This was written for the 2013 Halloween Creature Fest on Livejournal. I really hope you like it!

Warnings: BoyxBoy SLASH, excessive swearing, fluff... Switching between the word "mewl" and "mew" because sometimes he's whining as a kitten while other times he's-well, mewing. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. This was written strictly for fun.

Pansy Parkinson looked breathtaking. For the first time since returning to Hogwarts for their eighth year, Draco saw the twinkle back in his friend's eyes. Even under the guise of her animagus form, it was hard to mistake the creature as anyone else.

Although her feathers were the purest white—glistening in the early morning sunlight—her eyes were still the same colour. Even her slightly upturned beak resembled her human nose.

"A beautiful swan," Draco drawled, making sure to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Of course."

That bitch.

"Don't sound so jealous," Blaise intoned from Draco's right. "Your turn will come soon enough."

"That's easy for you to say," the blond huffed and turned his grey gaze on the man standing next to him. Blaise Zabini, with his darker good looks, soothing voice, and natural charm had acclimated to life back at Hogwarts easily. He was the only one of Draco's inner circle accepted among the other students, especially among the Eighth Years. Just yesterday, Draco had witnessed as he laughed with Potter over a game of Exploding Snap.

If anyone accused Draco of being jealous, he'd rip their hair out.

The smirk that Blaise shot Draco's way was nothing, if not condescending. "Your time will come, young Padawan."

"Sod off, Blaise," Draco growled. "You only know what a 'Paddywon' is because of all the time you've been spending with Finnegan. Don't think I didn't notice the looks you give him," the blond's scowl deepened, "and his arse."

"Touchy, touchy," Blaise teased, closing the distance between the two and slinging his arm around Draco's shoulders. "You're deflecting," he whispered conspiratorially. "Your lessons with Granger are going well, Dray."

And wasn't that just the perfect kick in the teeth? Not only were Blaise and Pansy Animagi, but the Golden Trio was too. Even Potter had mastered it! Potter may have been the greatest hero of their generation, but he was an idiot.

"You're just overthinking it," Blaise advised. "You have to clear your mind the first time."

"Maybe that's why Potter can do it," Draco suggested, a grin playing at the corners of his lips. "He doesn't have brains to begin with."

No sooner had the blond finished his sentence, then a dark look settled in Blaise's eyes. He had been very sensitive about the Golden Boy since they had become friendly.

"You and I both know it's dangerous to speak about Harry like that," Blaise's said tetchily. "After everything he's done for our world—for you—he deserves a break. Merlin's frilly knickers, Harry even convinced Granger to help us."

Ignoring the fact that his best friend had just referred to Potter as Harry, and deciding it was too early in the morning to argue—Draco hadn't even had his morning tea—he shook his head and chewed on the corner of his bottom lip. He absolutely did not feel any sort of guilt or appreciation for the speccy git. He didn't. "I still don't know why he did," Draco whispered, unable to meet his friend's knowing gaze. Instead he focused on Pansy, the white swan was checking out every angle of her animal form in the lake's reflection.

For the briefest second, Draco secretly hoped the giant squid would pull the swan in the water.

How had everyone mastered this, but him?

"No, you wouldn't understand," Blaise said, breaking the silence. "For someone as smart as you, you can be a bit daft." With that, Blaise left Draco alone and joined Pansy, laughing as she wiggled her tail feathers.

Watching his two friends play near the water's edge, Draco suddenly felt small and invisible. It was like he was living in a world that he no longer recognized. It may have been a matter of mastering his animagus, but how long would his friends wait before they actually left him behind?

Still smarting from Blaise's dismissal, Draco turned on his heel and stormed toward the castle, missing the sad look that his friends shot at his retreating back.

"Today," Draco pledged aloud. "It's happening today."

"Dammit!" Draco shouted, his blond hair falling in his eyes as he threw a mini-tantrum that would make any toddler proud.

He marched over to the lake, searched out his reflection, and fumed. There was only a soft patch of white-blond fur on his right cheek. Well, at least that meant no birds or toady-scaly-type creatures, and for that Draco was grateful.

"Oh god," Draco gasped. What if he was a ferret? If he was, he would just die.

Without consent, an image of Potter's green eyes flitted across his mind. Rarely did Draco feel like he was seen anymore—it was like he could stand in a crowd full of people, but all they saw was blond hair and a faded tattoo on his arm.

Only when Potter looked at him, his searching gaze boring into Draco's very core, did he feel like himself. He felt worth something—something more than stares and whispers and tripping jinxes and—

"Not being able to fucking transform!" the blond shouted and stormed back and forth in a line, crushing the grass underneath him and sending stray rocks flying. He prowled for a few minutes longer until his forehead glistened with a light sheen of moisture—in no way did Draco Malfoy sweat like some plebian.

Unlike Potter who walked around red-faced and sweaty most of the time. Granted, Draco usually saw the Gryffindor after a Quidditch pickup game or lessons with Granger. Still, only cavemen like Potter and Weaslebee went around dirty and unkempt. How Granger could handle being around them was beyond him. Maybe they secretly clubbed her over the head to inebriate her idiot-radar?

The blond snickered and plopped onto a rock nearby feeling exhausted and not the kind that a good night's sleep could fix.

Why couldn't he get this?

Not for the first time, Draco wondered what animals the Golden Trio had transformed into.

He hoped that Weasley was a slug or a worm or a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

And Potter?

Draco ran a slightly shaking hand through his blond hair and chewed on the inside of his cheek—what did it matter what animal Potter was? It's not like Draco would find out anytime soon.

"Dammit," he blurted again for the sake of relieving some frustration and roughly scrubbed at his face with his hands. "Just clear your mind," he whispered soothingly and clamped his eyes shut. "Forget about everything around you. Forget about the castle and the professors, and Gryffindorks, and speccy gits."

Unbidden, an image of Potter from that morning flashed across the back of the blond's eyelids. He had been smiling at Weasley and Granger, his eyes vulnerable—the joy that radiated from his smile was so all consuming and encompassing that Draco wanted to be the reason for that smile. It had made a gentle warmth settle in his heart and spread throughout his body.

