Chapter 9 ~ All's Well That Ends Well

- Still Friggin' Thursday, Still Trapped in the Mudblood's Clutches –

"OH. MY. GAWD!"

My future Malfoy Stipend Awardee stared with her full lips parted and her dark eyes wide and shocked.

As she should be! I was trapped in a cage and her bedsheets were being defiled by Mudblood-Scarhead filth! Was blood traitorism contagious? Could you physically catch ugly like bloody lice? Was being mediocre and bloody boring like an STD? I hoped not! My future mistress could not – absolutely could not – be sullied by that type of mediocre, bushy-haired filth!

They were getting all sweaty fighting and rolling around on those silky satin sheets and Salazar only knew how rank it was going to-

Excuse me while I throw up in my snout a bit.

…..

Just give me another moment…

::drinks from water bottle::

::tilts long neck back and gargles it down::

Ah, better.

I peered through the bars of my cage and tried to blink Morse code. It didn't work.

Bloody filthy Muggles.

Not that my mistress would have understood my cry for help anyway. She wouldn't know Morse code because she – unlike me – hasn't been contaminated by that Muggle filth known as Granger.

Granger had taken out one of those filthy books from a Mudblood shop you see, and it was on past encryption and decryption techniques. Why in the bloody hell she was interested in learning how to conceal her writing I can wager a few guesses on.

For instance, she may need to send war correspondence back and forth with that doddering fool of a Headmaster (Like they stand a chance! The Dark Lord will conquer all!) or perhaps she has plans on sending notes back and forth during class, the kind full of lewd and disgusting descriptions to the Weasel.

Jokes on her though, the Weasel would never be able to decrypt that shit.

Right now you may be asking yourself, why do I, a pureblood prince, know so much about encryption and Morse code? Literature does not seep into one's mind by osmosis. I hardly learned from being trapped in the same room as Granger's Mudbloodish books.

No.

Of course I didn't.

The answer is really quite simple you see.

Every day when that Mudblood has gone to class or left the dorm that evil, vile ex-house elf of mine has taken to reading Mudblood things to me.

My ears have bled and it's a wonder I am not deaf and dumb.

As it is, I know Morse code now. My future mistress, however, does not.

A pity; I really wanted to get out of this thing. Speaking of my mistress…

Crayola is still standing there, gaping. She is so traumatized that even after I took my time to wash that rank bile down with plastic-bottle-flavored water, all the while contemplating the ruins of my life, that she is still standing there. She hasn't moved at all.

The Mudblood and Scarface lay frozen on her bed, a tangle of limbs. Granger's hair has somehow puffed out to even more unsightly proportions than normal. She looks rather like a pygmy puff that got put through a few too many drying spells, and then electrocuted for good measure.

Crayola closed her full, pouty mouth, and then opened it again.

"Oh. My. Gawd! You two-but I thought-aren't you with-"

Her eyes darted towards where Weasley lay, immobilized and bound on Hermione's bed, and if possible her eyes went even wider.

"OH MY GAWD HE LIKES TO WATCH!?" She took a stumbling step back, but by hell was that an impressed look on her face?

No, no, no, no, no, NO! My mistress was not allowed to have such foul, loathsome, evil thoughts planted into her impure mind! That mind was mine to corrupt and no one else's!

I looked up and saw that in the chaos the top of the cage had been left open.

…..

This is it people.

The moment of my victory.

Like the stealthy Slytherin I was, I began to slink my way back up to the top level, climbing the bars while my enemies were distracted.

Thus far Scarhead and Granger's attentions were riveted onto my mistress.

The Mudblood reacted first.

"You-you think we-LAVENDER THAT'S SICK!"

"Well what else am I supposed to think!? You're throwing down on MY bed with the chosen one and your boyfriend's watching!"

"That's positively sick! And twisted! And-"

For once the Mudblood appeared to be at a loss for words.

