“Answer him, boy”
“Answer him, what?” Draco angrily muttered. “He hasn’t asked me a question”
The werewolf sighed, “Alastor, the boy is wandless, no need to scare him witless.”
“He attacked, Potter. He wanted to borrow Kreacher, and Potter just confirmed that only last night, Malfoy here threatened him.”
“Boys talk.”
“Yes, but this is war, Lupin. Idle threats cannot be cast aside anymore.”
“Alastor, honestly, they’re just boys. Either way, Draco, why did you threaten Harry?”
Draco scowled. “Answer him, boy.”
“He threatened me first,” Draco spat.
“Harry,” gasped Mrs. Weasley.
Harry blushed under the gaze of the red-haired woman. “I’m sorry Mrs. Weasley.”
“Git,” murmured Draco.
“Potter!” shouted Moody.
“Enough!” Remus announced, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Harry, Draco, stay away from each other. We do have a war going on at the moment; we can do without unnecessary blood shed due to petty childhood spats. You’re both grown men as far as I’m concerned so behave like it.”
“I only wanted Kreacher to fetch an old stuffed dragon I used to own as a child,” sneered Draco from his place in the couch, pulling himself into a seating position. “Do you lot honestly think I’d try to contact the Dark Lord? You’re bloody mental if you think I can go back to him, Potter.”
“Fine, Malfoy, borrow Kreacher “ but if Hermione gets hurt in any way, or if we’re invaded by Death Eaters, I swear-” threatened Potter, before he was interrupted by Mrs. Weasley.
“Harry!”
Potter scowled angrily, turning his back on the group before stomping up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
The adults stared mutely at the raven-haired boy before turning around to eye Draco in careful consideration. Draco glared back. Suddenly, the woeful cries of the Mudblood filled the air. Draco’s attention snapped involuntarily to the little brunette. The Weasley matron let her go and everyone watched as she ran straight into Draco’s arms.
Draco couldn’t help smirking smugly in a self-satisfied manner. He picked her up and, calling out for Kreacher, carried her up the stairs to her room to tuck her in with a new stuffed dragon, hopefully.
A couple of hours later, Draco watched the Mudblood sleep cosily under the covers of her bed with a tight hold on her new stuffed dragon. It was an old toy that had once belonged to him. Of course, he had given it a glorious name: Scorpious the Dragon. Sighing in irritation, Draco stared at the newly baptized ‘Meow.’ The Mudblood was and had always been the bane of his existence, he knew. However, it oddly amused him that he didn’t mind the re-naming of his old toy.
Now, if he could somehow survive tomorrow, and find a cure for this mess, he figured that the rest of the war couldn’t be so bad. He only had to keep himself alive.
The next morning, Draco found himself being better at this ‘parent’ thing. Of course, he was concentrating at a high capacity that was almost at the same level required for Potions. He woke up early, and had a bowl of oatmeal ready for the Mudblood by the time she woke up. However, he didn’t count on her throwing a hissy-fit and throwing it on the floor. He stared at the white blob of food on the dirty floor, contemplating the best way to murder the Mudblood. Then he eyed Potter glaring at him from the doorway, and he cleaned up the mess before giving the four-year old a banana.
The rest of the day was spent in the library, researching more Potions in vain. After lunch had been brought up, Draco had thrown the last book across the room in anger. He needed Severus for this; he was only a student still, haven’t even finished his NEWT levels. He sighed in desperation, frowning at the Mudblood who was chanting about having ‘tea’ time. Draco eyed the clock and idly figured that it wouldn’t hurt just this once. However, he wasn’t counting on Ron showing up while having ‘tea’ in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place.
He had been sipping his ‘tea,’ scowling at the babbling Mudblood when the fireplace lit up with green flames.
Ron stood bewildered in the middle of the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. His best friend was three feet tall, holding a stuffed dragon, and chatting away with the overgrown snake. Harry had told him that Hermione had experienced an “accident of sorts” earlier in the week, but withheld details “ only stating she was fine, and that he should stay in Egypt to finish his scouting mission.
