A Most Impractical Cat
Apr. 21st, 2008 08:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drachenminaPosting my Phoenix Flies fic here now the fest is over:
Title: A Most Impractical Cat
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
drachenmina
Pairings: Severus Snape/Harry Potter, Lucius/Narcissa, Bellatrix Lestrange/various, Ron/Hermione, Draco/Hermione (unrequited – at least as yet!)
Rating: NC17
Word Count: ~12,400 total
Summary: AU. During the horcrux hunt, Harry goes to Malfoy Manor in his guise as a cat to try and find Helga Hufflepuff’s cup. Things do not go according to plan.
Warnings: mention of het, (very) mild BDSM, bestiality and the poetry of TS Eliot.
Author's Note: Written for Phoenix Flies Prompt 3: Bellatrix finds a kitten in the back garden. She just doesn't know that it's Harry Potter in his Animagus form.
I’m sure it didn’t start out quite this cracky…
Huge thanks for the beta go to the wonderfulgin_tonic
Harry picked his way delicately through the imposing manor gardens, his paws wet with the morning dew. He started as one of Malfoy’s bloody pet peacocks gave its godawful cry. He felt very alone.
The next minute, he was wishing he’d stayed alone. Footsteps were coming his way, crunching along the gravel path. Harry turned towards them, seeing a pair of female feet come into view. He looked up, and up again at their owner, wishing he didn’t feel so bloody small in this form.
Great. Just what he needed. It was Bellatrix Bloody Black. Well, Lestrange, really, but that didn’t sound so good. There was a word for it: illiteration, or something. Probably. It was too late for him to hide – and anyway, it wasn’t like she was going to recognise him in this form. He hoped. He padded resolutely on, trying not to look as spooked as he felt.
“Pretty Kitty! Come to Bella, little pussycat, now don’t be shy!” Bellatrix was crouching down to look at him, making clucking noises with her tongue. Harry wasn’t sure what to do. He could make a bolt for it – but if he let her stroke him a bit, maybe she’d let him into the house? It wasn’t like he’d be able to work the door handles on his own. Reluctantly, he made his way to her, tail twitching nervously.
“There! Who’s a pretty girl, then?” To his horror, Bellatrix didn’t just stroke him; she picked him up and cuddled him to her ample, sallow bosom. He squirmed in her grasp, trying to ensure that as little of her skin as possible was in contact with his fur. Damn, she had an iron grip! “There’s my precious. Mummy will take good care of you.”
She strode off briskly towards the manor, Harry rocking queasily in her arms.
…………………………
“What on earth have you got there, Bellatrix?” Lucius sneered, obviously not a cat person.
“Pretty little kitty. Isn’t she lovely? I’m going to look after her.”
“Are you sure it’s a she? It’ll have to be spayed, anyway: the thing’s half grown and I’m not having the manor turn into a bloody cats’ home. I’ll fetch B R Barella’s Care of Magyckal Pettes; it can’t be much different from doing a Kneazle.”
Under his fur, Harry’s blood ran cold. She wouldn’t – would she? He decided then and there that if anyone tried hexing his bits off, he was changing back to human and taking his chances.
“No! Nasty man! He shall not touch you!” Bellatrix practically spat at Lucius, who backed off in distaste. “If my kitty wants babies, she shall have them! Yes she shall, my precious!” Harry was so relieved he almost didn’t mind Bellatrix nuzzling into his fur. “You’re my baby now, my precious kitty. They won’t lock you up until you’re barren, no they won’t.”
She glared at Lucius. Looking oddly sad, Narcissa came over to stroke Harry. “Of course we won’t do anything to her without your consent, Bella. Come with me, I think I know where I can find something for her.”
Harry let himself be carried off by Bellatrix as she followed her sister, just glad to be getting away from Lucius and his bloody castration complex. He was half expecting to be taken to the kitchen, so he was surprised when they went into what must be Narcissa’s bedroom. She rummaged around in a drawer, and then turned with a triumphant smile. “There! I knew I still had it. Let’s put it on her, she’ll look adorable, and then everyone will know she’s not just a stray, too.”
It was a collar. It was actually quite tasteful (well, duh, thought Harry, this was the Malfoys after all, not a bunch of bloody chavs); the diamonds encrusting it not at all flashy. But still, a collar? Harry supposed he could endure it if being Bellatrix’s pet allowed him free run of the house. And although he thought it unlikely that she was still in possession of the cup, it couldn’t hurt to have a really good nose around her quarters just in case.
He felt a bit of a tingle as the collar was brought over to him. Was that thing magical? Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all. He squirmed in Bellatrix’s grasp, trying to get away. “Petrificus Totalus,” she trilled. Harry’s struggles forcibly stopped. He was horrified. Who the hell went around petrifying pets?
Bellatrix slipped the collar on, and Harry found he could move again. At least the bloody thing hadn’t strangled him or anything, which he’d been half afraid of. He cringed as she held him up to the mirror to see his reflection. Urgh. It really did make him look like a girl. It could have been worse, he supposed. She could have tied a bloody pink bow around his neck. Or a bell, which would have seriously hampered his spying activities.
She carried him off to her room, crooning softly, “I love little pussy, her fur is so warm, and if I don’t hurt her she’ll do me no harm…”
Harry catfully resisted the urge to puke.
………………………….
It hadn’t been supposed to be this way. All those weeks ago, when they’d thought up The Plan, it had seemed so simple. All three of them would come along in their animagus forms. It’d be almost like the Marauders again, but with a much more serious purpose: the location and destruction of one of Voldemort’s horcruxes.
They knew Bellatrix Lestrange had had Helga Hufflepuff’s cup in her Gringotts vault. They also knew it wasn’t there any more. Why would she have moved it, if not at Voldemort’s command? It made sense that he had wanted to keep a closer eye on it and had ordered her to bring it to his base of operations at Malfoy Manor.
So The Plan was, in essence, that they would use their animagus forms to infiltrate the manor and find, and destroy the cup. If they managed to off Nagini at the same time that could only be a bonus.
It hadn’t quite worked that way. Hermione, who’d been the first to master the transformation, of course, had been distraught to find her animagus form was large, brown and ruminant: in short, a cow. Particularly when Ron wouldn’t stop laughing, although he stopped soon enough when he realised just how little use a bovine form was for espionage activities. It wasn’t like she was going to be able to sneak up on anyone, was it? And they were pretty sure Malfoy wouldn’t allow farm animals within fifty feet of the manor.
Ron’s form had been even worse. He’d been on his own when he managed it, and it was by only the lucky chance of Hermione walking into the room and seeing the halibut flopping morosely on the rug, and having the presence of mind to cast an Aguamenti charm until he’d stopped panicking long enough to transform, that had saved it from being a fatal achievement.