Even hours later, the expression on Potter's face made Draco's skin tingle—

Wait a second.

That wasn't a memory causing that reaction in Draco—and boy wasn't he grateful that he wasn't harbouring some sort of feelings for the idiot Gryffindor.

As quickly as the light tingling had danced across his skin, it had stopped. Stamping down his outrage, Draco recalled his last thought before the tingling had started. Potter jumped into his mind again and once more the tingling resumed.

Ignoring the connotations of that for the moment, Draco concentrated on the way that memory-Potter's face lit up—his emerald eyes catching the sunlight just right and twinkling like two green stars on an already bright face, making his heart pound in his ears.

The more that Draco thought about his former enemy, the more the tingling grew until his skin was trembling, his entire body twitching in violent shudders.

"Merlin," he growled through gritted teeth and clenched his hands into fists. He wasn't in pain, far from it, but he could feel his body changing and he knew—this was it, the moment he'd been waiting for.

As quickly as the shivers had wracked his body, they were gone, leaving Draco feeling shaken and uncomfortable in his own skin.

Stay calm, he told himself when he opened his eyes. The world around him, the world in which he knew like the back of his hand, was unrecognizable. It was HUGE for one, so much so that it startled Draco who fell off the boulder he was sitting on, hurting his foot—his paw.

Oh Merlin. He had paws. Little teeny, white-blond paws that were smaller than the tiny pebble he had kicked earlier. This did not bode well.

A quick glance confirmed that he did, indeed, have four legs and four bitty paws, and his stomach dropped.

Please don't let me be a ferret, he begged and closed his eyes in a silent prayer. Please, please, please—anything but a ferret.

Struggling to stand on all four of his paws, Draco took a tentative step forward, stumbled, and fell on his face with a mew.

A mew?

A bloody mew? That could only mean…

NO! He mewled. It was the most pathetic sound that Draco had ever heard. Oh Fuck.

That was when the sheer and utter panic set in. As if making himself as small as possible would somehow change him into a different animal, Draco hunched in on himself and scooted against the boulder, snagging his tail in the process. His tail?!

He glanced at the offending piece of anatomy and cried. His tail, which was definitely not a ferret's—thank Merlin—was very similar to a miniscule lion's tail and matched the white-blond of Draco's paws.

Buggering.

Hell.

He didn't secretly have the heart of a fucking Gryffindork, did he?

Forgoing any sense of tripping over his paws, Draco army crawled—digging his claws into the dirt—over to the edge of the lake.

The first thing he saw when he peered into the water was unusually large, white-blond ears. In fact, they were so large that if he were to flap his ears hard enough he could master the art of flight.

The second thing to catch Draco's eyes were, well, his eyes—they were bigger than any eyes on such a tiny body had any right to be and took up half of his cat-like face. They were more silver than grey and even when he scowled they looked sweet and innocent.

Dammit.

He turned to get a better look at his body and that's when he saw the white spots decorating his fur. The tail, the white spots, and the large ears were the markings of a Kneazle.

Fuck.

And he was fluffy. Fluffy and snuggly looking.

That meant that he was a fucking, cuddly, mewing, ordinary housecat. How could he, Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune, be something so domestic?

And a fucking kitten one at that.

He was small enough to fit into a first year's palm. Still staring at his reflection, Draco frowned. Even as a baby Kneazle he still had a black marking on his front leg from his Dark Mark and a light criss-crossing of scars from sixth year on his chest. He couldn't escape his history.

He remembered the gleam in Pansy's eyes when she had looked at herself in the lake. The soft smile playing around her beak seemed to taunt Draco. Not only was she something beautiful and graceful, she was free.

Draco was not trying to kill himself.

He wasn't.

Not that he knew what had actually happened. One second he was standing safely on the shore staring horrified at his kitten reflection and then he was in the lake, struggling to tread above the water.

And the howling? He didn't even know that a kitten could scream that loud, not that he made a habit out of forcing kittens to cry.

But he was so screwed with the plants clinging to his paws, the mucky water filling his lungs, and his life flashing before his eyes—most of which was not something that Draco was happy to relive. No matter what he did, he couldn't turn back into a human.

He screeched and willed his bitty paws to move in tandem instead of clawing at the water and making everything worse.

I'm sorry I wanted to push Pansy into the lake, he squeaked. Don't let the Giant Squid eat me!

It was with that thought in mind that Draco felt his entire world go black.

When Draco opened his eyes, he noticed two very important details about his surroundings. He was still a kitten and the bed that he currently occupied was inhabited with another body. A much bigger body with skin and dark hair snuggled into the pillow so Draco couldn't get a good look at his face.

That was when the blond clued into another detail, a very important detail as to who had taken Draco as their pet. The room in which he was held captive was covered in red and gold, including the duvet and the pillows he was relaxing on. Of all the people to find a baby kitten and take them in, he thought it would be a Hufflepuff, which seemed almost better in comparison to a Gryffindor.

At least Hufflepuffs would worship the ground he walked on since they were known for their love of all things cute.

Plus they would have food and Draco's tiny tummy was growling.

Oh God. What if his new caretaker was a friend of Potter's or worse? With Seamus Finnegan? Then he'd have to spy for Blaise. After all, if the roles were reversed, he'd expect Blaise to spy on Potter for him.

Not that he liked Potter or anything.

What if it was Longbottom? He'd be dead within a week. Admittedly the bumbling imbecile had come into his own during the war, but he was still forgetful and clumsy and would probably forget to feed him or sit on him and crush his bones.

Draco cringed just as his stomach let out a particularly loud rumble, ripping a pathetic cry from his throat. He really was hungry.

The giant next to him stirred and groaned before exhaling softly like he was falling back to sleep. Oh no they didn't. Draco was starving and if someone was going to keep him prisoner, they had better feed him.

He crawled across the soft blankets and head butted his captor's shoulder, whimpering his plea for a bowl of milk.

"Okay, okay, I'm up," the man muttered before rolling over.

Draco looked at the man on the bed—more specifically he stared into the too bright, emerald eyes of the man next to him.

