Chapter 8 ~ Of Murderous Whims & Droppings

- Still Thursday – Still in Scarhead's clutches –

Scarhead looked so enraged that it was a wonder his scar didn't burst out of that oversized forehead of his. I mean really, how did the Weaslette make out with him? It was like looking at an alien. If she wasn't a Weasley I might have shuddered out of sheer sympathy.

I mean really, the Weaslette wasn't all that bad looking, and if what got around the boys dormitories was anything trustworthy then Michael Corner and Dean Thomas both offered the assurance that she was a sure thing.

And regardless of her despicable family she was still a pureblood, so why was she choosing Scarhead when she could be getting passed around the Slytherin dormitories like a newly owled copy of Wizard's Weekly?

I shuddered at where my thought processes were going. Who knew what I could contract from banging the Weaslette? Was poverty contagious? Could I develop a sudden, irrational affection for the likes of blithering imbeciles like the Weasel and Scarhead? What if I suddenly found Hufflepuffs tolerable?

The horror!

Then again the look on Potter's face, if he discovered that his girlfriend had banged the Slytherin prince, might be just worth it enough to consider. My family had money. Surely we could find a Healer – or at the very least a witch doctor – that could purge any infestations contact with her caused.

I mentally added her to my list of conquests upon my release, right after Crayloa received her stipend and the shagging of a century.


The things I did in the quest for proving supremacy over the likes of half-bloods.

Pureblood life: it's rough.

Hanging in mid-air, being scruffed by the Boy Wonder, I debated my next move. I couldn't bite him without breaking my neck. I couldn't shit on him if-


I could shit on him.

I considered the depths of depravity that I'd officially reached, but he was scruffing me.

Through my ferrety teeth I grinned malevolently at Potter. Standing there, my spittle dripping down his glasses, he looked just like he would when I inevitably succeeded in systematically destroying everything he held dear.


But was lowering myself to this level worth it?


Slowly I clenched my cheeks and tried to squeeze.

"Answer him, Malfoy!" blithered the blithering Weasel.

If my eyes weren't scrunched in a misguided attempted to shit on Potter's shoes I might have shot him a scathing, ferrety look. Really, it was like the Weasel thought I could answer him!

"Damn't Malfoy! I asked you a question!"

"Ron….he can't answer you," Granger said, sounding as if she were rethinking all her life choices.

"You don't know that! Maybe he's just pretending he can't!"

At that I couldn't help but crack my ferrety eyes and arch a furry brow in legitimate question. Until this moment I hadn't realized 'just' quite how dumb the Weasel was, and that was saying something. Hell, even Potter was looking askance.

"Ron, he's a ferret," Scarface informed, then looked back at me to growl, "and he's going to stay that way until Hermione tells us what he did to earn this!"

That piece of poop I'd been trying to squeeze out broke loose, falling and smacking onto the toe of Potter's sneaker with a quiet plop.

A sudden, burning look crossed Scarhead's face. He looked down, then back up.

Then back down.

Then back up.

My tail gave a self-satisfied flick.


Oh good, the Weasel had been reduced to single words. This was improvement. It was so taxing hearing him talk.

Potter sputtered, "He-he shit on me!"

And then what I'd been hoping would happen, happened.

Scarface dropped me.

I had a second of soaring glee as I flew through the air. This was it! This was my chance to escape! Potter was shouting and bellowing, kicking his foot as if it were on fire. "He sodding SHIT on me!"

My glee ended when I saw the ground rushing up and I realized how fast I was falling.

Did ferrets bounce? I mean, I know they did from my previous experience with Moody, or Crouch, or whoever the hell he actually was, but that was when a wand was involved and-

Crap that ground was getting close.

What I really needed to know was if ferrets actually landed on their feet or not.

A foot flew past my snout, as if in slow motion, Potter trying to kick me like I was some type of ball in a forsaken Muggle sport.

He missed. Ha!

My victorious thought ended as I abruptly stopped, floating inches above the floor. What?

"Harry!" Granger scolded. "You can't just kick him! He has…he has organs. You can still kill him!"

Looking up from my precarious position, levitating above the ground – courtesy of the Mudblood's quick wand work – I saw Potter grinning.

"Harry James Potter!"

"What? I wasn't going to do it. I was just thinking about it."

"Come on 'Mione," the Weasel growled, stalking across the room like the troglodyte he was. "You can't blame him for just considering a Malfoy-less world-"


It occurred to me that they had abandoned the topic of exactly why the Mudblood had transfigured me into a ferret and leapt right aboard the train of 'do we or do we not kill him.'