If anything, Ron had been even more upset than Hermione. “What use is a bloody fish? It’s not even an ornamental fish! You’d think with hair like this I could have managed a bloody goldfish!” Although quite how they were supposed to sneak even a goldfish into the manor to spy on the Death Eaters, Ron didn’t seem to have considered.
They’d had to pin all their hopes on Harry, which had left him feeling (a) a strong sense of déjà vu and (b) like it might be better if he didn’t manage the transformation at all. But he couldn’t disappoint the others, and eventually (having made sure they were both in the room with him, he wasn’t going to repeat Ron’s near-death experience) he’d felt he was as ready as he was ever going to be, and transformed.
The first thing he noticed was that the floor was a lot nearer. So, at least he wasn’t a cow. Or a stag either, he thought, vaguely disappointed. But what was he? He opened his mouth to ask, but what came out was, “Row?”
He was a cat? He twisted round to look at himself. Sleek, furry, black flanks (at least he wasn’t bloody ginger then, he thought with relief, and a guilty look at Ron) and at the end… yes! There was his tail! He’d always wanted a tail! He swished it experimentally. It felt a bit weird, like he was waggling his bottom at Ron and Hermione.
“Oh Harry! You did it! And you’re lovely!” Hermione bent down and stroked him. Harry shivered in delight at the frankly sensual touch of hand on fur. He sniffed at her hand. She’d been at the chocolate again. Despite claiming to be on a diet. “You’re a Jellicle cat, Harry.”
His “Row?” was closely echoed by Ron’s “Uh?”
“Jellicle Cats are black and white,
Jellicle Cats are rather small;
Jellicle Cats are merry and bright,
And pleasant to hear when they caterwaul.”
She huffed at their blank looks. “It’s T S Eliot. Honestly, don’t you ever read poetry?”
“You really want me to answer that, ‘Mione?” Ron was incredulous.
“Row!” Harry had agreed, fervently.
……………………………..
Harry had managed to escape to the garden for a bit, and was nervously chewing at some grass.
He’d been here days, and still hadn’t found the horcrux. Ron and Hermione had to be worried about him. Maybe he should try and slip out, apparate back to Grimmauld Place, and report. Even though there was nothing to report.
It shouldn’t be too risky, right? Bellatrix was closeted with the Dark Lord, doing whatever it was she did with him and Harry really didn’t want to think too closely about that. She wouldn’t miss him for hours, and he could easily be back before then.
Coming to a decision, Harry scampered down through the gardens. He’d have to stay in feline form until he got well away from the estate, but he was pretty fast in this shape so it shouldn’t be a problem.
At last Harry reached the iron gates signalling the end of the Malfoy fiefdom. His slender body would slip through the bars easily.
Except it wouldn’t. Harry found he was simply unable to set one paw outside Malfoy property. It must be that bloody collar – it must be spelled to stop anything wearing it from leaving! He might have known the Malfoys wouldn’t risk their pets escaping! There was nothing for it, he’d have to transform here and take it off.
Harry looked around nervously. If he was spotted, it could be very bad indeed. But there was nobody in sight, so he took a deep breath, focussed himself, and transformed.
Except he didn’t. Trying not to panic, Harry made another attempt. And another. He was stuck! Damn Narcissa and her bloody pet jewellery! Rattled, he made a frantic attempt to claw the thing off, but succeeded only in spending an uncomfortable few minutes hopping about with one front paw stuck inside the bloody thing.
Defeated, he padded morosely back towards the manor. How the hell was he ever going to get out of here?
Prowling agitatedly in the drawing room, Harry wasn’t feeling too good. What the hell had he been thinking of, eating that grass? Cats were meat-eaters, they weren’t meant to graze! His stomach felt decidedly peculiar. Just then, Lucius walked into the room. Harry’s stomach lurched, and unable to stop himself, he threw up right in front of him.
Lucius, predictably, was absolutely furious. He banished the mess with an enraged flick of his wand and then turned to Harry, who was cringing back against the sofa. “Sully my carpet again, precious,” he hissed “and Nagini will be having a furry little treat for dinner tonight!”
Harry fled.
………………………………
The next day, there was an unexpected visitor. Well, unexpected by Harry; he was pretty sure Voldemort and the Death Eaters had known he was coming. Harry had a feeling Voldie discouraged people just dropping in unannounced, probably with multiple Crucios.
It was Snape, taking time out from being Hogwarts headmaster. Harry felt his spirits rise. If he could only get the man on his own, he might somehow be able to get through to him who he was, and get him to take that bloody collar off!
He knew Snape was on their side, of course. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, but when McGonagall had showed the three of them Dumbledore’s pensieve memories, he’d had no option. Actually, once he’d had time to think it through, Harry had felt pretty sorry for the bloke. It wasn’t like the poor bastard had that many friends, after all; having one of them order him to kill him couldn’t have been much fun.
In fact, after further thought, Harry wasn’t feeling nearly as fond of Dumbledore as he had been. He’d agreed to save Harry’s mum for Snape, and had failed – but then he’d still expected Snape to spend his life making up for his one early mistake of joining the Death Eaters. OK, so it had been a pretty big mistake, but still. Snape wasn’t the only teenager in the world who’d fallen in with the wrong crowd. And it wasn’t like the right crowd had ever been all that welcoming.
Harry felt a familiar twinge of filial guilt about that.
It turned out to be almost impossible to get Snape on his own. Didn’t these bastards trust him? Harry was getting increasingly frustrated – and worried. He eventually resorted to stalking the man so closely (hoping he wouldn’t catch hell later from Bellatrix, who’d been shooting him jealous glares) that he was able to dart into the bathroom with him when the man went for a piss.
He averted his eyes politely when Snape was actually pissing, of course – the whole point was to let Snape know who he was, so he didn’t want Snape thinking Harry Potter was just gagging to check out his equipment.
He had a feeling Snape wouldn’t be too pleased about that.
Although it was definitely tempting… Harry sneaked a peek. Bugger. Too late, Snape was already fastening his robes.
Anyway, how the hell was he going to get his message across? Harry cursed McGonagall for insisting they didn’t tell Snape anything more than was absolutely necessary: it would have been so much simpler if Snape already knew he was a cat animagus.
Then he remembered they hadn’t even told McGonagall. Oh well.
As Snape was drying his hands, Harry stood up on his hind legs and clawed his way gently up the man’s legs. Snape’s mouth twitched, and he leant down to stroke Harry’s head. “You do seem rather taken with me, cat. I don’t recall having used catnip in any potions recently, so it must be my sunny personality you’re taken with.”
Harry was intrigued. Snape, making jokes about himself?
“Row,” he began. Snape actually smiled.
“I believe Bella’s mistaken about you. You’re actually a boy, aren’t you? Poor thing, having her fuss over you and call you Precious. That’s hardly a name for a self-respecting feline.”
“Row,” Harry agreed.
“I think I shall call you Erastes.”
“Row?”
“Given your youth, Eromenos would be more appropriate, of course, but it hardly rolls off the tongue.”