Scarhead had opened his mouth, infuriated, as if ready to shout his agreement, only to snap it shut and whip his head back down to look at the bushy haired wonder. That wasn't hard given the imbecile was still on top of her. "Wait being with me would be sick?!"

Granger's head whipped back around to blink at him. "Wha-that's not what I-"

The frozen Weasley's ears had begun to turn bright red. Bright, fire engine red as he stared at his two friends, clearly realizing something.

Oh, how my tail wagged!

It would have wagged more, but I was in the middle of my stealth escape.

Lavender had clasped both her hands over her mouth, staring ahead in pure delight, as if this were the best reality wireless show she'd ever heard. She spoke behind her hands and sounded enthralled. "So Harry…he wanted to- And Ron- He had no idea, and Hermione-"

Scarface and the Mudblood were staring at each in abject horror.

I scrambled over the top and dropped down to the floor with a quiet thwump, my beady eyes darting furiously around.

The only one who could possibly have seen me at this angle was the Weasley, but the Weasel's entire face was now red, like a lobster being boiled to death by a high priced chef. He was so fixated on the disastrous attempt of 'mudblood dry humping' going on that he didn't even see me. Fantastic!

I crept around the edge of the cage…

Yes…yes! The coast was clear all the way to the door.

Scarhead shoved himself off Granger, and in his haste and hurry he rolled straight off the bed and smacked into the floor, his glasses flying off and skittering past.

Shit.

This was it.

It was now or never.

I made a run for it.

Unfortunately Scarhead had landed directly in my path, so I was left with no choice but to grit my teeth, charge full speed, preparing to leap over him. Almost there...

His hand shot out, no doubt in search of his glasses, and with a startled squeak – I mean manly….a manly squeak – I tried to stop, skidding, claws digging into and sliding across the dormitory floor as I made a hasty attempt to change directions, to dart somewhere – anywhere! – to avoid him, but it wasn't working! What was this floor made of? Ice?! With crystal clarity I realized what Mudbloods must do all day to alleviate their Salzar-forsaken boredom – they waxed the floor, and no I didn't mean 'wax the floor' in a good innuendo-esque way!

It was all happening in slow motion.

I slid.

Scarhead's oversized Neanderthal-esque hand flew closer.

The bushy haired Mudblood made a frustrated sound. "Lavender, trust me, you have the wrong idea about-well about this. All of this. Harry and Ron were just up here to-to help me-"

"Uh huh, 'help you'?" Crayola made air quotes, crossing her arms beneath her ample bosom and pushing them so far up they momentarily distracted me. "Is that what we're calling it nowadays?"

Weasel finally looked down, glaring after Scarhead, only to catch sight of me, in all my ferrety white glory, skidding with all the finesse of a professional ice dancer, and his eyes went wide.

Too bad he was immobilized and struck silent by the Mudblood herself! Ha ha! Karma!

Weasel started to make wild, wide-eyed gestures with his eyes towards the floor.

Somehow I was still sliding. If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought some magic was afoot. Instead it was just adrenaline, physics, and Godric Gryffindor and his sick and twisted sense of fucking humor.

Crayola was more observant than anyone gave her credit for, because she glanced down, her lips parting in a silent 'o' of shock.

Well…needs must when you have a hot audience.

Right about then my superior genetics kicked in, and giving up on attempting to avoid collision with Scarhead and his overly pale arm, I flicked my glorious tail backwards, shoved my hind legs against the floor, and leapt.

I soared!

I soared over Scarhead's outstretched arm, his broken glasses, the moron's inferior, half-blood vision only catching sight of me at the last moment (like a T-rex his vision was apparently attracted by movement).

"He's loose!"

Potter's head lolled on the ground as he made a frantic grab at me, missing, further proving that I was superior in every field, even when handicapped as I currently was in my teeny, tiny, furry state. I was superior at flying even without a broom. Ha! Take that you Firebolt cheating freak!

