Of Wings in the Night

Damn, thought Draco. Damn, damn, damn. He hurried down the corridor, paws silently flying over the ground, and turned the corner--only to meet with an empty hall. Tilting his sleek head up, whiskers quivering, he tried to detect any trace of Mala. There were traces here, but they were hours old. She must have left. If only he’d been able to get that Transfiguration essay done in time! But no, Crabbe and Goyle had decided to start some stupid game or other and inadvertently started a fire near Draco’s homework. Draco had had to do the essay over again, and he was not happy at all. And now Mala was gone. Maybe she was still around.,,, Draco decided to track her.

Several hours and much stress later, he was seriously considering giving it up and roaming the castle as usual. But something inside him couldn’t leave Mala alone. After all, a winged cat with the power of speech was not exactly common. She had said she wasn’t an Animagus; well, for that matter, he had lied about that. Yet he couldn’t think of anyone in Hogwarts that would become an Animagus --Ravenclaws wouldn’t feel the decidedly un-academic thrill that prompted people to become Animagi, Gryffindors would never do something so underhanded, Hufflepuffs wouldn’t have the brains for such a complex spell, and Slytherins would prefer something more, well, vermin-esque. At the last thought, he smiled to himself. He wasn’t sure why he’d turned out like he did...actually, he was trying for a dragon. But this happened instead. Draco could not honestly say he regretted it; now that he came to think of it, a dragon might have been too much for the Hogwarts halls to handle. As a cat, he could maintain his dignity and still be unobtrusive if necessary.

“What do you want?” Lost in his thoughts, Draco had practically collided with a very furious Mala. “You just had to make a dramatic entrance, didn’t you? Oh, let’s frighten Herm--Mala out of her wits, let’s step out of the shadows, after making me wait in the corridor we agreed on for a damn half hour?”

Despite himself, Draco was impressed. Mala’s fur was standing on end, her wings lifted high, her eyes electric, her claws outstretched. She looked livid enough to roast him slowly, skin him alive, and slice him into very small pieces, not necessarily in that order. And for a cat, she was pretty damn hot, the feline portion of his brain added. Shut up, the human part of his brain said. Ew. Ew ew ew. She’s a cat and...that’s just too gross. Remember, you’re a human.

Mala cut into his thoughts. “Well? You’re supposed to start apologizing now.” Draco knew a cue when he heard one.

“Um...I didn’t mean to be late...I mean, I was rather busy...” He was apologizing to a cat. Draco couldn’t get over it. A Malfoy, apologizing to a cat? Well, right now that Malfoy was a cat himself, and on pretty thin ice at the moment.

Still bristling, Mala spat, “And what were you busy with? I mean, how busy can a cat be?”

Draco smirked. “Oh, terrorizing smaller creatures and finding mirrors to admire myself in.”

Mala rolled her eyes, but he could tell she was amused. “You sound like a Slytherin.”

He grinned as much as his feline face could. If only she knew... “Apologies, m’lady.” Then a thought struck him. “Slytherin? How does a cat know about the Houses?”

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes changing from incredulous to superior to amused. “Are you always this thick, or is it my amazing beauty that dazzles you?”

“Huh?”

“Ranger. I’m a cat, sure, but I talk English. And I live in Hogwarts. Connect the dots, Sherlock.”

Draco felt very, very stupid. But--“What’s Sherlock?”

Mala rolled her eyes again, not bothering to conceal her laughter. “You’re kidding.”

Gritting his teeth, Draco ground out, “Tell--me-- what--Sherlock--is--right--now--or--by--Merlin--I--swear--I’ll--rip--your--tail--out--and--stuff--it--down--your--throat.”

“Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was a really famous author; he wrote a series of books about a detective named Sherlock Holmes.”

Draco blinked. “Muggle?” She just looked at him. “Okay, okay, I’m an idiot,” he growled.

Mala flicked a whisker at him smugly. “I knew you’d admit it sooner or later.”

“What kind of a name is Sherlock Holmes, anyway?”

“Oh, like you could come up with a better one.”

“Sure. How about...um...Draco Malfoy?”

Mala rolled her eyes and smirked an oddly familiar smirk. “You really are Slytherin. The head of the Junior Death Eaters Club? I’d kill myself if I had his name.”

“Gryffin-whiskers, I hate to interrupt your little hate-fest, but Voldemort is dead now. Maybe you think Harry Potter is a better name?”

“At least it’s an honorable one,” she shot back.

“It lacks mystique. It does not hint at nobility, secrecy, or anything but...Potter-ness.”

She sighed. “I have to admit, you’re right. But Draco Malfoy doesn’t hint at anything but slimy ferret-ness.” Her tone had sharpened on the last sentence.