Harry decided he’d just have to ask Hermione what the hell the bloke was on about. If he ever managed to get back to her, that was. “Row,” he began again, more urgently this time.
“Mmm?”
Just as Harry thought he might be about to get somewhere, the door opened. It was Lucius. Hadn’t he ever heard of knocking? Harry was sure it had to be rude to burst in on people in the bathroom even if you were an upper-class pureblood. He hissed at Malfoy in frustration.
“Not a cat person, Lucius?” Severus sounded amused.
“No,” agreed Lucius with a sneer, and a glare in Harry’s direction. Cowed, Harry slunk under the cast-iron bathtub.
“Severus, as you know, the Dark Lord is… not best pleased with my family, at present. Will you give me an oath that you will protect Draco, should it be necessary?”
“And why should I do that?”
Lucius moved closer. “In memory of times past, perhaps? We were once… close, you and I.” Harry watched in amazement as Malfoy’s hand reached up to stroke Snape’s cheek.
Snape moved away sharply, leaving Harry feeling a curious mix of relief and disappointment he couldn’t quite analyse. “You are wasting your time, Lucius.”
“You will not help me?” Harry almost felt sorry for Lucius then, seeing the desperation in his eyes on behalf of his son.
“I have already sworn such an oath to Narcissa. You know, Lucius, I had thought that married couples communicated, once in a while? Clearly I was mistaken.”
Lucius was visibly relieved. Harry thought it a little strange he didn’t ask Snape how Narcissa had persuaded him to swear the oath, but after all, he supposed Lucius knew Snape better than he did. Or else just didn’t care.
Malfoy smoothed his features into the bland mask he habitually wore. “Come, Severus, the Dark Lord awaits.”
And to Harry’s crushing disappointment, they walked out together and he was unable to see Snape privately again before he left.
…………………………………….
Having nothing else to do, Harry settled into a routine of napping by day, and prowling systematically around the manor by night, searching for that bloody cup. All whilst avoiding Bellatrix and Lucius as much as possible.
He’d finally worked out how he could open doors – internal ones, anyway – by jumping up and swinging on the handle. If they’d had knobs on the doors he’d have been really stuffed. Bellatrix seemed to think it was cute, and didn’t mind him going walkabout.
He was now certain the horcrux wasn’t in her room, which was hers alone even though her husband was staying at the manor too. It seemed to be some sort of upper-class thing. Lucius and Narcissa had separate bedrooms too, although they still shagged: Harry would never forget the night he crept into Narcissa’s bedroom after midnight to find her spanking her husband and roughly buggering him with an unfeasibly large black dildo, while he cried, “Harder, Cissy! Harder!” and she knelt there in her crotchless knickers with a bored look on her face. Maybe he could get Ron to Obliviate him some day.
He was leaving Voldemort’s chambers until last, particularly after seeing Bellatrix sneak in there more than once after dark wearing a flimsy negligee and a lascivious smile. She was shagging Rabastan too, and even, on occasion, her husband. For the life of him, Harry couldn’t work out what they saw in her.
Although fair dues, all the blokes were pretty unattractive too.
…………………………….
It was almost night time. Bellatrix walked into the room in a loose dressing gown. She’d obviously just had a bath (or been shagging someone, Harry thought sourly).
“There’s my precious, precious girl! Come to Mummy!” She smiled, making Harry feel queasy. “Mummy has a treat for you.”
Harry was starving; she hadn’t fed him all day. So he padded dutifully over to the couch she was reclining on. Maybe he could just grab whatever it was and run.
“Come and sit on Mummy, precious.”
Bugger. Harry jumped up resignedly onto her lap. She settled back with a giggle and pulled him up to rest between her wobbly breasts, which had been revealed as the gown fell open.
OK, if it was milk she was offering, he was out of there. Her breasts seemed enormous at this angle, each one bigger than Harry’s head. If they ganged up on him he wouldn’t stand a chance. She shifted position, making Harry lose his balance.
Claws came out reflexively and he watched in horror as one of them raked a deep scratch across Bellatrix’s left breast. She stared at the thick, red droplets of blood appearing in a line. “Bad kitty!” she screeched, and suddenly Harry felt her talons grip him and he was flying across the room, until –
Crunch.
When he woke up, his leg was in agony, closely rivalled by that of his head. And it appeared to be raining on his face. Big fat drops that tasted salty when one fell in his mouth. Another fell on his nose, making him sneeze, which was a very bad idea as it made him feel like his head had just exploded.
Harry opened his eyes cautiously. Bellatrix was holding him in her arms, crying.
“My poor, poor precious! Mummy didn’t mean to hurt you, no she didn’t. Mummy’s so very, very sorry.” Bellatrix stroked him some more, and then seemed to decide if he was awake, he must be OK. She set him down on the floor experimentally.
Harry took one staggering step, and then collapsed on the carpet. One of his back legs didn’t seem to be working any more. What the hell was he going to do now? Would she take him to the vet, or just shoot him?
She did neither. She simply strode to the door, and with an ear-splitting screech, called “DRACO-O-O! ”
…………………
Draco was practically running when he arrived. He’d obviously had occasion to learn that it wasn’t a good idea to annoy Bellatrix, Harry thought through his haze of pain.
“Yes, Auntie?” he said, puffing a bit.
“Poor Kitty has had a fall, Draco my love.” Her eyes turned threateningly dark. “Fix it. ”
Draco looked at her, considering. “If I do, what will be my reward?”
Her flirtatious smile made Harry want to gag. “A kiss from your Auntie?” She ran a finger down his chest, and giggled. “Could be more than a kiss, my pretty young love.”
Harry was beginning to half wish she’d killed him. This, he did not want to witness.
Draco seemed made of sterner stuff, however, smiling at his aunt as he answered, “I’m very tempted, Auntie, but how about we just remember that I helped you? In case one day I need some help?”
Bellatrix actually seemed to approve of this. She gave a short cackle. “Oh, Lucius has taught you well, hasn’t he, my pretty? Very well. I shall owe you.”
…………………..
Draco took Harry back to his room, for which he was grateful – the further he got away from Bellatrix, the happier he’d be.
“Now, let’s have a look at you. You know, when Mother insisted I study healing charms, I had no idea I’d end up mending batty Auntie Bella’s toys after she’d thrown them out of the pram. “Had a fall” my arse. You’re lucky she found you that collar, precious, at least it’ll stop her hexing you.”
Harry pricked up his ears at that. So… magic wouldn’t work on him when he was wearing the collar? That meant Draco would have to take it off to heal him. He’d be able to transform… Crap. He’d be able to transform, in front of Draco’s eyes, into a broken-legged man with concussion. Yep, that’d help. Draco would be bound to take pity on him then: after all, it wasn’t like he was the sort of person who went around stomping on your face when you were petrified…
He’d have to wait until after Draco had healed him. Surely he’d get an opportunity then?