Of course it would be Potter. Harry fucking Potter was the one that had taken in the kitten. Draco Malfoy was now Potter's pet.

Man the fates really hated him.

"Hey there, cutie," Potter cooed as he reached out his palm to Draco who was, admittedly, whining on the bed.

As hungry as he was, Draco was not having that. He arched his back and hissed at Potter, sending him a murderous glare, which the idiot returned with a besotted smile.

As if to placate a wounded animal—and Draco was not an animal no matter what his body was doing—Potter raised both hands in surrender and shifted onto his knees. "Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you."

And then Potter—the tosser—did the unthinkable. He scratched behind Draco's gigantic ears, sending a tremor of pleasure throughout his entire body. Before he could stop himself, the little cat stretched into the embrace and mewled for more.

God he was sick. He even nuzzled the man's hand and purred like some sort of cat-whore. Maybe that's what all pets were. They whored out their affections for the tiniest amount of attention because it felt so fucking good.

"That's right, boy," Potter murmured, running a hand down Draco's furry back eliciting the most satisfying mewl from his tiny, kitten mouth.

Please let Potter do this all day, he begged and crawled toward the other man's lap.

That was until the stupid, idiot, wanker bastard scooped Draco into his calloused hands and brought the little ball of fluff to rest against his chest. Needless to say, Draco yowled and nipped at Potter's shirt in warning.

Don't ever do that again, Draco shrieked, or I will claw off your balls and feed them to the Giant Squid.

"Are you hungry, little guy?" Potter asked softly as he gracelessly clambered off the bed.

Draco narrowed his silver eyes at Potter and dug his claws into his chest, ignoring the perfect muscles underneath him. Damn. Defeating Dark Lords did have its perks, and more specifically, it turned one from a skinny little git to an Adonis. Good to know. Draco—who had a naturally good physique—pledged to fight against the next Dark Lord to rise to power. Maybe then he'd have the respect and the body of a certain Boy Wonder.

"Ow," Potter whined like a little girl. "For something so little you sure have a lot of attitude. Reminds me of someone else," he said to himself.

And wasn't that just fucking great.

Not only was the Gryffindork insulting him, he was ignoring the state of Draco's little tummy in favour of thinking about someone else with a faraway look in his eyes. The tosser. He was probably thinking about the redheaded bint, Weasel Junior.

Don't ignore me, Draco demanded with a sniff. How dare you fantasize about someone else while I'm starving!

He flattened his ears and hissed.

"Yep," Potter smiled down at Draco. "Definitely just like him."

Him? Him?! Potter was busy dreaming about some boy? Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, Defeater of all Evil, Vanquisher of the Dark Lord, was into men? Oh this was rich.

Wait until everyone hears about this. It'll be—

Draco stopped mid-plot. There was no one to tell. He couldn't even speak.

"I had the house elves bring some food for you," Potter continued as if he hadn't just shattered Draco's world. "It's down in the common room."

When the door creaked open, it was too loud for Draco's overly sensitive big ears. He winced in pain and jumped onto Potter's shoulder, sinking his claws into the Gryffindor's skin. His reaction would have been embarrassing if he wasn't too busy shivering and cowering against Potter's neck.

Oh-so gently, the speccy git rubbed Draco's back in a soothing pattern and gathered the blond body in his hands, bringing Draco back to the safety of the other man's chest.

"Poor Baby," Potter cooed, "that scared you didn't it?"

Piss off, Potter, Draco shot daggers at the man's beautiful green eyes, his body still shaking. Reluctantly he snuggled into the Gryffindork's collarbone.

"Come on, Blondie," Potter murmured and smirked at the kitten.

Draco blinked at the idiot who had the nerve to call him Blondie. I will make you pay, you buggering imbecile. I will claw your eyes out! Don't ever call me—

The Slytherin stopped mid-rant when he was assaulted with the scent of food.

He looked over and saw the table in the common room piled high with an assortment of delicacies. All of Draco's favourite foods were there.

Oh, he could get used to this.

Later that night, curled on Potter's lap in front of the fire while the man absently stroked Draco's ears, was enough to make him forget the deplorable company Potter kept.

Weasley, the stupid, freckled git, shovelled every sort of candy and sweets into his wide-open trap with one hand while holding hands with bushy-haired Granger with his other. His girlfriend—God he didn't want to imagine what sex between those two looked like—studied a thick, leather tome in her lap.

"Has anyone seen Draco?" Blaise asked as he sauntered up to the group, ruining the peaceful silence that had settled between them. Well, almost peaceful silence given the sounds the Weasel made while feasting.

The only indication that Potter had heard Blaise's question was a quick stutter in his gentle ministrations to Draco's ears. Other than that, he turned his head to study the fire, dismissing the inquiry.

"I haven't seen him since lunch," Granger supplied for the group. Clearly, mentions of Draco were not welcome around the Golden Trio.

Draco felt his stomach drop to his knees. He knew that they had all reached some sort of tentative truce, but he didn't think he was the equivalent of rubbish to them. Since he was a sensitive little kitten at the moment, he could safely admit that it hurt.

Blaise nodded as if their reactions to the question were expected. "It's just that he was upset earlier and—" he followed Potter's hand, his eyes clashing with Draco's. He smiled the most Slytherin smile the blond had ever seen. It was so sinister and wicked that it made the kitten gulp.

That did not bode well.

"You know what," Blaise declared to the group of Gryffindors. "I think I remember him mentioning something about staying with his mum for a few days."

"Really?" Hermione deadpanned. "Shouldn't he have to, I don't know, stay at school like the rest of us?"

"No," Weasley said, swallowing a large bite of chocolate frog. "His royal highness can do whatever he wants." He snorted and rolled his eyes, but stopped when Potter let out a growly-rumbly-type sound.

"If you must know," Blaise cut in smoothly, "his mum is in France and Draco never has a chance to see her."

Granger nodded as if Blaise's explanation made perfect since. Which it didn't.

"We all know what sort of a mummy's boy he is," Weasley barked out a laugh.

