Weasel and Stoat Part Two
He found a great place to eavesdrop on the Gryffindors. He could even peer out and see the illustrations in the volumes that were open on the table. The two male Gryffindors were leaning on the table, and Granger was sitting in front of a pile of books, pen in hand.
"Well, I've got a list of the substances that drive away spiders," she said, "and I've copied down some household potions which are supposed to discourage them or kill them. Harry, you were right about the hedge apples. That was just Muggle legend, and it doesn't work at all." The Muggle-born was almost lecturing in her tone. Malfoy's nose twitched. How did they stand it? But the two boys didn't seem to mind at all when she said, "Harry, would you go back and get that volume by Answiggle we had yesterday? And Ron, we'll need to start the next section." They trotted off to do her bidding. Apparently, her job was to scan the volumes and sort them into two piles.
When Harry came back, she thanked him absently and then said, "Harry, I hate to mention this, but this is the third source that says that Basilisk powder is the best substance for spider bane potions. I also have one source that suggests that a shed Basilisk skin is the best source."
"You want me to go see if there's anything…there?" Potter did not look happy.
"It might come to that. I'm just mentioning it now, in case. Here, why don't you read chapter three in Burbury." She thrust a book at him. He opened it obediently and began to read. Weasley returned with another stack of books and she reached for one before he even had the stack settled onto the table.
Weasley was frowning down at the book now on the top of the stack. The cover was embossed leather, and the spider carved there was rather realistic as it crawled across from one corner to another. "Even when they're not real, they give me the creeps," Weasley said, as he sat down. "What am I looking for?" he added, with resignation in his tone.
"Arachni-tongue references. People able to speak to spiders using potions, spells. We may need to communicate at some point. Right now, I think we are dealing with Aragog's kin, and they can speak, although I do wonder exactly how they came to do so. I know the original spiders were the result of experimental breeding, but the capability of speech should indicate higher brain function, and….well, what I wonder is if these spiders we are dealing with are just spiders basically, with minor adaptations, or something more than spiders. Are the ones crossing the wards under Imperius or compulsion, or have they made a decision and are working on a plan of their own? Why now, what has impelled them to push the boundaries? If it is not Hagrid's spiders which can talk, can we speak to them through potions or spells? My readings say that anything lower on the evolutionary scale than reptiles make unlikely conversationalists. But the spiders you met in second year talked, right?"
Ron said, "Yeah, but except for Aragog, the acromantulas we heard pretty much stuck to one word or two words at a time. Harry and I were talking about it, and we think Aragog got exposed young, with Hagrid talking to it and all, but the babies afterwards didn't. Spiders probably don't sit around chatting in the man language. Why should they? But I don't know. Maybe they communicate with those clacks they were all making."
"Ron, that's brilliant! A non-verbal language would be very logical! We'll have to look that up, too."
Ron groaned at the thought of more work, even as he opened a book. They read quietly for a few minutes and then Hermione spoke again. "Ron, tell me again what happened when you spoke to Dumbledore."
"Well, he invited me to sit down. I took the candy, he was going on about this being our seventh year and what the future holds. He was more scattered than usual and it was hard to get him to focus on me. I had to interrupt him to get him to stop rambling. Then I explained to him how the forest was getting closer, that I'd actually measured it and it was coming closer at about an inch a week. He said thank you for telling me and would I like to try the new lemon candy he had found. I said no, he ushered me out. In and out in about seven minutes, actually."
"You'd think he'd be more concerned," she said, stopping completely to consider it.
"Keeping it quiet so as not to alarm the students. Playing a deep game. Again," Ron suggested. But he frowned, too. "Do you suppose there's a…problem?"
"With Dumbledore? That's what I was wondering. He's not showing up for meals very often. I wonder what they're hiding from us now," she said with a sigh. Then she said, "Check your measurements again this evening and then…there's no hope for it. We'll have to talk to Professor McGonnagal." The thought did not seem to give her pleasure. "Oh, and Professor Snape has given us an ingredients assignment. If you see any likely plants while you're out there, mark them for me, will you? I'll need twenty different ones, and there's extra points for the rare ones."