Draco placed him carefully on the bed then, as Harry had hoped he would, removed the collar. Yes! Harry couldn’t stop his breath quickening in excitement.
Draco frowned. “Hmm, we can’t have you fidgeting while I heal you. Petrificus Totalus.
Crap, crap and double crap. What was it with this family and petrifying dumb animals? Harry fumed internally.
Draco did, at least, seem to know what he was doing with the healing charms. Harry’s leg felt better immediately. His head still ached, but it was bearable. His heart started to thump as he realised Draco would be removing the Petrificus any time now. He had to be ready… Harry could have screamed in frustration when, instead of pronouncing a Finite, Draco just fastened the collar around his neck. Oh, he could move again, the collar’s magic cancelling the Petrificus nicely, but he couldn’t bloody transform. “Row-ow!” he wailed, mournfully.
“Well there’s gratitude,” humphed Draco.
Bugger. He needed to stay on Draco’s good side if he wanted to keep out of Bellatrix’s psychotic clutches. “Row?” he said, winningly, rubbing his face against Draco’s hand. It worked. Draco smiled. “You may as well stay here for a bit, cat. I’m damned if I’m going to call you Precious, though. Auntie gives me the creeps, always cooing about her “precious”; she sounds like that deformed house-elf creature from Lord of the Rings.”
Despite himself, Harry was intrigued. Draco knew Lord of the Rings? He wouldn’t have expected Draco to sully himself with something so Muggle as films.
Harry had watched the trilogy with Hermione one weekend when they’d all needed a break – Ron had been banished from the room after he’d kept muttering, “This is rubbish! Elves don’t look like that!” and “You’re a wizard! Just apparate out of there!” Privately Harry thought he’d trade in Kreacher for Legolas any day. Actually, come to think of it, Draco wouldn’t make a bad elf himself, with those pale, pointy features and white-blond hair… Harry realised he was this close to finding Draco attractive, and stopped that train of thought hurriedly.
Draco settled down with a book about what looked like particularly nasty Dark hexes, and Harry curled up on the bed beside him. After a while, Draco’s hand came over and started to stroke him. Harry could feel his headache melting away.
He knew he’d hate himself for it afterwards, but as he relaxed into Draco’s caresses, Harry couldn’t help it. It just felt too, too good.
He purred.
………………………………..
After that, Harry spent as much time as he could in Draco’s company. He was the only person there Harry felt he could trust not to kick him or castrate him.
Draco seemed to spend a lot of time in his room. It looked like he was just as keen to avoid Voldemort and his minions as Harry was. He seemed lonely though - Harry thought it probably hadn’t been his choice not to go back to Hogwarts with his friends. Voldemort probably wanted to keep him close as a constant reminder to his parents of what disobedience would cost them. He just sat up there, reading books, practicing charms and hexes, and talking to Harry.
“You’re lucky, you know. All you have to worry about is your next meal.”
“Row,” said Harry, although he was actually thinking that Draco, as usual, didn’t know the half of it. Bellatrix, as a pet owner, was a bit all or nothing. Either he had her full attention, or he didn’t exist. He’d soon learned to make the most of his meals when he got them; it was a bit like being back at the Dursleys’ really.
He’d tried sneaking into the kitchens a few times, but house-elves, it seemed, did not like pets. They couldn’t hex him, of course, but the collar didn’t stop them from emptying the dishwater onto his head if they caught him trying to steal food. And he’d had a near miss with a particularly viciously thrown onion.
“Of course, you have to put up with Auntie Bella cooing over you. Makes me want to vomit, to hear her going all gooey over her precious. I think I’ll call you Macavity. That’s a much better name for a cat. It’s from a poem, you know.”
Harry thought it sounded like something you had to go to the dentist for, but he rubbed his cheek against Draco’s hand and purred, all the same. Actually all these names he was being given made him wonder if he’d end up with multiple personality disorder, talking to himself. Still, as long as he didn’t answer himself, he’d probably be OK. Definitely.
Draco was speaking again, sounding a little despairing. “He pits us against each other, you know. And uses us to threaten one another. Father has to do what he says or I get punished; I have to do things or Father suffers. Mother he mostly ignores. I don’t think he really likes women - he only tolerates Auntie Bella because she’s as insane as he is.”
“Row,” Harry sympathised. He meant it, too.
……………………
The next time Harry went up to Draco’s room, there was a present waiting for him: a catnip scented mouse that Draco charmed to run around the room.
“Row-ow!” Harry thanked him profusely. It was one of the nicest presents he’d ever had! After he’d worn himself out chasing it, he lay happily on Draco’s bed, purring.
Draco was looking more cheerful than he had done for ages, Harry thought, although there were still deep black circles etched under his eyes. He got something out of the bedside drawer, and lay on his stomach next to Harry. “Let me show you something, Macavity.” To Harry’s shock he held out a photograph of Hermione. It looked like it had been taken at school, probably without her knowing as she was facing away from the camera. She was smiling and waving at someone out of frame.
Was Malfoy planning something evil for Hermione? God, how was Harry going to get out of there and warn her?
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she? And strong – she hit me once, you know? And so clever. Too bad Father would disown me if I had anything to do with her. That’s if the Dark Lord didn’t kill me first.” Draco sighed.
Harry was stunned. Draco fancied Hermione? He looked suspiciously at the catnip mouse. He was going to have to lay off that stuff if it made him hallucinate crap like this.
Draco rolled over onto his back. Still holding the picture of Hermione with his left hand, his right hand crept beneath his robes, and began to move rhythmically. “Mmm-mm. Oh yes. Yes. Merlin, that’s good. Yes. Yes! Hermione!”
Too horrified to even speak, Harry scrambled off the bed and slunk away into the night.
This was all so, so wrong.
That night, Harry twitched feverishly in his sleep, dreaming of a naked Draco, on his hands and knees on the bed while Hermione, dressed as a dominatrix, spanked him with a large, leather-bound poetry anthology.
He awoke to Bellatrix’s face pressed close to his, her foul breath invading his nostrils and her anxious voice crooning, “It’s all right, my precious, Mummy’s here.”
He put his paws over his eyes and rowled in despair.
………………………………….
Next day, Harry prowled the gardens, making sure of his territory. Bellatrix was off with the fairies (or possibly the Lestranges) so he was having to catch his own breakfast. Again.
There was a nice, juicy robin on the lawn, hopping about moronically, pecking at things here and there. Harry crouched down and went perfectly still, tail quivering imperceptibly. He bided his time, waiting, waiting… yes! He pounced. Suddenly little robin’s breast was looking a whole lot redder, Harry thought smugly to himself.
It was just like catching the snitch, only better, because you got a tasty meal out of it too. Harry crunched away happily.
Suddenly, a flash of movement caught his attention. Harry narrowed his eyes to little slits. If it was another cat, they were dead meat.
It wasn’t. Cats weren’t that tall, and they certainly didn’t billow like that. Harry’s tail shot straight up into the air. It was Snape! He was back!
