Chapter 5
On the last day of Draco’s incarceration, Harry sat him down at his green table.
“I booked an appointment with Judith, she’s your vet, to make sure you’re well enough to transform back. If not, you can continue living with me for, well, as long as it takes to heal, I guess.”
Draco tried to look smug. But Harry was still talking.
“I…uh…just wanted to say. We’re welcome to go our separate ways at the vet’s office—we don’t need to make some big celebratory goodbye and, more importantly, I want to respect the fact that you clearly don’t want me to know who you are. You have your reasons, I’m sure, and I’ll respect them. Transform on your own time, and, uh, I guess we won’t really see each other ever again.
But I just wanted to say—(and at this Draco worried Harry was stepping on the line of being mushy)—I’ve enjoyed your company, Salazar. You made me start thinking about getting a cat after all this.”
Draco made no motion to acknowledge Harry’s unusually somber monologue. The next morning they were both quiet as Harry got up and got ready to take Draco to the vet. For the last time, Harry brushed his teeth while Draco watched Mirror Harry from his seat on the sink.
After a quick check in from Judith which, in Draco’s opinion, was definitely borderline intrusive for a snake, he was cleared to go. Harry stepped back and cleared his throat, tucking one hand into his long, wool coat. He gave Draco a small wave and a long, lingering gaze, then swept out. For the second time that week, Draco noted his unusually dramatic behaviour.
Draco’s confusion mixed with something else he couldn’t quite pinpoint lingered only momentarily—he felt a leap in his chest when he realized he was free to be a human once more.
The way home to his apartment was a blur, but he somehow found a way to slither there in snake form—there was no way self-respecting Draco would transform in the middle of the street and wander around South London, arse-naked.
The transformation was the hardest Draco had ever attempted, and it took several tries until he was reverted fully to his human form. He raked his hand through his blond hair, greasy after not being washed, and relished in the way his nails dug into his scalp. He took his time in the shower next, scrubbing every part of his body with his favourite mint soap, and sighing happily. He had missed showers most of all.
Draco had many things to attend to, however, and the weight of all of it crashed down on his bare shoulders the second he stepped out of the steamy bathroom. The first order of business—get dressed, and go see if (by some miracle) his wand was still downstairs at his shop where this had all started two months ago.
He managed to slip on some jeans but had difficulty remembering how to button his shirt. He thought that was so funny he had to sit down for a while. Bizarrely, his first thought was that he should tell Harry—he was always laughing at jokes that weren’t funny.
Shaking his head, Draco hurried down to his shop and was reminded of an incantation he’d placed on the store when he first opened it—it forbade Muggles from noticing it unless they were specifically looking for it. Sure, it may have dampened sales in the beginning, but soon, every Muggle on this side of London knew about his store. The spell worked effectively—the Muggle police hadn’t seemed to notice a missing man from his shop that looked like it had been demolished. Pleading to every god he knew of, Draco entered the doorway and dashed over to where he had transformed before—lying under a smashed vial of Anxiety Aid was a long, black branch that had been fashioned into a wand. Draco nearly kissed it. Once again, his first thought was of Potter—if he had been here, Harry would have berated him endlessly for his attachment to his wand. He’d probably drop a euphemism in there somewhere as well.
Draco’s next job was trickier. He spent longer in his bedroom, trying to find the right combination of clothes. He settled with plain, but elegant; a simple blue cashmere sweater on black slacks. He then spent about twenty minutes trying to concoct the perfect plan—once he’d decided, he Apparated to his destination. Attempting to play it cool, he sat down at the glossy black dinner table he knew so fondly and pulled out yesterday’s Daily Prophet, though he didn’t really read it.
He barely settled into his pose when he heard her fiddling with the lock on the door and then walking in. He fought to keep his face neutral as she walked into the kitchen. Inwardly, he chuckled as he heard the familiar clacking of her heeled boots—the one she especially liked to wear when she was in a foul mood. He hoped that she was in a foul mood because she desperately missed her dashingly handsome best friend, and not for any other reason.
“WHAT. THE. FUCK. ”.
Pansy stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Draco. She grabbed the nearest thing, which was one of her matching black chairs and swore again, loudly.
“Bloody hell, Malfoy, I—fuck!!” “Now then, Pans, watch your tongue! Is that any way to treat your best friend, who has been horribly imprisoned for two months?”