"Don't," Potter rasped, his voice tingeing on anger, "just don't, Ron. Draco—"

The man-kitten in question sat on his haunches and stared into Potter's passionate eyes, feeling a slight tremor in his body. Potter had called him by his first name. Potter thought of him as Draco. Potter looked like he was ready to murder a werewolf.

"—saved our lives. If it wasn't for his mum," he narrowed his eyes at the redhead, "I wouldn't be alive. I'm glad that Draco gets to spend some time with her."

Potter's outburst had the desired effect—the Weasel clamped his mouth shut, looking properly chastised. Even Granger had let go of his hand and was casually flipping through her book.

"Well," Blaise said, cutting the tension around them, "I'm off to find Pansy." He turned to walk away and shot Draco a cheeky wink. "Have fun with your new kitten, Potter," he called over his shoulder.

Draco wished he had been left to drown in the lake. He preferred the idea of a painful death by asphyxiation or getting eaten by the Giant Squid than spending more time with Harry bloody Potter and the rest of his fucking Gryffindor gang.

And they really were like this weird tight-knit little circle.

He had already spent an entire week with them and abhorred the idea of spending any more.

Apart from the phenomenal ear scratching and backrubs, it had been a week's worth of hell.

Potter carted his "pet" kitten everywhere—the Great Hall, the common room, classes, the kitchens—and people, ghosts, and house elves gave the Kneazle their fondest attention, the girls cooing over the animal and the boys restraining themselves from doing the same.

Draco loved it. He loved it a little too much. It made it all the more harder for him to go back to being the invisible former Death Eater when he turned back into a human. He didn't want to be invisible again.

Especially when Potter looked at him with such adoration, his green eyes soft and shining as he chuckled and snuggled against the kitten. Or the complete and utter joy that washed over his face when Draco cuddled against him.

God, he even liked the way that Potter smelled of apples and grass like a spring breeze.

Plus Potter was caring and attentive to Draco's every need, responding to every whimper or mew with an, "Alright Blondie." Even when Draco refused—refused—to use a litter box. He may have been an animal at the moment, but fuck that, he was still heir to the Malfoy fortune and demanded to be treated as such.

It took a while for Potter to catch on, but once he did, he had charmed a little stairwell that lead to the toilet for Draco. He even gave the cat privacy to do his business.

It wasn't just the things that Potter did that made the past week unbearable, it was his damn smile or the way he sometimes snorted when he slept like he was laughing in his dreams, or when he cried out in torment in the middle of the night and Draco was the only one to console him—

Draco loved that. He fucking loved comforting Potter.

Draco had become addicted to Harry Potter within a week. Seven bloody days and every second spent with him were painful. It reminded him of everything he wanted, but couldn't have.

It spoke volumes of Draco's affections for Potter that he found he was even able to tolerate Weaslebee's and Granger's presence. Weasley brought him treats and let Draco eat off his plate and Granger would transfigure objects into toys for "Blondie."

All in all, Draco had only ever been treated this well by his parents.

He hated that he liked it.

And his two best friends were no help. They had told everyone about Draco's last minute trip to visit his mum and of those that noticed the blond's absence, very few of them actually cared.

Then Pansy and Blaise would laugh every time they saw Potter scratching behind Draco's ears—and fuck if that didn't feel amazing—and cooing sentiments at his kitten.

And Draco was lost. He even liked being called Potter's kitten.

He was sick and demented.

Pansy and Blaise, who could have rescued Draco from the entire situation, were awful, terrible, dreadful, human beings.

And Potter was snoring too loudly, his warm breath sweeping over Draco's fur in a way that was comforting and annoying. He readjusted his position on Potter's pillow and snuggled closer to the man sleeping next to him. He studied Potter's face—his unnaturally thick eyelashes, perfectly rosy cheeks, full, pouty lips, and messy, soft hair—before closing his eyes, burning the image of a peaceful Potter into his mind forever.

"No," Potter groaned and rolled onto his side. "Don't—don't leave," he begged in his sleep, furrowing his brows. "Don't leave me," he cried out and thrashed around the blankets. "No—no—NO!"

Draco leapt to his feet and stalked over to Potter, placing his paws on the man's face, soothing away the worried lines that were etched around his eyes.

"I can't—please don't," he yelled as tears started to slip out of the corners of his eyes.

Curling into a ball next to the man's head, Draco pressed his nose to the brunette's and licked the tip of Potter's nose. He purred as he comforted Potter in the only way he knew how—nuzzling against the man until he felt the warmth of Draco's little body seep into his skin.

Please wake up, Draco said only it came out as a soft mewl. Don't do this to yourself.

"No!" Potter shouted, a gut-wrenching, chest-clenching, shudder inducing sound. "Come back, please," he pleaded in his sleep. "Please come back to me."

I'm here; I'm here, Harry, Draco whined and rubbed his head against the man's cheek as the Gryffindor broke into wracking sobs.

The first time the other man had called out in his sleep, the blond had been shell-shocked to the point that he had almost piddled on the bed.

Almost every night the same pleading voice would wake Draco up from his sleep only to be met with a crying Potter. A crying Potter calling for him.

Eventually, the man jolted awake—his emerald eyes clashing with silver—and cuddled the tiny body on top of him. He held Draco while he murmured broken sentences about "death" and "parents" and "love."

Harry Potter, the person everyone wanted to be or fuck, was the loneliest man Draco had ever met.

"Thank you," the Gryffindor breathed when he had gained control over his emotions. "I love you," Harry whispered as he planted a soft kiss on Draco's furry head and drifted back to sleep.

And fuck, if Draco didn't mew the sentiment back.

Two days later, Draco found himself looking at old photo albums nestled against Potter's chest and chin as the man sprawled inelegantly across his bed, the album resting against his bent knee.

"That's my parents," Potter whispered in awe and smiled at the couple waving and blowing kisses at them. He scratched behind Draco's ears and flipped the page.

Draco had heard of Sirius Black of course, not only had he been known as one of the greatest criminals alive for most of Draco's life, they were also related. Although he had never seen his cousin in any pictures other than the ones the Daily Prophet had published. The Sirius Black hugging James Potter and holding a baby Harry tightly in his arms was not what Draco had expected to see.