"You think I know a potions ingredient from a clump of grass?" Weasley asked with a snort. "Although if the spiders are getting through the wards, then maybe I can bring you one of those." He was being sarcastic. She ignored that and replied as if his offer had been genuine.
"That would be splendid. If it's small." She nodded her thanks.
He rolled his eyes. "Right, Hermione. Small."
"If a large one has gotten through, try one of the spells we learned last night. I know they worked well on the spider we got from the closet, but I want to know how they work on the large, magical spiders. Also, if they don't work, remember the leg-breaking hex and how to do it with the multiple of 8."
"Right." The one word held a bit of resentment in it.
"Is it this, or are your angry at me, still, about… You're still upset about the charm?"
"I'll always be upset about the charm. I never thought you'd use one of those. Or believe it. And drop me because of it." There was more resentment now. Draco suppressed a chitter of delight at hearing this bit of gossip. So Weasley and the Mudblood had split up? He eased down one shelf, until he was almost parallel to their heads, and eased aside a book until he could hear better.
"I didn't drop you. You know we mutually agreed."
"Yeah."
"I didn't go out and do it on purpose, did I?" Granger was leaning forward and speaking intently. "I was only being sociable when I joined the girls, but then I was so shocked when the results of all three of the charms were so…clear. The "initial" charm with the apple peel was plainly not an R or a W. I don't know what it was. Perhaps I'm destined to remain unwed. Did you know Muggles historically had a similar game? I wonder if anyone still plays them at Christmas time? Only without the charm, so their's is always up to chance."
"Hermione," Weasley began, but she talked over him.
"And the Compatico. That was most startling. I didn't realize there were charms designed just to see how biologically compatible a Muggleborn might be with a particular wizard. It said our children would probably be squibs, Ron!"
"Like that'd really bother you. You'd just raise them Muggle. I think you had doubts even before that." Ron gave a sniff, and then a quick rub of his nose.
"All I said was that I wanted to complete my Muggle and Magical education before I got married, and…."
"And that would take most of ten years and you wanted us to date others in the meantime."
"That only makes sense. I know you've dated quite a few girls, before me. You do it every time we've broken up, too. I think you crave variety at this point in your life. Or maybe you just haven't found the right person, but you're young, it's natural. You love me dearly and I love you. I think we always will. We'll be special to each other, because we were each other's first. But I want you to be happy, Ron."
Weasley gave a sigh. "Yeah. I know." He buried his nose in a book.
Behind the books, Malfoy was trying to stay very still, but was swaying back and forth, his little paws flexing. He had some gossip to trade with Daphne, now. He'd missed out on so much of the rumors and the conniving, since he had lost his status as head of Slytherin. No one was talking to him partly because he had nothing to trade. He hadn't considered it before, but now that he thought of it, with his animagus form there were dozens of opportunities to spy on his fellow students, to pick up some juicy tidbits to pass on. He gave a happy little flick of his tail, and then hastily pulled it back up against his feet.
Potter came back. Granger told him about the plan to talk to McGonnagal. Potter made a face, too. It seemed like taking problems to the head of Gryffindor house wasn't always an effective way to handle them. Perhaps she'd dealt with so much Gryffindor trivia that she hardly listened to them at all. Couldn't blame her for that.
The old cat should be listening, though, if it was true. Was the forest really changing the boundary? Creeping towards the castle? He'd better check it out for himself. And then go see Snape about it. The Gryffindor head of house might be a total idiot, but his wasn't.
Unfortunately for him, the Gryffindors all sat down and got busy with their research, and it became incredibly boring. Also, Draco's stomach was complaining that it had no food. After fifteen minutes of watching the pages turn, he gave it up and crept back to the corner, where he transformed back into himself and then gathered up his own books. A quick stop to drop off his things and he was first at the door to the great hall when it opened. How annoying that the food would not arrive until the majority of students had taken their places. When the food came, he ate impatiently and then hurried outside to find a quiet place to change.