However, as he watched his pint-sized best friend and his nemesis having what appeared to be “tea”, Ron became livid that Harry had kept this information from him.
“What the bloody hell is going on here?” Ron bellowed.
Nonplussed at Ron’s unexpected arrival, the Slytherin composed himself before turning around, raising an aristocratic eyebrow at the red-head, flatly stating, “What does it look like, Weasel?” Granger and I are having afternoon tea.”
“Tea?” Ron parroted, looking like he had been hit with a Confundus Charm.
“Afternoon tea, to be more precise, Weasel,” Draco drawled out.
“Afternoon tea!” repeated Ron. “Are you mental, Ferret?”
“Not yet,” Malfoy replied with disdain, mutely handing Hermione a napkin to wipe the crumbs off her face.
“Why are you having tea when Hermione looks like that?” Ron demanded, pointing at the young girl currently shoving a biscuit in her mouth, the aforementioned napkin abandoned on the floor.
Malfoy stared blankly at Ron before calmly scooping a glob of cream and mixing it into his cup. Ron looked disconcertingly at Malfoy as he stirred the milky substance into his drink, took a sip of tea, and calmly set the cup back down on its saucer plate.
“Because, Weasel, I haven’t found the antidote to return Granger to her original state…yet.”
“You bloody Slytherin. It’s your fault that she’s like this in the first place, isn’t it?” Ron accused as he rushed over to Hermione who had taken to cleaning her mouth with the ear of her dragon.
However, as the red-head approached Hermione, she began scowling at him. Furrowed little eyebrows scrutinized him distrustfully.
“Who you?” she murmured, avoiding his eyesight, apparently scared at his volatile temper.
“Hermione, it’s me, Ron,” he stated as calmly as possible, perplexed at her reaction.
“Who Won?” she questioned, looking to Malfoy for clarification as Ron’s face turned beet red from anger.
“She doesn’t remember me? Why doesn’t she remember me, Malfoy?” Ron barked while Hermione shrunk into her seat in fear.
“Granger doesn’t recognize you, Weasel, because you did not exist in her life when she was four,” Malfoy scowled.
“She’s four?!” the red-head screamed. “Why is she four?”
Sighing in frustration, Malfoy admonished Ron, “Stop it, Weasley, you’re scaring Granger.” The former Slytherin then motioned to the tiny Gryffindor who was climbing out of her seat hastily.
“Fewat! Me and Meow are scared,” she cried as she squeezed the stuffing out of the red dragon.
“Scared? Why are you scared of me Hermione?” Ron cooed as he tried to embrace her. Without warning, she ran out of his reach and ran behind Malfoy’s chair, and whispered in his ear.
Ron was outraged at her reaction, pointed an accusatory finger at the Slytherin, and began ranting, “What did you do to her? Why is she scared of me? You prat! You changed her! Where is Harry? I’m going to talk to him, and then I’m going to kick your arse, Malfoy.”
Malfoy sneered at him before standing and picking up Hermione. She instantly put her head down on his shoulder and closed her eyes lazily. “Fine Weasley, go tattle to Golden Boy while I put Granger down for her nap, and then I’ll kick your arse,” he taunted, striding past Ron as he walked confidently up the stairs, clearly enjoying that Granger did not like the red-head either.
At the top of the stairs, Malfoy turned to look at the sleeping Hermione before whispering, “I think you and I are going to get along just fine now, Granger.”
Ron could not believe that the filthy cockroach had turned his soon to be fiancée against him. Only five days ago he had been holding her in his arms as they bid their goodbyes for another mission. He knew he shouldn’t have left Hermione alone with the Ferret. As he stomped his way through Grimmauld Place in search of Harry, Ron began thinking of ways to murder Malfoy in his sleep.
No, first I’m going to punch Harry in the face for not telling me she had been turned into a four year old. Then, I’m going to kill Malfoy in his sleep, Ron thought angrily.
Ron found Harry going over plans with Remus and Moody in the library.
“Potter!” he yelled as he slammed the doors open. “You and I need to talk, now!”
Harry looked up at him with a bemused expression. “Oi, mate, you made it back-” he began, but never finished when a swift fist connected with his nose.