Part 2
Title: A Most Impractical Cat
Author:
drachenminaPairings: Severus Snape/Harry Potter, Lucius/Narcissa, Bellatrix Lestrange/various, Ron/Hermione, Draco/Hermione (unrequited – at least as yet!)
Rating: NC17
Word Count: ~12,400 total
Summary: AU. During the horcrux hunt, Harry goes to Malfoy Manor in his guise as a cat to try and find Helga Hufflepuff’s cup. Things do not go according to plan.
Warnings: mention of het, (very) mild BDSM, bestiality and the poetry of TS Eliot.
Author's Note: Written for Phoenix Flies Prompt 3: Bellatrix finds a kitten in the back garden. She just doesn't know that it's Harry Potter in his Animagus form.
I’m sure it didn’t start out quite this cracky…
Huge thanks for the beta go to the wonderful
gin_tonicHarry picked his way delicately through the imposing manor gardens, his paws wet with the morning dew. He started as one of Malfoy’s bloody pet peacocks gave its godawful cry. He felt very alone.
The next minute, he was wishing he’d stayed alone. Footsteps were coming his way, crunching along the gravel path. Harry turned towards them, seeing a pair of female feet come into view. He looked up, and up again at their owner, wishing he didn’t feel so bloody small in this form.
Great. Just what he needed. It was Bellatrix Bloody Black. Well, Lestrange, really, but that didn’t sound so good. There was a word for it: illiteration, or something. Probably. It was too late for him to hide – and anyway, it wasn’t like she was going to recognise him in this form. He hoped. He padded resolutely on, trying not to look as spooked as he felt.
“Pretty Kitty! Come to Bella, little pussycat, now don’t be shy!” Bellatrix was crouching down to look at him, making clucking noises with her tongue. Harry wasn’t sure what to do. He could make a bolt for it – but if he let her stroke him a bit, maybe she’d let him into the house? It wasn’t like he’d be able to work the door handles on his own. Reluctantly, he made his way to her, tail twitching nervously.
“There! Who’s a pretty girl, then?” To his horror, Bellatrix didn’t just stroke him; she picked him up and cuddled him to her ample, sallow bosom. He squirmed in her grasp, trying to ensure that as little of her skin as possible was in contact with his fur. Damn, she had an iron grip! “There’s my precious. Mummy will take good care of you.”
She strode off briskly towards the manor, Harry rocking queasily in her arms.
…………………………
“What on earth have you got there, Bellatrix?” Lucius sneered, obviously not a cat person.
“Pretty little kitty. Isn’t she lovely? I’m going to look after her.”
“Are you sure it’s a she? It’ll have to be spayed, anyway: the thing’s half grown and I’m not having the manor turn into a bloody cats’ home. I’ll fetch B R Barella’s Care of Magyckal Pettes; it can’t be much different from doing a Kneazle.”
Under his fur, Harry’s blood ran cold. She wouldn’t – would she? He decided then and there that if anyone tried hexing his bits off, he was changing back to human and taking his chances.
“No! Nasty man! He shall not touch you!” Bellatrix practically spat at Lucius, who backed off in distaste. “If my kitty wants babies, she shall have them! Yes she shall, my precious!” Harry was so relieved he almost didn’t mind Bellatrix nuzzling into his fur. “You’re my baby now, my precious kitty. They won’t lock you up until you’re barren, no they won’t.”
She glared at Lucius. Looking oddly sad, Narcissa came over to stroke Harry. “Of course we won’t do anything to her without your consent, Bella. Come with me, I think I know where I can find something for her.”
Harry let himself be carried off by Bellatrix as she followed her sister, just glad to be getting away from Lucius and his bloody castration complex. He was half expecting to be taken to the kitchen, so he was surprised when they went into what must be Narcissa’s bedroom. She rummaged around in a drawer, and then turned with a triumphant smile. “There! I knew I still had it. Let’s put it on her, she’ll look adorable, and then everyone will know she’s not just a stray, too.”
It was a collar. It was actually quite tasteful (well, duh, thought Harry, this was the Malfoys after all, not a bunch of bloody chavs); the diamonds encrusting it not at all flashy. But still, a collar? Harry supposed he could endure it if being Bellatrix’s pet allowed him free run of the house. And although he thought it unlikely that she was still in possession of the cup, it couldn’t hurt to have a really good nose around her quarters just in case.
He felt a bit of a tingle as the collar was brought over to him. Was that thing magical? Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all. He squirmed in Bellatrix’s grasp, trying to get away. “Petrificus Totalus,” she trilled. Harry’s struggles forcibly stopped. He was horrified. Who the hell went around petrifying pets?
Bellatrix slipped the collar on, and Harry found he could move again. At least the bloody thing hadn’t strangled him or anything, which he’d been half afraid of. He cringed as she held him up to the mirror to see his reflection. Urgh. It really did make him look like a girl. It could have been worse, he supposed. She could have tied a bloody pink bow around his neck. Or a bell, which would have seriously hampered his spying activities.
She carried him off to her room, crooning softly, “I love little pussy, her fur is so warm, and if I don’t hurt her she’ll do me no harm…”
Harry catfully resisted the urge to puke.
………………………….
It hadn’t been supposed to be this way. All those weeks ago, when they’d thought up The Plan, it had seemed so simple. All three of them would come along in their animagus forms. It’d be almost like the Marauders again, but with a much more serious purpose: the location and destruction of one of Voldemort’s horcruxes.
They knew Bellatrix Lestrange had had Helga Hufflepuff’s cup in her Gringotts vault. They also knew it wasn’t there any more. Why would she have moved it, if not at Voldemort’s command? It made sense that he had wanted to keep a closer eye on it and had ordered her to bring it to his base of operations at Malfoy Manor.
So The Plan was, in essence, that they would use their animagus forms to infiltrate the manor and find, and destroy the cup. If they managed to off Nagini at the same time that could only be a bonus.
It hadn’t quite worked that way. Hermione, who’d been the first to master the transformation, of course, had been distraught to find her animagus form was large, brown and ruminant: in short, a cow. Particularly when Ron wouldn’t stop laughing, although he stopped soon enough when he realised just how little use a bovine form was for espionage activities. It wasn’t like she was going to be able to sneak up on anyone, was it? And they were pretty sure Malfoy wouldn’t allow farm animals within fifty feet of the manor.
Ron’s form had been even worse. He’d been on his own when he managed it, and it was by only the lucky chance of Hermione walking into the room and seeing the halibut flopping morosely on the rug, and having the presence of mind to cast an Aguamenti charm until he’d stopped panicking long enough to transform, that had saved it from being a fatal achievement.
If anything, Ron had been even more upset than Hermione. “What use is a bloody fish? It’s not even an ornamental fish! You’d think with hair like this I could have managed a bloody goldfish!” Although quite how they were supposed to sneak even a goldfish into the manor to spy on the Death Eaters, Ron didn’t seem to have considered.