Then he discovered that he couldn't transform just after eating. Or, at least, that he didn't yet know how to do it. One was forced to wait, apparently, until digestion was well started. When he transformed, he felt sluggish. But he'd eaten before he changed last time. Perhaps it was the amount. He had considerably more than a mouse at supper. In fact, he'd stuffed himself, mostly on meats.
So he wandered about a bit in human form, checking on distances, trying to remember exactly where the forest had always been. He just couldn't tell, until he came to the place where he had once met his father so that the older Malfoy could pass him a book. He distinctly remembered sitting on a certain rock as he waited. His father had been an hour late and Draco had plenty of time to memorize the surroundings. He'd sat on that very rock, wrapped in his best see-me-not charm.
The rock that was now perhaps a dozen feet on the other side of the misty line that defined the border of what was Hogwarts grounds and what was not.
Weasley was right. Unless it was an illusion? Draco cast disillusionment spells, and tried a few assorted finite's with no effect, and then closed his eyes and tried some legilimency. Sometimes one could sense if another person was near, even if the mind of the person couldn't actually be read. But no. He was alone.
He tried again to transform and this time shrank down to stoat-form easily. It felt great and he did a little racing about, although this time he kept an eye out for dangers. When the first rush was out of his system, he went exploring along the boundary. He found a place with little chips of wood stuck into the ground, which must be one of the places Weasley was measuring. The line of the wood bits marched back several yards into the gloom of the forest. If Weasley had used one chip every day, then it looked like he had been measuring for about three weeks. But from the distance between the chips, either he wasn't getting out here every day, or the forest was advancing at different rates.
Draco had climbed a tree to look at it from a new angle, and the only thing he'd learned was that his stoat eyes didn't like bright light, and was coming back down when he heard some twigs cracking. He dropped to the ground and ducked behind a bush, tucking himself into a small shadow, poised to run. He wasn't very surprised when Weasley came blundering along. The Gryffindor squatted down, shoved a bit of stick just on this side of the almost invisible line, and spent a moment just staring at the dirt before he stood up.
People looked odd from this angle. Mostly, the view was of sturdy, well worn shoes with bunchy socks, dark pants and the hems of dusty robes. Huge. Towering. He could even feel the heat of the big body as it passed. And there was a distinctive smell. Not bad, but thickly human, male, with an over-scent of roast-beef and gravy, and a strong odor of magic. Draco sniffed it, unconsciously memorizing it.
When Weasley left, Malfoy stayed still for awhile, thinking. He was quiet, and small, and so he saw the spiders which scuttled from one shadow to another much deeper inside the forest. One, two, three, and each easily twice the size of the one he had encountered yesterday. The were moving the same direction as Weasley had gone. Were they following him?
He waited longer, but there was nothing else to see, so eventually he eased out, circled a bit sniffing and exploring, and then reversed his shape to human again. He might as well get a start on Snape's assignment.
When he returned to the castle, he had five herb samples, in containers made of transfigured leaves of the same plants, a little trick to prevent contamination one of the other Slytherins had shown him back in second year. Weasley was ahead of him, holding a branch, too, but in his hand. Draco checked to see if it was something poisonous as he strode past. No such luck. But he found he wasn't really disappointed as jealous. Fawning boxwood? For Granger, no doubt. Where had he found it? Somewhere between the castle and the forest, of course. Too bad it was getting dark and there wasn't any time to go looking for himself.
He went back to his room to study. It was quiet there. He got quite a lot done before he crawled into bed and blew out the candle. Fortunately it was one of those days when he fell asleep quickly.
The next morning he arrived at the door to Snape's office at seven. He knocked, and was called in. "Another spider, Draco?" Snape asked, looking up from his desk rather hopefully.