He was handsome. He had an air about him that made Draco want to get to know him more. There was a charm in the way he winked at them with an easy smile like he knew he owned the world.

It reminded Draco of his mother.

Stretching out his hand, Harry touched the tips of his fingers to the page, the hint of a watery smile on his lips. "I miss him. I don't remember my parents, but I knew him. He was my first," Potter sighed heavily, his breath trembling with emotion, "he was the first parent I remember."

Draco sat up and lightly placed both of his paws on Potter's cheeks. He nuzzled against the man's face, purring loudly and revelling in the soft chuckle that escaped him.

"You're sweet, you know that?" Harry—Potter, Draco corrected—scratched under Draco's chin. "You're also the prettiest kitten I've ever seen," Potter cooed. "Want to go for a walk, pretty boy?"

Draco found that he wanted to do anything, as long as it was with Harry.

"You'll be fine," Harry reassured the kitten curled into a ball in his pocket. "I won't let anything happen to you, I promise."

And bugger if Draco didn't believe him.

He mewled softly, cuddled closer to the man's hand, and tried to stop the quivers from shaking his body. He failed. Miserably. But that didn't matter. What did matter was the fact that Potter chuckled a tantalizing sound that warmed the kitten's little body.

For nearly three days Potter—because he was acting like an insane lunatic—had talked about this in an effort to prepare Draco for his first pickup game as a kitten.

Potter had even charmed some Quidditch gear for the little Kneazle to wear.

That endearingly adorable act was in no way so sweet that it made Draco want to snog the life out of him. As a human, not a cat obviously.

With another loving scratch behind Draco's ears, a whistle blew in the distance and Potter kicked off the ground and flew into the air.

Two hours later, Potter stuttered to a halt on the grass with a frazzled kitten and the golden snitch held tightly in his hands.

"We did it, Blondie," Harry laughed and kissed Draco's tiny nose, almost letting go of the snitch. "You were amazing."

Lost in his own Potter-bubble, Draco's heart swelled at the look of adoration in the man's emerald eyes. The world around him disappeared along with the knowing smirk that Blaise shot at the rest of the Golden trio and their returning smiles.

The first time Draco had walked in on Blaise and Finnegan had been a traumatic experience.

Draco normally escorted Harry everywhere, except the showers. He was alone when the kitten absentmindedly wandered around the Eighth Year boys' dorms, waiting for Harry to return.

He was so used to being snuggled by Harry that something was missing when he wasn't around.

When had Draco become that sort of person? Cat, really.

But deep down, underneath the fur and claws, Draco couldn't blame the kitten for loving Harry because Draco, the man, loved Harry too. He must have pissed off the wrong god for that fate.

He loped around the corner and was met with the sound of soft moaning from one of the beds. Its curtains wide open for the entire world to see.

"Yes," Finnegan hissed and closed his eyes. "My turn," he ordered and moved from behind the pillows blocking his naked body from Draco's vision.

Draco mewed in shock when he saw Blaise's head pop up from behind the same stack of pillows, his cock jutting out toward Finnegan's face. Blaise lovingly ran his hands through the other man's hair and cupped his cheeks. He planted a soft kiss on his lips that quickly deepened into something looking more like they were trying to swallow each other's tongues than snog.

Then Finnegan promptly swallowed Blaise's dick down his throat and Draco tore out of the room like his life depended on it.

He needed to bleach his eyes and his brain. Blaise was a dead man.

Catching Blaise and Finnegan shagging was nothing compared to Weasley and Granger. That image did so much damage to Draco's psyche—he knew that Granger was just as bossy in bed as she was out of it—that Draco wanted to throw up whenever his mind replayed the scene.

It liked to pop into his brain at the most inopportune times, making the kitten wretch like he was coughing up a hairball. Like the time Harry had decided to tease Draco by walking around in nothing but a towel for an entire afternoon.

The bastard.

His glistening pecs and chiselled abs caught the sunlight pooling through the curtains just right and blinded the tiny kitten. The droplets of water falling from the tips of his dark hair and rolling lazily down the man's body made Draco long to trace the water with his tongue.

His brain short-circuited the moment that Harry had scooped him up and nestled him against his naked chest.

God, he wished he wasn't a kitten.

He wanted to nibble, lick, and taste every inch of the man's flesh.

Life was so unfair.

It was a month into his transformation that everything in Draco's life changed again.

He had been playing with Harry like he normally did on sunny afternoons—Harry moving a piece of string back and forth and Draco chasing the end of it because he needed to catch it dammit—when a soft hooting sound interrupted their game.

Harry stilled his movements and stared over at the window, a haunted, broken look in his green eyes. His perfect lips formed the most heart-wrenching frown Draco had ever seen. It made him want to snuggle every drop of sadness out of the man. Acting on instinct, he crawled into the man's lap and nuzzled his thigh.

Please don't, Draco mewled recognizing the expression as one that Harry only used when he was remembering something from the war.

"Hermione," Harry whispered, his voice trembling. "I forgot," he added as he stared at the snowy-white owl with bushy feathers. The owl looked down at the ground in apology and half-hopped, half-flew over to the bed. She pecked lightly at Harry's jean-clad leg and pointedly stared out the window.

"Thanks for the invite," Harry answered the unasked question. "I think I'm going to stay here with Blondie for a while."

The owl lifted its wings as if it was shrugging and hopped back out the window, screeching through the air as it flew away.

Minutes ticked by in silence. Harry hadn't moved since he had taken in the sight of the owl resting on the windowsill. Eventually, the Gryffindor took in a deep breath and brought his knees up to his chest, forcing Draco to scurry out of the way else he get crushed.

Harry rolled onto his side and buried his face into the bed. "She looks so much like Hedwig," Harry whispered so quietly that Draco wasn't sure he had heard him right. "She was my first friend, you know?"

I know, Draco mewled and raced over to Harry, placing a paw on the man's chin.

"She died for me. She saved me," he murmured. "I may have defeated Voldemort, but she saved me from so much more. I wouldn't be who I am without her."