They’d had to pin all their hopes on Harry, which had left him feeling (a) a strong sense of déjà vu and (b) like it might be better if he didn’t manage the transformation at all. But he couldn’t disappoint the others, and eventually (having made sure they were both in the room with him, he wasn’t going to repeat Ron’s near-death experience) he’d felt he was as ready as he was ever going to be, and transformed.
The first thing he noticed was that the floor was a lot nearer. So, at least he wasn’t a cow. Or a stag either, he thought, vaguely disappointed. But what was he? He opened his mouth to ask, but what came out was, “Row?”
He was a cat? He twisted round to look at himself. Sleek, furry, black flanks (at least he wasn’t bloody ginger then, he thought with relief, and a guilty look at Ron) and at the end… yes! There was his tail! He’d always wanted a tail! He swished it experimentally. It felt a bit weird, like he was waggling his bottom at Ron and Hermione.
“Oh Harry! You did it! And you’re lovely!” Hermione bent down and stroked him. Harry shivered in delight at the frankly sensual touch of hand on fur. He sniffed at her hand. She’d been at the chocolate again. Despite claiming to be on a diet. “You’re a Jellicle cat, Harry.”
His “Row?” was closely echoed by Ron’s “Uh?”
“Jellicle Cats are black and white,
Jellicle Cats are rather small;
Jellicle Cats are merry and bright,
And pleasant to hear when they caterwaul.”
She huffed at their blank looks. “It’s T S Eliot. Honestly, don’t you ever read poetry?”
“You really want me to answer that, ‘Mione?” Ron was incredulous.
“Row!” Harry had agreed, fervently.
……………………………..
Harry had managed to escape to the garden for a bit, and was nervously chewing at some grass.
He’d been here days, and still hadn’t found the horcrux. Ron and Hermione had to be worried about him. Maybe he should try and slip out, apparate back to Grimmauld Place, and report. Even though there was nothing to report.
It shouldn’t be too risky, right? Bellatrix was closeted with the Dark Lord, doing whatever it was she did with him and Harry really didn’t want to think too closely about that. She wouldn’t miss him for hours, and he could easily be back before then.
Coming to a decision, Harry scampered down through the gardens. He’d have to stay in feline form until he got well away from the estate, but he was pretty fast in this shape so it shouldn’t be a problem.
At last Harry reached the iron gates signalling the end of the Malfoy fiefdom. His slender body would slip through the bars easily.
Except it wouldn’t. Harry found he was simply unable to set one paw outside Malfoy property. It must be that bloody collar – it must be spelled to stop anything wearing it from leaving! He might have known the Malfoys wouldn’t risk their pets escaping! There was nothing for it, he’d have to transform here and take it off.
Harry looked around nervously. If he was spotted, it could be very bad indeed. But there was nobody in sight, so he took a deep breath, focussed himself, and transformed.
Except he didn’t. Trying not to panic, Harry made another attempt. And another. He was stuck! Damn Narcissa and her bloody pet jewellery! Rattled, he made a frantic attempt to claw the thing off, but succeeded only in spending an uncomfortable few minutes hopping about with one front paw stuck inside the bloody thing.
Defeated, he padded morosely back towards the manor. How the hell was he ever going to get out of here?
Prowling agitatedly in the drawing room, Harry wasn’t feeling too good. What the hell had he been thinking of, eating that grass? Cats were meat-eaters, they weren’t meant to graze! His stomach felt decidedly peculiar. Just then, Lucius walked into the room. Harry’s stomach lurched, and unable to stop himself, he threw up right in front of him.
Lucius, predictably, was absolutely furious. He banished the mess with an enraged flick of his wand and then turned to Harry, who was cringing back against the sofa. “Sully my carpet again, precious,” he hissed “and Nagini will be having a furry little treat for dinner tonight!”
Harry fled.
………………………………
The next day, there was an unexpected visitor. Well, unexpected by Harry; he was pretty sure Voldemort and the Death Eaters had known he was coming. Harry had a feeling Voldie discouraged people just dropping in unannounced, probably with multiple Crucios.
It was Snape, taking time out from being Hogwarts headmaster. Harry felt his spirits rise. If he could only get the man on his own, he might somehow be able to get through to him who he was, and get him to take that bloody collar off!
He knew Snape was on their side, of course. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, but when McGonagall had showed the three of them Dumbledore’s pensieve memories, he’d had no option. Actually, once he’d had time to think it through, Harry had felt pretty sorry for the bloke. It wasn’t like the poor bastard had that many friends, after all; having one of them order him to kill him couldn’t have been much fun.
In fact, after further thought, Harry wasn’t feeling nearly as fond of Dumbledore as he had been. He’d agreed to save Harry’s mum for Snape, and had failed – but then he’d still expected Snape to spend his life making up for his one early mistake of joining the Death Eaters. OK, so it had been a pretty big mistake, but still. Snape wasn’t the only teenager in the world who’d fallen in with the wrong crowd. And it wasn’t like the right crowd had ever been all that welcoming.
Harry felt a familiar twinge of filial guilt about that.
It turned out to be almost impossible to get Snape on his own. Didn’t these bastards trust him? Harry was getting increasingly frustrated – and worried. He eventually resorted to stalking the man so closely (hoping he wouldn’t catch hell later from Bellatrix, who’d been shooting him jealous glares) that he was able to dart into the bathroom with him when the man went for a piss.
He averted his eyes politely when Snape was actually pissing, of course – the whole point was to let Snape know who he was, so he didn’t want Snape thinking Harry Potter was just gagging to check out his equipment.
He had a feeling Snape wouldn’t be too pleased about that.
Although it was definitely tempting… Harry sneaked a peek. Bugger. Too late, Snape was already fastening his robes.
Anyway, how the hell was he going to get his message across? Harry cursed McGonagall for insisting they didn’t tell Snape anything more than was absolutely necessary: it would have been so much simpler if Snape already knew he was a cat animagus.
Then he remembered they hadn’t even told McGonagall. Oh well.
As Snape was drying his hands, Harry stood up on his hind legs and clawed his way gently up the man’s legs. Snape’s mouth twitched, and he leant down to stroke Harry’s head. “You do seem rather taken with me, cat. I don’t recall having used catnip in any potions recently, so it must be my sunny personality you’re taken with.”
Harry was intrigued. Snape, making jokes about himself?
“Row,” he began. Snape actually smiled.
“I believe Bella’s mistaken about you. You’re actually a boy, aren’t you? Poor thing, having her fuss over you and call you Precious. That’s hardly a name for a self-respecting feline.”
“Row,” Harry agreed.
“I think I shall call you Erastes.”
“Row?”
“Given your youth, Eromenos would be more appropriate, of course, but it hardly rolls off the tongue.”
Harry decided he’d just have to ask Hermione what the hell the bloke was on about. If he ever managed to get back to her, that was. “Row,” he began again, more urgently this time.
