body, but his ribs hurt too much and he sprawled out on the ground awkwardly, paws out at his sides, unable to push himself back up.
An unbearable pressure began on his tail, and he twisted up instinctively, ignoring the agony stealing every rational thought from his brain as he bit down on the bit of tender flesh he found and hung on for dear life.
“Ew, he’s biting me! Get it off me!” Maybe if Draco had been in his right mind he would’ve been insulted.
“Hold still-” Draco never got the chance to hear the rest of the sentence as a lancing pain smashed into his tender side and rapidly laced its way around his body.
Despite all his will to keep biting, he let go, pained squeaks and the instinct to curl up won over, as he was rudely detached and flung somewhere across the sky. Yet again the ferret felt itself flying, paws lacking the experience and strength to land properly as it tumbled down the stairs.
It bumped its head, flopping and rolling, letting out little yelps as he slid down.
“Is that a student? Draco?” Somebody was calling. People were dangerous. It had to get away. Picking itself up on clumsy paws, it made a break towards the woods, ignoring the cries. Green and blue flashes of light land nearby it, garbled words reaching its ears that sounded somewhat like “Stupefy” and “Petricifus totalus” and those could surely only mean more pain.
It finally crashed through the bushes and into the undergrowth, each breath and landing sending new reverberations of pain through its body. It kept running, until the sound of heavy footsteps and mocking laughs could no longer be heard, no more blue and green flashes chasing it, until the foggy gray sky disappeared under a dark forest canopy and the ground was clearly untrodden.
He finally slowed to a stop, or, more accurately, collapsed, completely spent, in a pile of soft leaves. Now that he was out of danger, he could finally think. He was Draco Malfoy. What spells did he know?
With a pang, he realized that even if he knew those spells by heart, his wand was left somewhere in that plaza and his voice currently consisted of squeaks, squeals, and yelps of pain.
Draco really should go back. Except he had no idea how. And it hurt. It really fucking did, now that the adrenaline was over and he was relatively safe. Yet now that his ferret instincts had seemingly left him, the forest suddenly seemed a lot more daunting.
It had always been terrifying for him, but now, measuring barely a few inches tall, each tree towered over him, his pawprints having been so light and rushed that they left no imprint on the springy moss floor. In his panic hazed ferret brain, he had no recollection of anything that had happened whilst he sprinted through the forest.
He needed to find the castle somewhere. Maybe he could climb a tree?
But he was so tired. And hungry.
A rustling noise in the bushes had him whirling around, hissing, fur standing up. It was only a thrush.
Draco felt silly. Why was he panicking over a little puny bird? He continued his path down what he hoped was somewhere closer to the castle.
After too many instances of getting distracted by passing rats and the urge to burrow into the leaves and hide there for the next few years, Draco finally admitted he was lost.
The expected wave of hopelessness never quite crashed over him. Instead, it just felt like a numb acceptance. Was this what it was like to be an animal? To be free of expectations, to know each day you could die, and yet not to think of it, living only to survive until the next moment?
(somehow he felt like he already had been living like an animal)
The sun was setting now, what little weak light that had been filtering through the leaves fading with the last of Draco’s warmth. He had tried hunting, but found himself unable to bring himself to sink his jaws into a mouse’s soft jugular, despite having it pinned underneath him.
(perhaps it was the pained squeaks too reminiscent of his own that led him to hesitate just long enough for the mouse to wriggle free and into the brush)
Now he regretted it. His stomach rumbled, his shivers were getting slower. It was cold.
He couldn’t think straight.
It was cold.
I’m sorry mother-
Maybe it would be alright. There were worse ways to die, after all.
(to his father in a fit of uncontrolled rage, to Voldemort, to the crushing weight of the disappointment)
He had only hoped that when his time came, somebody he loved would be by his side.