"A matter related." He nodded to show he did not want to talk at the door, and Snape stepped aside to let him in. Draco sat in the chair indicated and said, "I must now confess to you that I have been spying on Gryffindors." That made the edges of Snape's lips turn up.
"That must be…exciting." The teacher's tone suggested that it was quite the opposite.
"You have no idea. I suppose you know which Gryffindors usually need spying on?" Snape looked interested. "They seem concerned that they gave critical information to Dumbledore, but nothing was done about it. Since it does seem to be something of importance, I've become curious myself."
"Do go on," Snape murmured.
"Weasley goes out to the edge of the forest and puts little markers on the boundary. Each day he goes out, it's changed. There's a whole line of the little markers, stretching back to the trees." Snape didn't look any different, but Draco could sense he was focusing all his attention now. "He and the rest of the heroes," he made a face, "think the forest is encroaching onto Hogwarts grounds, and, perhaps at a speed which is increasing. From my own observations yesterday, they are probably right."
"The acromantula," Snape said, making the connection.
"Yes, that's the bit that got me thinking. If it could cross because the boundaries are weakening, then so could other nasty creatures. Even wizards. What's Dumbledore playing at?"
Snape shook his head. "Leave the problem of Dumbledore to me. Where did you say Weasley does his measuring?"
"Where the forest comes closest to the castle. I've only seen one, but I understand he has several places he's measuring."
Snape nodded. "I shall need to check to see if the forest is actually getting bigger, or if it only moving and is also losing territory, perhaps on the opposite side."
Interesting twist. Malfoy nodded and said, "The Muggleborn suggested there might be a need for a spell or potion that would let one talk to spiders. Would you need help brewing one?"
"Abominable things. There is no good spell or charm. Spiders hardly think like humans and don't have proper mouths for speaking. Most translating spells do work with spiders or insects, but usually the results are difficult to understand. Concepts don't match. The potion is hardly a better proposition. Most of them need parts of the type of animal one wishes to speak to, but it must be taken from a living animal, or one very recently dead. The one we have will not work, as it is too old. That entire class of potions seem to be affected by random factors." In other words, even made by a master of potions, they often came out wrong. He obviously took it personally.
"I'll amuse myself spying on Gryffindors a bit more, and tell you if they say anything of interest. At the moment, they seemed enthralled by their own pitiful excuses for a love life."
Snape looked surprised at that. "All three?" he asked after a moment.
"Ah!" Draco laughed. "A threesome? They hardly seem that adventurous. Sorry, I meant, it's Granger and the Weasel who are no longer an item. Potter, if he has a love life, isn't talking about it in public places."
"But, Mr. Malfoy, wouldn't that seem to indicate that Potter was developing self preservation at last? Or even, perhaps, using his brain?" His tone expressed such doubt and his manner was exaggerated; it made Draco laugh again.
"If," the Malfoy said when his chuckles had stopped, "you want living acromantula parts, the beasts are within sight of the edge of the forest. I saw three, deep in the shadows. Perhaps they are spying on US."
"Perhaps they are. Perhaps that is why the headmaster appears to be doing nothing. Watching the watchers watch us." Snape seemed to almost sigh as he stood to show the interview was over. Draco said the right things and decided to go spy some more. The library was remarkably uninhabited, however, with just a few Ravenclaws huddled around the biggest table. They were hardly worth spying on, although he did it for a few minutes just to prove to himself he could do it with ought even having to change form.
He decided to go see what books on spiders the Gryffindors had been studying. It occurred to him that if he knew more about spider anatomy and life, the next one to jump on him was going to get a deadly surprise.
He came away, after an hour, with a rather mixed feeling. The best sources had been Muggle, unfortunately. What a wealth of disgusting trivia he had accumulated. There must he hundreds of Muggles who spent their entire lives watching spiders, taking notes and writing articles. Disgusting way to make a living. He was also horrified and fascinated by the mating habits of the spiders. Spiders who vaulted into the jaws of females as they mated, so that she was busy munching long enough for the mating to be completed. Male spiders who "got lucky" but died as soon as they were well inserted, so that their dead body was carted about by the female, preventing other males from mating with her.