It was in that moment that something in Draco shifted, pulverizing his previous ideas of affections for the broken man before him. He had always thought of Harry Potter as the hero and the rescuer—the boy who had saved the world and loved the attention while doing it. Over the course of the past year, more specifically the past month, Draco had seen the truth for what it was: Harry didn't want to be the hero even though it was something that was so much a part of him that he couldn't escape it.

It wasn't until he gazed upon the shattered man on the bed that he was faced with another reality and this one scared him more than living in a manor with the Dark Lord ever did.

Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World, was in need of saving.

With everything that was in Draco, he nestled against Harry and wished more deeply than he had ever done, to be human again. As he lay cuddling against the Gryffindor, he didn't want to be Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune, he wanted to be Draco Malfoy the man whom Harry loved. The man that could help heal the Saviour with his own love.

To this day, Draco wasn't sure if it was because he was finally willing to admit his love for Harry or because Harry needed him more than he needed a kitten, Draco felt his body shuddering and the blood in his veins tingling.

One second, he was a furry ball of kitten huddled against Harry's body and the next; he was a human straddling the other man's chest.

Both men stared at each other frozen like statues.

"Bloody hell," Draco swore, his voice rough from little use other than mewls, and jumped off of Harry. Before the other man had the chance to throw a hex, Draco tore out of the room as fast as his legs could carry him to the sound of Harry shrieking his name.

"I'm sure it's not as bad as you think," Pansy combed her fingers through Draco's hair, his head in her lap. It was reminiscent of their days as children when Draco was told that he couldn't eat the lollipop he wanted.

Only Harry Potter wasn't a lollipop.

Despite how delicious he looked.

It had been over a week since Draco had become a human again. A full week of silence from not only Harry, but the entire Golden Trio, not that Draco hadn't ran away every time they had tried to approach him. He just couldn't take the rejection. He couldn't handle Harry, his Harry, looking at him like he used to look at Malfoy—he was too used to Harry staring at him as Blondie.

"It is, Pans," Draco whined and nuzzled his head into her hand. He still had some mannerisms left over from being a kitten.

"Stop being overdramatic," Pansy chided and glanced at their companion who was busy shuffling his feet and looking anywhere but at Draco.

The first thing Draco had done a week ago was give Blaise a severe tongue lashing for the trauma he and Finnegan had inflicted. Apparently they had been shagging for months.

Ew. Just ew.

"I'm not being dramatic," Draco screeched and sat up, successfully brushing off Pansy in one swift move. "He hates me. Always has. Always will."

"That's where you're wrong," she responded, her voice calmer than it had any right to sound. "You should have seen the way he looked at you, Dray."

"You mean, Blondie." Draco fixed his eyes on the Slytherin green duvet—it should have been Gryffindor red, he thought to himself—and ran his fingers gently over the silk. "He loves a kitten."

"You're that kitten, Dray," Pansy tried to reason, but it was falling on deaf ears. Harry Potter didn't care that Malfoy was his pet kitten. All that mattered was that Malfoy was Malfoy.

"I'm tired," Draco said by way of dismissal and climbed under the covers of the bed they were piled on. He turned his back to his friends and buried his face under the pillows. He didn't want to hear anymore. All he wanted to do was figure out a way to stop every moment he had lived with Harry from replaying in his mind.

Even his dreams, when he could sleep, were haunted by emerald eyes and an impish smile that left him laying awake at night, missing the heat from Harry's warm body next to him.

He spent his days feeling like a zombie, especially when he saw Potter laughing with his friends—head thrown back and shoulders shaking—and easily ignoring his former kitten.

Not for the first time, Draco wished he had never gotten involved with the whole Animagus business.

"Good job, Harry."

"Congratulations, Harry."

"That catch was amazing, mate!"

"I cheered for you!"

"Can I have your autograph," Lavender Brown asked, pulling down her shirt to reveal her ample cleavage, "right here?"

The entire Eighth Year common room was celebrating Harry successfully completing a Wronski Feint and catching the golden snitch in a game against the official Gryffindors. They had been taunting the Eighth Years for weeks about their talent, bragging that they could defeat the older students any day.

Harry Potter had showed them.

Harry Potter always did.

"Good game," Blaise smiled and clapped Harry on the back, dragging him into a brief hug for which Seamus Finnegan sent a glare in their direction.

Draco was glad to see that he wasn't the only one jealous, not that he was.

For his part, Harry blushed and ducked his head with every excited compliment thrown his way. Where Draco would have mistaken the sheepish grin he wore on his face as false modesty, he now saw it for what it really was—Harry didn't think he deserved the attention.

He knew that in every awkward head nod and with the constant shuffling of his feet that Harry would have rather been under his invisibility cloak in that moment than in the centre of the celebration.

As if he could feel his eyes burning holes into his body, Harry's green gaze sought out Draco's and time seemed to stop.

Draco swallowed around the lump in his throat as he welcomed Harry's attention. He felt his face heat and his heart speed its rhythm as Harry Potter, Boy Hero, stared at Draco like he mattered.

As a kitten, Draco could handle the emotions that scrambled his mind and flooded his body. As a human, he felt powerless against Harry.

He watched from across the room as the Quidditch players celebrated their victory—Granger was snogging Weasley in the opposite corner, a bottle of Firewhiskey in her hand—and fought the smile playing at his lips. He had the reputation of being a cold-hearted bastard to protect after all.

Draco followed Harry's every movement with his eyes, remembering all the glimpses he had compiled of the brunette's almost naked body. He was imagining a particular fantasy in which Harry actually wanted him, when his best friend rudely interrupted it.

"Harry keeps looking at you, Dray," Blaise shouted in his ear in order to be heard over the loud music. "You should talk to him."

"You smell like booze and Finnegan."

Blaise's lips curled into a wicked smile, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. "Not as much as I'm going to smell like him tonight."

"Gross," Draco declared and elbowed his friend in the stomach. "Careful Blaise, if I didn't know any better I'd say that you were seriously falling for a half-blood Gryffindor."