“Mmm?”
Just as Harry thought he might be about to get somewhere, the door opened. It was Lucius. Hadn’t he ever heard of knocking? Harry was sure it had to be rude to burst in on people in the bathroom even if you were an upper-class pureblood. He hissed at Malfoy in frustration.
“Not a cat person, Lucius?” Severus sounded amused.
“No,” agreed Lucius with a sneer, and a glare in Harry’s direction. Cowed, Harry slunk under the cast-iron bathtub.
“Severus, as you know, the Dark Lord is… not best pleased with my family, at present. Will you give me an oath that you will protect Draco, should it be necessary?”
“And why should I do that?”
Lucius moved closer. “In memory of times past, perhaps? We were once… close, you and I.” Harry watched in amazement as Malfoy’s hand reached up to stroke Snape’s cheek.
Snape moved away sharply, leaving Harry feeling a curious mix of relief and disappointment he couldn’t quite analyse. “You are wasting your time, Lucius.”
“You will not help me?” Harry almost felt sorry for Lucius then, seeing the desperation in his eyes on behalf of his son.
“I have already sworn such an oath to Narcissa. You know, Lucius, I had thought that married couples communicated, once in a while? Clearly I was mistaken.”
Lucius was visibly relieved. Harry thought it a little strange he didn’t ask Snape how Narcissa had persuaded him to swear the oath, but after all, he supposed Lucius knew Snape better than he did. Or else just didn’t care.
Malfoy smoothed his features into the bland mask he habitually wore. “Come, Severus, the Dark Lord awaits.”
And to Harry’s crushing disappointment, they walked out together and he was unable to see Snape privately again before he left.
…………………………………….
Having nothing else to do, Harry settled into a routine of napping by day, and prowling systematically around the manor by night, searching for that bloody cup. All whilst avoiding Bellatrix and Lucius as much as possible.
He’d finally worked out how he could open doors – internal ones, anyway – by jumping up and swinging on the handle. If they’d had knobs on the doors he’d have been really stuffed. Bellatrix seemed to think it was cute, and didn’t mind him going walkabout.
He was now certain the horcrux wasn’t in her room, which was hers alone even though her husband was staying at the manor too. It seemed to be some sort of upper-class thing. Lucius and Narcissa had separate bedrooms too, although they still shagged: Harry would never forget the night he crept into Narcissa’s bedroom after midnight to find her spanking her husband and roughly buggering him with an unfeasibly large black dildo, while he cried, “Harder, Cissy! Harder!” and she knelt there in her crotchless knickers with a bored look on her face. Maybe he could get Ron to Obliviate him some day.
He was leaving Voldemort’s chambers until last, particularly after seeing Bellatrix sneak in there more than once after dark wearing a flimsy negligee and a lascivious smile. She was shagging Rabastan too, and even, on occasion, her husband. For the life of him, Harry couldn’t work out what they saw in her.
Although fair dues, all the blokes were pretty unattractive too.
…………………………….
It was almost night time. Bellatrix walked into the room in a loose dressing gown. She’d obviously just had a bath (or been shagging someone, Harry thought sourly).
“There’s my precious, precious girl! Come to Mummy!” She smiled, making Harry feel queasy. “Mummy has a treat for you.”
Harry was starving; she hadn’t fed him all day. So he padded dutifully over to the couch she was reclining on. Maybe he could just grab whatever it was and run.
“Come and sit on Mummy, precious.”
Bugger. Harry jumped up resignedly onto her lap. She settled back with a giggle and pulled him up to rest between her wobbly breasts, which had been revealed as the gown fell open.
OK, if it was milk she was offering, he was out of there. Her breasts seemed enormous at this angle, each one bigger than Harry’s head. If they ganged up on him he wouldn’t stand a chance. She shifted position, making Harry lose his balance.
Claws came out reflexively and he watched in horror as one of them raked a deep scratch across Bellatrix’s left breast. She stared at the thick, red droplets of blood appearing in a line. “Bad kitty!” she screeched, and suddenly Harry felt her talons grip him and he was flying across the room, until –
Crunch.
When he woke up, his leg was in agony, closely rivalled by that of his head. And it appeared to be raining on his face. Big fat drops that tasted salty when one fell in his mouth. Another fell on his nose, making him sneeze, which was a very bad idea as it made him feel like his head had just exploded.
Harry opened his eyes cautiously. Bellatrix was holding him in her arms, crying.
“My poor, poor precious! Mummy didn’t mean to hurt you, no she didn’t. Mummy’s so very, very sorry.” Bellatrix stroked him some more, and then seemed to decide if he was awake, he must be OK. She set him down on the floor experimentally.
Harry took one staggering step, and then collapsed on the carpet. One of his back legs didn’t seem to be working any more. What the hell was he going to do now? Would she take him to the vet, or just shoot him?
She did neither. She simply strode to the door, and with an ear-splitting screech, called “DRACO-O-O! ”
…………………
Draco was practically running when he arrived. He’d obviously had occasion to learn that it wasn’t a good idea to annoy Bellatrix, Harry thought through his haze of pain.
“Yes, Auntie?” he said, puffing a bit.
“Poor Kitty has had a fall, Draco my love.” Her eyes turned threateningly dark. “Fix it. ”
Draco looked at her, considering. “If I do, what will be my reward?”
Her flirtatious smile made Harry want to gag. “A kiss from your Auntie?” She ran a finger down his chest, and giggled. “Could be more than a kiss, my pretty young love.”
Harry was beginning to half wish she’d killed him. This, he did not want to witness.
Draco seemed made of sterner stuff, however, smiling at his aunt as he answered, “I’m very tempted, Auntie, but how about we just remember that I helped you? In case one day I need some help?”
Bellatrix actually seemed to approve of this. She gave a short cackle. “Oh, Lucius has taught you well, hasn’t he, my pretty? Very well. I shall owe you.”
…………………..
Draco took Harry back to his room, for which he was grateful – the further he got away from Bellatrix, the happier he’d be.
“Now, let’s have a look at you. You know, when Mother insisted I study healing charms, I had no idea I’d end up mending batty Auntie Bella’s toys after she’d thrown them out of the pram. “Had a fall” my arse. You’re lucky she found you that collar, precious, at least it’ll stop her hexing you.”
Harry pricked up his ears at that. So… magic wouldn’t work on him when he was wearing the collar? That meant Draco would have to take it off to heal him. He’d be able to transform… Crap. He’d be able to transform, in front of Draco’s eyes, into a broken-legged man with concussion. Yep, that’d help. Draco would be bound to take pity on him then: after all, it wasn’t like he was the sort of person who went around stomping on your face when you were petrified…
He’d have to wait until after Draco had healed him. Surely he’d get an opportunity then?
Draco placed him carefully on the bed then, as Harry had hoped he would, removed the collar. Yes! Harry couldn’t stop his breath quickening in excitement.