The local acromantulas were almost normal by comparison. They didn't have such dramatic cannibalistic mating habits, because if what he had heard was true, the original two who gave birth to all the giant spiders in the forest were still alive and still producing young. So they must not be the type where the female ate the male.
Did magical spiders follow the natural patterns of their small kin? If so, they would only be reproducing in the summer. Scottish summers, although not as long as some, had long days, which might affect the production of eggs. If he were one of those crazy Muggle spider watchers, it might be an interesting things to study.
All those spider children and grandchildren, and no proper predators. How many were they, now? Even with one clutch of a hundred eggs a summer, there should be thousands of spiders in the forest who were there from the breeding of the original pair. When did the acromantulas reach breeding age? Perhaps the forest didn't have food for maintaining the population and they were looking to expand their territory?
He decided to look up those hexes for leg-breaking and spider killing to which Granger had referred.
It was late when he went to bed. His dreams were rather dark and involved too many black, hairy crooked legs. But at least this time it wasn't his father, demanding why he wasn't avenging his death. Or his mother, dripping blood across the white marble steps in the entry hall as she came to greet him at the door.
All day he felt out of sorts. As he went to lunch, he passed the open door of the castle as the Hufflepuffs surged in from herbology, and he decided to skip the meal and go outside instead. He found himself down by the forest, changing into his stoat form.
He felt much better on four paws. He drank some water from the lake, then retreated to the trees. He found and ate a mouse, which was trying to dive down a hole. The hole was just a hole, but after digging around a bit - and digging was quite fun! - he had expanded it into a burrow. Not a fantastic one such as The Big Weasel had, but a nice little burrow just his size, with a chamber to rest in. He rested in it a bit, came out and hunted down another mouse, and then after a good prowl, he changed back and went up to the castle for his next class, feeling much better.
He ate a great deal of dinner later that evening and went out to collect ingredients for his assignment afterwards. Everyone must have had the same idea because there were students everywhere, some with baskets on the arm, some with sacks and boxes. Not, he noted, the Gryffindor trio.
He managed to collect some insects and some leaves. Nothing at all unusual, to his disappointment. Why had Snape given the assignment to all upper years?
It was a clever way of refilling Snape's stores, Draco realized as he showered the pungent smell of the herbs from his hands and body. Knowing Snape, the man would next give them an assignment using their own gathered ingredients, forcing those who had not collected or stored theirs properly to subsequently deal with their own incompetence.
Draco was still thinking over his own collection and what he needed to still find as he got ready for bed, but once horizontal, the ideas were forcibly ejected from his head by the reminder from his body that he had not had That in several days and That was what it wanted now. Not that he was adverse. He reinforced his silencing spells and reached over to the bedside table for the potion that was tucked into the furthest corner.
In first year he had wanked to the memory of certain well-rounded and naked ladies that he had found in a slim volume in the library at the manor. In second year he had managed to sneak the book out and take it to school with him. By third year he was bored with it and had found a Muggle magazine. Well, he hadn't found it, he'd taken it away from a Hufflepuff sixth year who had been too embarrassed to go to anyone else for help in getting it back. By fourth year he had found the wizarding equivalent, which, of course, moved. Delightfully.
Fifth year he had a rather impressive stack, which he traded with some of the others who also had a stock of them. In the process he got a few which he wouldn't have usually picked up. In some of them, pairs of pretty girls and women shared the pages with pairs of attractive boys and men. In some, the girls were absent all together. He found them all equally interesting. And yet somehow, during the sixth year, he realized he had traded away almost all of the ladies and acquired a refined collection of the other kind.
Which was the extent of his sex life. His father had suggested rather firmly that he keep his amorous adventures while at Hogwarts under strict control. There was time enough for sexual adventure after he left school, the man had explained. There must be no chance of accidental pregnancy, no possibility of an unwanted alliance.