"Says the man who is in love with Harry Potter," Blaise countered with an eye roll. "You and I both know you're behaving like a ninny, Dray."

"Says the arsehole."

Blaise chuckled and tried to pull Draco onto the dance floor, but the blond refused to move. He planted his feet and glared at his friend. "I know you're desperate," Draco drawled, "but you don't need to manhandle me."

Shaking his head, Blaise pinched Draco's arm hard enough to leave a mark.

"Ow! That hurt, you bastard!"

"Not as much as running away from your problems hurt." Blaise advised with a soft smile.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know more than you think."

An hour and three shots of Firewhiskey later, Draco could honestly say that he had forgotten all about What's-His-Name as he stumbled up the stairs to his room, singing an old Celestina Warbeck song at the top of his lungs to a chorus of "Shut up," from his fellow students.

"Oh, come and stir my cauldron," he bellowed and gestured to the entire staircase as if he was giving a concert to thousands. "And if you do it right. I'll boil you up some hot, strong LOVE," he sang when he reached the door to his dorm room. "To keep you warm toniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight!" he shouted when he threw open the door and stumbled into the room.

He would have fallen if not for a pair of strong arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him upright. The scent of apples and grass filled his nostrils as the person behind him dragged him over to Draco's bed. The only empty one in the room.

"Silencio," he heard the familiar timbre whisper as he deposited the blond on the bed with a bounce. Then he heard another whispered incantation and felt the tingle of a sobering charm wash through his veins.

"What are you doing?"

"What are you doing?" Harry countered, his green eyes boring into the blond like he could see inside him. If he could, then Harry would see his own name written over Draco's heart—and buggering hell that sounded pathetic.

"How did you get in here?" Draco asked, his voice sounding small as he shuffled on the bed, trying to put as much distance between the two as possible.

Harry, a smug grin playing on his lips, crowded Draco until the blond's back was to the headboard and Harry's chest was pressed against his. "Blaise let me in," he whispered, his gaze darting down to Draco's lips and back up to his eyes. "But I'm not here to talk about him," he leaned forward until his breath was ghosting across Draco's mouth. "I'm here because I found this little kitten, you see, and I took it home with me." Harry pressed his forehead against Draco's and lightly nuzzled the tip of the blond's nose. "I got really attached to the little guy and I realized something. Do you want to know what it was?"

Feeling his speech failing him at Harry's close proximity, Draco nodded his head, jarring Harry's face and barely touching their lips together. The pleasure he got from the almost-kiss ripped a low moan from his throat. Harry chuckled against his face, his warm breath touching his heated skin.

"I realized that he was what I've been missing all these years."

"I—" Draco started but couldn't find his voice. There was no way that Harry was telling him what he had been hoping to hear for a while now—years if he were to be honest. He remembered meeting the speccy child while they were being fitted for their robes, more specifically, he remembered green, impossibly green—the green of spring grass, the green of the leaves on his favourite climbing tree as a child, the green of a pet turtle he once had that he fed cookies to, and the green of the Quidditch Pitch before he would soar and fall in the air over and over again during playtime.

Well now, Draco felt himself soaring and falling as Harry gazed at him with more than affection and adoration, he stared at Draco like the blond was the one to save him.

Harry reached up and traced Draco's jawline with his thumb, rubbing soothing circles into his skin. "And even though I thought Blondie had come into my life because of a practical joke being played by my former rival, I realized that I loved him and that he was a part of me."

His mother had once told Draco that the first time she had kissed his father, it had felt like fireworks had exploded in her head. When Harry closed the distance between their mouths, Draco felt his entire world turn upside down. He felt fireworks and cannons and heard the cheesy, orchestra-type music bursting in his head. Harry's lips were soft and Draco soon discovered that Harry's hands in his hair was so much better than Harry's hands petting his fur.

"You're a part of me," Harry whispered against Draco's lips. "Never forget that, you bloody wanker."

"Me? What took you so long, you tosser?"

Harry pulled away and Draco immediately regretted the loss. "I'm the tosser? You're the one that's been avoiding me for two weeks! I had to break into your bedroom in order to get you to look at me even and only because you can't hold your liquor. Thanks for that, by the way."

The Gryffindor was glaring at Draco and the sheer heat in the man's eyes was enough for gooseflesh to break out on his skin. More importantly, the man he loved was in his bed and had just confessed his love for Draco.

"Take off your clothes, Potter," he ordered and raised an eyebrow when the other man opened his mouth to argue.

Following orders, Harry unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his unbelievable body, making Draco's throat go dry.

"Oh, I see," Harry smirked as he shucked off his jeans and tossed them over his shoulder. "Here I was thinking my sweet little kitten was as innocent as can be, and he turns out to be a voyeur." His green eyes darkened as he rubbed his hands across his torso, close but not close enough to what Draco really wanted to see.

Inching across the mattress on his knees, Harry pinned Draco's hands to the wall above his head. "Did you ever watch me wank, Draco?" And his name should not have sounded so dirty and filthy that it could have been a sexual position in and of itself.

"N-n-n-no," Draco stammered, feeling all the blood in his body rush to his cock as Harry nibbled and sucked his way from Draco's ear down to his collarbone.

"And why is that?" the man asked after sucking a mark into the blond's neck and—fuck—it felt good.

"You never did it when I was around," Draco keened when Harry thrust his hips against Draco's adding delicious friction and finding an answering hardness rubbing against his thigh.

"Fuck," Harry hissed as he dropped Draco's hands and moved away. "I want to touch you, Dray, I want to see you." He kissed the blond's chest, gathered his shirt by its hem, and pulled it over his head. He never would have guessed that taking off one's shirt could be attractive, but with Harry, it was the sexiest thing he could imagine.

With Harry's help, Draco was divested of his clothes—including his pants—and was pushed onto his back with Harry straddling his hips. The other man attacked Draco's mouth with fervour, sucking on his tongue in a way that made the blond whine and beg for more.

"I'm not going to last if you keep making those noises, Blondie," Harry whispered into Draco's ear, sending a shockwave of heat and tremors throughout his body.