Draco frowned. “Hmm, we can’t have you fidgeting while I heal you. Petrificus Totalus.
Crap, crap and double crap. What was it with this family and petrifying dumb animals? Harry fumed internally.
Draco did, at least, seem to know what he was doing with the healing charms. Harry’s leg felt better immediately. His head still ached, but it was bearable. His heart started to thump as he realised Draco would be removing the Petrificus any time now. He had to be ready… Harry could have screamed in frustration when, instead of pronouncing a Finite, Draco just fastened the collar around his neck. Oh, he could move again, the collar’s magic cancelling the Petrificus nicely, but he couldn’t bloody transform. “Row-ow!” he wailed, mournfully.
“Well there’s gratitude,” humphed Draco.
Bugger. He needed to stay on Draco’s good side if he wanted to keep out of Bellatrix’s psychotic clutches. “Row?” he said, winningly, rubbing his face against Draco’s hand. It worked. Draco smiled. “You may as well stay here for a bit, cat. I’m damned if I’m going to call you Precious, though. Auntie gives me the creeps, always cooing about her “precious”; she sounds like that deformed house-elf creature from Lord of the Rings.”
Despite himself, Harry was intrigued. Draco knew Lord of the Rings? He wouldn’t have expected Draco to sully himself with something so Muggle as films.
Harry had watched the trilogy with Hermione one weekend when they’d all needed a break – Ron had been banished from the room after he’d kept muttering, “This is rubbish! Elves don’t look like that!” and “You’re a wizard! Just apparate out of there!” Privately Harry thought he’d trade in Kreacher for Legolas any day. Actually, come to think of it, Draco wouldn’t make a bad elf himself, with those pale, pointy features and white-blond hair… Harry realised he was this close to finding Draco attractive, and stopped that train of thought hurriedly.
Draco settled down with a book about what looked like particularly nasty Dark hexes, and Harry curled up on the bed beside him. After a while, Draco’s hand came over and started to stroke him. Harry could feel his headache melting away.
He knew he’d hate himself for it afterwards, but as he relaxed into Draco’s caresses, Harry couldn’t help it. It just felt too, too good.
He purred.
………………………………..
After that, Harry spent as much time as he could in Draco’s company. He was the only person there Harry felt he could trust not to kick him or castrate him.
Draco seemed to spend a lot of time in his room. It looked like he was just as keen to avoid Voldemort and his minions as Harry was. He seemed lonely though - Harry thought it probably hadn’t been his choice not to go back to Hogwarts with his friends. Voldemort probably wanted to keep him close as a constant reminder to his parents of what disobedience would cost them. He just sat up there, reading books, practicing charms and hexes, and talking to Harry.
“You’re lucky, you know. All you have to worry about is your next meal.”
“Row,” said Harry, although he was actually thinking that Draco, as usual, didn’t know the half of it. Bellatrix, as a pet owner, was a bit all or nothing. Either he had her full attention, or he didn’t exist. He’d soon learned to make the most of his meals when he got them; it was a bit like being back at the Dursleys’ really.
He’d tried sneaking into the kitchens a few times, but house-elves, it seemed, did not like pets. They couldn’t hex him, of course, but the collar didn’t stop them from emptying the dishwater onto his head if they caught him trying to steal food. And he’d had a near miss with a particularly viciously thrown onion.
“Of course, you have to put up with Auntie Bella cooing over you. Makes me want to vomit, to hear her going all gooey over her precious. I think I’ll call you Macavity. That’s a much better name for a cat. It’s from a poem, you know.”
Harry thought it sounded like something you had to go to the dentist for, but he rubbed his cheek against Draco’s hand and purred, all the same. Actually all these names he was being given made him wonder if he’d end up with multiple personality disorder, talking to himself. Still, as long as he didn’t answer himself, he’d probably be OK. Definitely.
Draco was speaking again, sounding a little despairing. “He pits us against each other, you know. And uses us to threaten one another. Father has to do what he says or I get punished; I have to do things or Father suffers. Mother he mostly ignores. I don’t think he really likes women - he only tolerates Auntie Bella because she’s as insane as he is.”
“Row,” Harry sympathised. He meant it, too.
……………………
The next time Harry went up to Draco’s room, there was a present waiting for him: a catnip scented mouse that Draco charmed to run around the room.
“Row-ow!” Harry thanked him profusely. It was one of the nicest presents he’d ever had! After he’d worn himself out chasing it, he lay happily on Draco’s bed, purring.
Draco was looking more cheerful than he had done for ages, Harry thought, although there were still deep black circles etched under his eyes. He got something out of the bedside drawer, and lay on his stomach next to Harry. “Let me show you something, Macavity.” To Harry’s shock he held out a photograph of Hermione. It looked like it had been taken at school, probably without her knowing as she was facing away from the camera. She was smiling and waving at someone out of frame.
Was Malfoy planning something evil for Hermione? God, how was Harry going to get out of there and warn her?
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she? And strong – she hit me once, you know? And so clever. Too bad Father would disown me if I had anything to do with her. That’s if the Dark Lord didn’t kill me first.” Draco sighed.
Harry was stunned. Draco fancied Hermione? He looked suspiciously at the catnip mouse. He was going to have to lay off that stuff if it made him hallucinate crap like this.
Draco rolled over onto his back. Still holding the picture of Hermione with his left hand, his right hand crept beneath his robes, and began to move rhythmically. “Mmm-mm. Oh yes. Yes. Merlin, that’s good. Yes. Yes! Hermione!”
Too horrified to even speak, Harry scrambled off the bed and slunk away into the night.
This was all so, so wrong.
That night, Harry twitched feverishly in his sleep, dreaming of a naked Draco, on his hands and knees on the bed while Hermione, dressed as a dominatrix, spanked him with a large, leather-bound poetry anthology.
He awoke to Bellatrix’s face pressed close to his, her foul breath invading his nostrils and her anxious voice crooning, “It’s all right, my precious, Mummy’s here.”
He put his paws over his eyes and rowled in despair.
………………………………….
Next day, Harry prowled the gardens, making sure of his territory. Bellatrix was off with the fairies (or possibly the Lestranges) so he was having to catch his own breakfast. Again.
There was a nice, juicy robin on the lawn, hopping about moronically, pecking at things here and there. Harry crouched down and went perfectly still, tail quivering imperceptibly. He bided his time, waiting, waiting… yes! He pounced. Suddenly little robin’s breast was looking a whole lot redder, Harry thought smugly to himself.
It was just like catching the snitch, only better, because you got a tasty meal out of it too. Harry crunched away happily.
Suddenly, a flash of movement caught his attention. Harry narrowed his eyes to little slits. If it was another cat, they were dead meat.
It wasn’t. Cats weren’t that tall, and they certainly didn’t billow like that. Harry’s tail shot straight up into the air. It was Snape! He was back!
Part 2