Slithering Salazar the lot of them might have made great Slytherins if their blood wasn't so tainted.

And that yelping as Granger's wand flicked me back into my cage certainly wasn't me. It absolutely wasn't. It was some other misbegotten animal that had also been trapped unjustly within the Gryffindor girl's dormitory.

"Hermione," Potter started, "what did he DO to make you-"

"It hardly matters, Harry. The only reason I even showed you him was I don't know what to do. I mean if we change him back now he'll tell."

My tail flicked in a self-satisfied fashion. Was it possible for a ferret to evilly smirk? If so I definitely was.

She was still babbling incoherently and using multi-syllabic words, but the ramble ended with, "-can you imagine the detention I'd get?"

Potter stood there looking tense. "I think you have to worry about more than detention, Hermione. I'm fairly certain abduction and enforced encagement gets taken a bit more seriously by the Wizengamot after you're of age."

The Mudblood went shockingly pale, looking even worse - as if that were possible!

Ah ha! So Scarface was on my side.

"But he did," Potter continued, "deserve it. So I say we just obliviate him so he can't talk."

My tail stopped wagging. Instantly I stared at the likes of them, plotting to imprison, kill, or obliviate me. None of the options sounded befitting a pureblood prince. Where oh where was Crayola? My mental telepathy had to of begun to sink in by now right?


"Does obliviating work on ferrets?"

Scarhead and Granger both shot the Weasel identical blank looks.

And then Granger sank onto the edge of her bed, dragging her hands through her hair, making it even more bushy. It was a miracle Weasel hadn't already been swallowed whole.

"I-I have no idea," she admitted.

Finally! Something the Mudblood didn't know.

"We'll just transfigure him back," Potter ground. "Immobilize him, then obliviate him."

"What if he gets away?"

Scarhead grinned, a manic glint behind his glasses. "Oh trust me Hermione, he won't."

Like hell I won't! Though if I wasn't already acutely aware of my superiority to the Scarhead I might have been concerned about the carnivorous growl the wizard had said that in.

Then again, if they obliviated me that would not only deprive me of my revenge, but it would deprive me of all those wonderful visuals of my Crayola dancing around half-naked, and that would just not do.

It would not do at all.

"Hermione…if Malfoy's in here then um…how did you handle changing?"

The look Potter shot me at Weasel's question was murderous. Just the thought of seeing Granger naked though…

Until that moment I hadn't known that ferrets could throw up, but apparently they could.

"I'll kill him…" The offensively red-haired Neanderthal took a menacing step towards me, Potter right behind.

I wasn't sure what was worst: them or that blasted orange abomination. Either way, once again trapped in that Muggle torture chamber, I backed up and smacked into the rear of the cage. There was nowhere to go.

"Ron you can't!"

A large hand was reaching for the top of the cage. "I'm just gonna remove his tail, 'Mione. That's a-"

A hex hit the Weasel, freezing him in place where he loomed like the behemoth he was, while Granger flat out tackled Potter onto one of the beds. "Harry no!"

Frantically I tried to look around where the Weasel blocked my view, seeing a flurry of bushy brown hair struggling with the Boy Wonder on my Crayola's bed!

GET OFF! They were tainting it! This was seriously going to ruin fantasy number 217 on my list of things to do with Crayola if those two stayed on her bed!

Potter snarled and sounded rather like my father the first time he'd found out a lowly half-blood had beaten me to the snitch. "Yes Hermione! He doesn't get to-"

There was a grunt. A wand clattered to the floor. A large orange foot smacked down on top of it.

Staring through the cage bars I could see that the abomination had returned, and it had stopped its filthy Muggle-spawned owner's wand from rolling away.

The sounds of a struggle were still going on, the Mudblood clearly trying to wrestle a rage-fueled-Potter away from my perfect self.

"He's probably been oogling you, Hermione! Not to mention the rest of the dorm!"

"Harry, will you please be quiet!" she hissed. "Someone could hear you!"

As if perfectly timed the door to the girl's dorm flew open, my seductress standing there, blonde hair perfectly combed and staring at the sight of Hermione-Mudblood-Granger straddling Harry-Scarface-Potter on her beautiful, red satin sheets, while the Weasel remained immobilized over my bed. Cage. Prison. Whatever.

Crayola's jaw dropped, staring with her wide blue eyes.

My tail flicked excitedly.

Ah yes, it was all coming together.