Some of the children in the school took potions their parents provided, to prevent pregnancy. Draco hadn't been given a potion, he had been told to develop the strength of will to manage his own body and his own destiny. He'd made his own damn potion, but for the most part instead of using it, he used it for trades to other students. As a result he'd had some trysts, and even collected a few blow jobs from willing Hufflepuff boys. But he'd never had a real affair, or even a sexual encounter with anyone, male or female, which involved being horizontal.
Which meant he took his time alone in his bed seriously. He had a stable of mental "friends" he had created over the years. None of whom showed up today when he poured the potion in his hands and applied the slick smooth stuff up and down his firming penis. He had to force his mind to produce some bare male bodies and had to concentrate on them way too hard. On the whole, it was not satisfying, even though he ended up sticky and spent. Worst of all was the knowledge that he hadn't even come until, for some freak reason, he had remembered the way a weasel's body looked as it fought, sleek and deadly, with flashing teeth.
He must have fallen asleep, though, without doing a cleaning spell. He woke up uncomfortable and grumpy. At least this morning, as he crouched behind the books in the library in his stoat form, he could spy on the Gryffindors. When he arrived, the three heads were bent over a piece of paper and they were making a list. He only heard scraps of the conversation until the list was finished, and Granger obligingly read it aloud to see if they had missed anything.
"Lights, heavy clothing under the robes, rucksacks, knives, tongs, ropes, saw, pry bar. We know spells for all of these functions, but I don't want to have to make the trip again." She gave a little shudder.
"I hate to say it, but do you realize that we know all those spells thanks to Snape?" Potter said. Weasley made gagging sounds.
"I can't believe we have permission to go," Granger went on.
"From Dumbledore himself!" Weasley said happily.
She said, "Make sure you wear your oldest robes, with warm clothing underneath. Face masks in case there is a stench or bad air. Gloves. Emergency food and water carried by everyone, double rations. The trip should only take a few hours, but one never knows. We'll leave a note saying the exact time we leave and where we are going, with Neville, to open if we don't come back within six hours. When should we go?"
"Saturday, of course, when we don't have classes," Weasley said.
"At eight, shall we say?" she replied, and smiled as he groaned theatrically. He must like to lie in. "Very well, collect your supplies and Harry, don't forget your backup wand in case one of us loses ours. Now, I think we have time to actually study." Her companions complained but got their books out.
Draco crept back to his corner and transformed, and then went to tattle to his head of house. There was a class, and he had to wait in the corridor until the third years went rushing out.
"You again, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape asked as Draco strolled in.
"I'm reporting the movements of enemy troops," he replied with a small twist of his lip that was almost a smile, until it settled into a smirk. Snape drew his wand and flicked out a silencing spell. Then Draco said, "I've brought you a guessing game. Where might the dear children be going?" and then he recited, with perfect accuracy, everything from their list of needed supplies. His parents had paid a great deal for memorization charms when he was young.
Snape was quiet for a moment and then said a bad word. One that Draco had not heard before. He wasn't sure what it meant, but he memorized it, too. "Sir?" he asked diffidently when Snape settled down to scowling, but not talking.
"Gryffindors!"
Well, yes. People often said that word in just that tone of voice. But he didn't dare inquire again so soon, so Draco waited for his teacher to regain his composure. Or should he give him all the bad news at once?
"They said Dumbledore gave them permission."
"Oh, did he." The flat voice was worse than the profanity. "Well, they shall not go on their expedition alone. You and I will be going with them."
"Where exactly does it appear we might be going?" Draco asked.
"Why, beneath the castle. To the Chamber of Secrets. Where a dead Basilisk waits us. After all, it would not be fair to deny another student -- or their professor -- the chance at these rare potion ingredients." Draco noted that greed had crept in alongside the anger on Snape's face.
"Charming," Draco said, while inside his head he was choking on the idea of crawling around in the dirt scooping up bits of decomposing monster. And who knew if there might not be another of its kind down there?