"I need," he panted and rutted against Harry, his mind reeling over the fact that Harry was there and it wasn't a dream.

"Tell me what you need," Harry encouraged with an answering thrust of his own.

Feeling all control leave his body, Draco clamped his eyes shut and counted to five. Then he counted to five again. "Touch me, Harry. Please touch me."

And fuck, Harry was reducing him to begging, but Draco didn't care. His entire body screamed for release from the only person he wanted in the world to give it to him.

Not needing to be told twice, Harry kissed his way down Draco's chest, laving attention on his sensitive nipples—biting and sucking on them until they were red, pebbled nubs and Draco was screaming. He licked every line of scarring across Draco's chest, his eyes showing the remorse and guilt buried deep inside the other man.

"No," Draco said and smoothed the wrinkles from the other man's forehead. "We both did stupid things that we regret, Harry."

Planting a chaste kiss on Draco's biggest scar, Harry smiled against the other man's skin. "You're beautiful, kitten. So fucking gorgeous."

He continued his ministrations down Draco's torso and buried his nose in the rough blond curls. With an impish grin, he licked a stripe from the base of Draco's cock to the tip, darting his tongue into the tiny slit and sucking a drop of pre-come into his mouth, making the blond squeak.

"Fuck, Harry," Draco shouted when the other man swallowed—not just sucked but swallowed—Draco down to the base.

Bobbing on Draco's cock, Harry pulled back and swirled his tongue around the head before swallowing it down his throat again. He traced a vein on the underside of Draco's shaft with his tongue making the blond howl and thrust his hips in abandon.

"Harry," Draco cried, feeling heat coil low in his belly, "I'm go-going to c-c-come."

The Gryffindor moaned and pulled completely off of Draco's cock, his saliva connecting his bottom lip to the tip making Draco shudder at the sight. "No, you're not," he declared. "I'm not done with you, yet."

Draco shivered at the rough tone in the other man's voice and mewed.

He bloody mewed.

Like a fucking kitten.

God, how embarrassing.

Harry, for his part, chuckled darkly, and rose up to kiss Draco deeply—entwining their tongues and frotting against Draco, his pants rubbing against Draco's sensitive cock and making him hiss.

"Where's your lube?" he whispered seductively in Draco's ear, followed by a nibble to his earlobe.

"Bot-bottom left," Draco whimpered against Harry's lips.

In less than two seconds flat, Draco was stretched out on his back with Harry kneeling above him sucking and biting at his hipbones while he encircled Draco's hole with a lubed index finger. Like the bloody tease he was, Harry removed his finger and rubbed the digit up and down Draco's crack, driving the blond mad.

"Harry—fuck—"

Without warning, Harry thrust his finger into Draco's entrance and wiggled it inside of Draco. Harry Potter was inside a former Death Eater—that thought made the blond want to throw his head back and laugh and he would have, if he wasn't too busy thrashing about and wailing his pleasure. Fuck, one finger had no business feeling that good.

Just as Draco was about to complain that it wasn't enough, he felt another finger trace his swollen rim, making the blond throw his head back and howl. "Fuck, Harry!"

"God, Kitten," Harry panted and licked Draco's torso. "I love watching you all spread out before me."

Draco thrashed his head back and forth and whimpered. "More. I need more."

"Fuck, yes," Harry hissed and complied.

One finger was quickly followed by two and then three until Draco felt like he was being split apart and put back together as Harry's questing fingers touched that spot deep inside Draco that made his vision go white.

"Please, Harry," he begged and thrust down onto Harry's fingers. "Please."

Feeling suddenly empty at the loss of Harry's fingers, Draco had the irrational thought that he would ever be whole again until there was a blunt object pushing its way inside of Draco. A blunt object that was much bigger than Harry's fingers.

Harry whimpered and stilled his hips after he had pushed the head of his cock inside. "Fuck, Blondie," he moaned and licked at Draco's lips before rocking into the body beneath him.

"Oh God," Draco screamed and wrapped his legs around the other man's waist.

Harry set a brutal pace, hitting that blinding, scream-inducing spot inside of Draco over and over again until all he could think about was the spot where he and Harry were connected.

"Fuck, Harry, that's so good," Draco wailed and bit down on Harry's shoulder. "I—God—I," he moaned, "Oh fucking yes."

"You like that?" Harry asked after a particularly hard thrust.

"Yes," he mewled, stretching his neck to kiss Harry.

All too soon Draco felt his body shaking as he came all over his and Harry's chests and felt an answering pulse inside his arse as Harry shuddered above him.

It was the most beautiful thing that Draco had ever seen.

"I love you," Draco whispered reverently against Harry's temple when the other man collapsed against him.

Never in a million years would he have thought that he would ever say that to the man snuggled against him. Now, thanks to turning into a fucking kitten, he knew Harry in a way that no one else ever would.

He couldn't help it. A laugh escaped his lips as he cuddled against the man that he loved.

"What's so funny," Harry murmured, his voice heavy with sleep.

"Nothing, love," Draco replied, kissing Harry on the mouth and smiling against his skin. "I just can't believe I'm your little kitten."

Harry chuckled and buried his face deeper into Draco's neck. "I knew the entire time," he whispered and placed a light kiss on Draco's skin.

"What?" Draco asked, squirming underneath the man so he could stare into his eyes.

"Er," Harry replied, brushing the hair out of Draco's eyes and readjusted their position so that Harry was spooning Draco's back, his cock nestling between the blonde's arsecheeks like it belonged there, which, Draco surmised, it did. "I knew it was you all along, Blondie. But that's okay, because you're my kitten," he said and nuzzled against Draco, "and I'm your crup."

I just received one of the most beautiful birthday gifts and the gifter didn't even know it was my birthday. The absolutely lovely Furere has created a gorgeous piece of fanart for this story. Please check it out and send love. furere. deviantart art/the-kitten-prince-Drarry-speed-paint-409791739 ?ga_submit_new=10%253A1382874950 (take out the spaces on both sides of devianart).

Thank you for reading! As always, reviews are lovely and greatly appreciated. :)