I soared over Scarhead's sprawled out form, casting Lavender a lascivious wink, soaring in slow motion like the glorious piece of tail I was. Her full, pouty lips fell apart in what clearly had to be awe, her pupils dilated in obvious lust. See? Us Malfoys…we have game even when we are furry. We have so much appeal that we have the capability of turning the good looking ones to the side of bestiality!

"Malfoy! NO!"

The Mudblood's hand flew out in a flailing attempt to grab me, her hand coming so close that I physically felt the breeze from her fingers ruffle my fur. Her horrified gasp was clear evidence of her imminent Azkaban imprisonment!

I continued to soar.

Lavender gasped in what was clearly awe.

Then again that sounded mildly horrified?

Well, who could blame her? She was trapped in a small dorm room with the likes of Mudbloods and blood traitors.

The longest leap in all of ferret history continued. My high arching jump began to angle down…

The Mudblood shrieked and toppled headfirst off the bed and onto Scarhead.

Yes, yes! The dormitory door was open! I could see freedom! I'd find Snape and finally be freed, take Lavender as my rightly queen, and then-

An orange tabby cat stood up, shook out its wild mane of lion fur, and with a yawn gave an almost lazy jump of its own.

Lavender Brown let out a horrified scream as Crookshanks leapt at the flying ferret, biting its head clean off.

Instant silence befell the dorm as the decapitated remains of the snow white ferret thumped bloodily to the dormitory floor, sliding right out the door and onto the stairwell landing.

Crookshanks gave an almost lazy lick of his paws, slurping up the remains.

The curse on Ron Weasley finally gave out, right as Lavender Brown shrieked.

Hermione Granger and Harry Potter practically fell over one another in a fumbling, flailing attempt to detangle their limbs from their spot on the floor, the latter finally having snagged his glasses, shoving them unceremoniously onto his face to behold the rather clean murder scene.

Harry Potter gawked.

Hermione's hands flew over her mouth. "Oh my god."

Lavender Brown sank bonelessly to the edge of the nearest bed. "Oh my gawd."

"Well," Ron Weasley said, sitting up and brushing his hands off on his jeans, "I suppose that solves that then."

Harry choked on a laugh.

Hermione's head whipped around to stare at him in abject shock.

Ron simply stood up, bending down to give Crookshanks a little scratch on the head on his way out. "Good kitty. You know…I always liked you."

And though the part Kneazle knew it was a lie, it gave its tail a rather smug flick, purring for Ron anyway.

After all… no one, absolutely no one, told their bushy-haired, bookish human that she was going to graduate school only to become an old 'cat lady'. Because Crookshanks, after all, was most assuredly not a cat, and took great, great offense to such a thing being implied.

Which is of course, the real story, and reason, behind why Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret, absolutely had to die.

And to think…the part kneazle didn't even get indigestion.

Hermione was still sputtering as Crookshanks finished grooming his perfect orange coat, expunging the pureblood evidence from his paws, while Ron Weasley walked out to the stair landing, picked up what was left of the body, holding it up by the tail, and with a rather wide grin told, "I'll just go toss this to Buckbeak then?"

And that was exactly what the Weasley did.

Harry Potter eventually shook off his shocked stupor, a strange sort of smile on his face. He eventually excused himself, muttering odd things about Quidditch.

Lavender, dull and stupid girl that she was, never even put two-and-two together, even though Hermione had shouted the ferret's name rather loudly.

And Hermione, well…she grew up, graduated, and became the first Ministress of Magic. She encountered amazing success, able to sway her opposition to her side of things with seeming ease (come to think of it, she was so adept that her opposition often gave up and left, cutting all ties with wizarding society to avoid the embarrassment of loss to a Mudblood) and for some strange reason always, almost always had a variety of ferrets in cages within her office.

Along with her part-Kneazle cat, that was not a cat, of course.

But hey, all Ministresses of Magic had to have their quirks, right?

The End