Snape gave him lists and instructions and sent him to collect up more supplies than would be needed for an expedition to deepest Africa. It put Draco seriously behind for the day and it wasn't until after the evening meal that he could go outside. He told himself again he was collecting for his ingredients project, but the truth was he was half wild to be out and running, and he…really wanted a mouse.
The mice were stubbornly remaining out of sight, and therefore out-of-mouth. His ears and nose led him close several times. He was rather sure a real stoat could have caught them, which irritated him.
He prowled about, poking his nose into anything that looked interesting. In stoat form, that means small holes and crevices, both on the ground and in trees. He found a squirrel, wedged deep in a crack in an old oak, but could not get at it, his little legs not being quite long enough, and had to leave frustrated. He crawled back down the tree, muttering to himself, and then went on the lookout for a mouse again.
There! A flick of movement under the tree, like a tail rounding a corner. He crept up carefully, collecting himself to leap. He sprang.
"No!" The human voice boomed somewhere high above him, and he found himself frozen in mid flight, his legs splayed out in a most undignified manner. Gravity was still affecting him, and in only seconds he was going to hit the ground, unable to brace himself to counter the impact. It was going to hurt. Then there was a binging charm, at the same instant that a big hand plucked him out of the air.
He tried to bite, of course, but the binding charm was efficient and he was suffering from vertigo as he swung through the air. The man was huge. From this angle, all he could see was a rough robe and…he was being pulled close to the big chest and his nose was pressed into that most horrible of objects--a Gryffindor tie. He struggled, but the hand curled around, supporting and surrounding him.
Fingers were warm, at least. So was the chest. He could feel the heat flowing into his body through his feet, all four of which were braced against the human body. He took a deep breath, and looked up, but he already knew who had hold of him. Ronald Weasley.
"Hey, little lad," the deep voice said, pulling him up higher on the chest so that he was just beneath the chin. "You need to learn to watch where you're going."
"Put me down! Let me go!" Draco said. It came out an angry spitting and hissing.
"You're a feist, aren't you?" Weasley said, with warm amusement. He drew his hand down the length of the stoat body to sooth him. "And beautiful," he murmured, softly. "Calm down, you lovely thing."
Draco froze. Weasley did it again.
Oh, gods, that felt good. He couldn't help pushing back against that lovely warm pressure. The third time it happened, he gave a little wiggle to his rear, because the stoke only reached down to where his back legs started and the rest of him was jealous. Because of the binding, it was only a little twitch of his leg, but the man seemed to understand and the next stroke went clear to the end of his rump and down his tail a bit. Then those large fingers drifted to his chin and his ears, scratching softly.
Mmmmmm. Ah. There. Higher! No, down. The sound coming from him now was almost a purr, a rough rumble.
"Like that, do you? You're so soft. Incredible fur. I had a pet rat once, but you're so much softer. Not to mention a thousand times prettier. Too bad you'd take my face off if I took off the binding." The hand kept up the lovely attention.
Might. Might not. Rrrrchrik.
"Such a little thing. Clever, too, but not careful enough. You can't see down there what we can see up here. Look." Weasley turned the stoat body so that his narrow head was at an angle and he could see.
Eww!
What he had taken for a mouse was a grey mass of…web? Attached to a string of the stuff, which vanished into the dark of the forest. In the dark, there was a gleam, a line of flashes which might have been eight eyes.
"It's a trap. You would get caught in the sticky stuff and hauled into the forest like a fish on a line. Do you see it? D'you?" The voice was intent. Draco wondered if a real stoat would have understood. Maybe. The view was clear, and as he watched, the line was cast again. It reached the path, and the bait twitched in a very realistic manner. "Just keep away from the forest, " Weasley was saying, while those fingers were working their magic again. "It's dangerous and you're too pretty to die."
Draco had always thought so. It was nice to hear, though, even from a Weasley.