Draco suppressed a laugh. A cat was insulting his name, for Merlin’s sake. “Let’s talk about something more pleasant. How are you?”

He watched her mind shift gears almost as quickly as his own. “Fine, thanks so much for asking. What about you?”

“The same.” There was an awkward pause. Draco broke it hesitantly. “So...tell me about your family.”

To his surprise, Mala immediately looked grief-stricken. “I--I have to go. I’m sorry. It’s really late.”

She exited so quickly, Draco hardly had time to call “Goodbye...”

.

Hermione ran to her dorm room and changed back and forth from cat to human very fast; it always calmed her. What must he think of her now? But her parents’ death still hurt. What she wouldn’t give for the opportunity to use the Killing Curse on one of those Death Eater spawn in Slytherin...well, all right, maybe just use the Cruciatus Curse on them. In human form, she gripped her wand tightly and pointed it at an imaginary Parkinson...Crabbe...Goyle...Malfoy...hah. The thought of Ferret Boy reliving his time as a small, furry creature, bouncing off the walls, made her grin almost demonically. With a satisfied sigh, she began to change from her nightclothes into her school robes. Parvati Patil stirred sleepily.

“Hermione? What’re you doing up at this hour?”

“Getting ready for classes,” Hermione answered with an un-Hermione-like chirp in her voice.

“You’re nutters,” Parvati mumbled before drifting off to sleep again.

Hermione was cheerful all day. For some reason, she felt good about her meeting with Ranger even though they’d argued most of the five minutes and parted...well, if not on bad terms, in uncertainty. Yet she felt uplifted for the rest of the day. At lunch Ron confronted her about it.

“Hermione, you’ve been humming and practically skipping all day! What’s up?”

“Hm? What are you talking about, Ron?”

Ron glanced at Harry, one of those ‘male bonding’ glances that would usually annoy her no end but failed to have any effect today.

“Ron’s right. Hermione, you’ve been smiling non-stop, even in Potions!”

Now that she came to think of it, she was aware of a bright grin plastered across her face. She tried to stop smiling, but only managed to make herself laugh. “Come on, guys! Aren’t I allowed to be happy once in a while?”

Again, Harry and Ron looked uneasily at each other. Suddenly, Ginny spoke up from Hermione’s side of the table. “Come on, leave her alone.”

Hermione shot her a grateful glance. “Thanks, Ginny.”

Ginny smiled back. “You can repay me by having a nice long girl talk with me later.” There was something in the way she said it that made Hermione’s subconscious register dangerous signals, but her conscious self ignored it. She was too busy thinking of how to get away early enough to meet Ranger. Well, she hadn’t actually said she’d be back the next night...and if Ranger decided to take a break from acting Slytherin he’d get to know what it felt like to be stood up.

She smiled. “Sure. I’d love to.”

That night, Ginny knocked tentatively at Hermione’s door. “Hermione, it’s me--Ginny Weasley.” The door swung open, and Ginny entered.

Hermione was sitting on her bed, already in pajamas. “So, Gin, what did you want to talk about? I know you’ve got something in mind.”

Slowly, Ginny nodded. “Hermione--Ron and Harry aren’t stupid. There’s something going on. I think I have an idea, but...” Her voice trailed off.

Hermione hesitated, and smiled. “Whatever you have in mind, I know you can’t have guessed.” The redhead raised an eyebrow. Hermione sighed. “All right. I may be doing something incredibly stupid, but I’m going to tell you. Ginny--I’m an unregistered Animagus.”

Ginny was frozen for a moment. Then she jumped onto Hermione’s bed, grabbed a pillow, and squealed. Fortunately, Lavender and Parvati weren’t in the room, and the dorms had Silencing Charms on them to muffle noises from adjacent rooms. “Oh, ace! When? How? Why?”

“You know, that’s the response I least expected from you!” Hermione laughed.

“Really?”

“All right, I didn’t expect ‘Snape, my secret lover, is also an Animagus and told me he could read your mind when we were snogging one night in Voldemort’s bedroom.’” The image hit both girls’ minds at the same time.

“EEEWWW!”

Ginny pretended to barf. “Hermione Elizabeth Ann Granger, you have a truly nasty mind. But seriously, what happened?”

Hermione spent the next twenty minutes explaining about the Flashbacks and, after some hesitation and prodding from Ginny--“But that doesn’t explain why you were so bouncy today. Come on, cough it up.”--about Ranger. Finally, she wound up with the past two nights.

Ginny simply stared at Hermione for a moment. “What are you still doing here? Go see if he’s out there! Hurry!” Hermione found herself being bodily propelled out of the door. “And we are going to talk some more tomorrow!” Ginny called after her.