"I'll put you down near the boat house. There's usually rats…no, you're a bit small for a rat. You could take one, sure, little tough thing like you, but why take a chance on getting scratched or bit? Don't want to bleed on your pretty fur, Sweetheart." One finger stroked down his nose. "By the garden then. You deserve a nice fat mouse, don't you?"
Weasley turned and was walking along the path back towards the castle. "You feel so nice in my hands. Wish I could keep you. Would you like to live with me? I suppose not. Besides, you’re not on the list of approved pets. Not to mention Hermione would take my head off for enslaving a wild creature. She's right. No caging a wild thing like you. All Weasleys know that. How about here? This is close to the pond, in case you need a drink. Not the lake. Be careful there, the giant squid doesn't mind a stoat snack."
He was pressed against the stubbly cheek for a moment, and then the warm hands eased him to the ground and the wave of a wand undid the binding spell. Draco stood there for a moment, looking up at the towering figure. Then he turned and dashed away.
He never did get his mouse. An unsettled feeling kept him wandering about. He kept remembering what it felt like to have his fur stroked. Nothing he had ever experienced as a human compared. The entire body, humming with the touch, the feel of your fur compressed against your skin, the sweetness of it. And ear scratches! That was like wanking. Felt good to do it yourself, but somehow it was even better if someone else did it for you.
But…Weasley? It just wasn't right to be writhing in delight under a Weasley hand. Not right at all. Not right that a Weasley had such a delicate touch and managed to get just the right spots, that his hand was just the right size to make sure that every inch of a stoat body gathered its share of delightful pressure. Petting was hypnotic, the hand against the same spot over and over again, like some sort of unending orgasm, although admittedly not that intense. There wasn't the human equivalent unless it was a massage, and it was just unsettling that the experience nearest to it would be sexual.
How could something be loathed and adored at the same time? Perhaps if someone else petted him he could compare. Of course, to get that, he would probably have to confess his form to someone, and he didn't want to share his secret with anyone yet. There was no one he trusted anymore.
He decided to return, and switched forms. He was cold, and so he headed for the castle at a brisk walk, appreciating the ability to move on two feet, to see distances, to not have that constant gnaw in his belly. He went to his room, closed himself in and studied, hands over his ears to shut out the world. He went to bed early, burrowing down under his covers because it somehow did not seem safe with his head exposed. At least he slept well.
He was quite annoyed with himself at breakfast. He kept staring over at the Gryffindor table, where Weasley sat, next to Potter and across from Granger. Their heads were together. Anyone could tell they were plotting. Black hair, brown hair, red hair. Quite a bit of red hair.
Weasely had taken to wearing his hair long, but not long enough to tie it back. He was bigger than the other two, so his head rather obscured theirs. Draco had to force himself to took away from Weasley. He didn't want to be caught staring. Everyone would assume he was obsessing about Potter again, as he had in his younger days. Embarrassing to think of, now. He turned his attention to his table, listening to the rise and fall of voices, to the tone, trying to get a feel for their mood. A pair of fifth years were having a lover's tiff at the end of the table. So boring.
The owls came. He opened the newspaper to stare at the headlines, but he had to set it aside because there was also a letter from the bank. He opened it with a casual thumb and read it through. The goblins has sorted out some of the accounts. At least there was money, even if wasn't mounded quite as high as before. There was still so much to do. He'd have to write in return, but didn't have time before class. He tucked the letter away safely and finished his sausage. It was a link sausage just the length of a mouse. He had to force himself to chew, to use his manners, when he wanted to gulp it down whole.
Classes were long, and barely interesting. Except for Transfigurations. The students all knew that if you could get McGonnagal talking about animagus transformations, she could go on for hours--and sometimes forget to assign homework. He listened avidly for once to her dry raspy voice as she spoke of the ways to get stuck in a transfiguration, and how to get out. Draco took copious notes.
Not that she forgot about the homework this time. Which was too bad, because there was still a lot to be done before he descended into the depths below Hogwarts with Gryffindors. He had spells to learn, references to check, containers to modify. He had to check his closet. What did one wear spelunking?