Author's Note: Okay, so this wasn't exactly the "soon" I ended the last chapter with. But I have a reason! Apparently, my computer really likes to crash. Really, really likes to crash. We're talking consecutive crashes here, three or four times a week. I'm actually kind of proud of it's unique crashing ability, as it doesn't seem to need a reason and always goes out rather spectacularly.

But anyways, here's the story. I think this chapter is weird.

Draco was furious. They thought he was feminine? They wanted to call him little girlie names? They couldn't see he was a boy? (This one particularly hurt his man ego)

"What about Molly?"

"Like Mum? That'd be weird."

"Oh yeah."

They wanted to name him after a Weasley?! That was it. He had to prove his manhood. He would show them how to tell the difference between a male and female! He would show those idiots how wrong they were! How completely unfeminine he was!

"I've always like the name Emi—" Hermione was interrupted by a fearsome sqeak. Instinctly, she looked towards the noise, "what the heck..."

There, on Harry's left knee, was a peculiar sight. The yet-unnamed sugar glider was standing precariously on it's hind legs, eyes wide and tense, and it's two little arms outstretched—flexing.

"What's it doing?" Ron asked quietly. "Is there something wrong with it?"

"I don't..." Hermione trailed off.

Draco switched poses. Hermione, the resident muggle-born, eyed him for a moment. "It kinda looks like what those muscle men do. You know?"

"You mean the whole 'The beach is that way' thing?" Harry flexed his own arms in demonstration. "But why would a sugar glider do that? It must be a coincidence."

"Yeah, you're right." Draco growled a bit at that. They had been so close! He made a mental note never to partner with a Gryffindor for charades. Not, of course, that that situation would ever come up.

"Maybe it's a spasm. Just...slower." Harry just shrugged.

Draco, tiny muscles straining, decided this pose thing wasn't working well enough. He needed to do something more manly. Something that only boy rodents could do. Besides, it was really hard to stand on two legs. Wait, his mind latched on to something important. Something manly and obvious. Something involving standing up.

"Now what's it doing?" Ron quirked an eyebrow and the creature seemed to relax and moved to the edge of Harry's knee.

"I don't kn---oh my god!" Hermione, who'd had enough experience with Dracos . . . . little presents . . . today, practically flew into the corner of the cabin. "That's it! I'm leaving! I'll see you two next month! Bye!"

And she was gone.

Harry and Ron were motionless for a moment. Staring in disbelief at Harry's knee, the small splash on the floor, and Hermione's empty seat.

"Well." Ron said finally.


"I guess 'Molly' is out then."

"Suppose so."

And that was the end of the naming talk. And the gender confusion.

Several Hours Later

The first thought Draco had upon seeing Potter's uncle was: damn. The second, and more eloquent, was: no wonder Potter's so skinny. Probably has to wrestle his food away from that beast.

Taking his eyes off the ahem large ahem man, Draco realized they had reached their destination. He mused for a moment on the irony that he, Draco Malfoy Slytherin Extrodinaire, was to be the first wizard in over a decade to actually discover the location of Harry Potter's house. What he could do with that information.

He conveniently disregarded the fact that he had been asleep the entire drive, and in truth had no clue where he was.

The pocket he resided in shifted sharpely, causing Draco's furry body to compact to nearly half it's normal size on instinct. He let out a shrill squeek. Harry had bent over. Sodding git, he seethed, just walking around like there's no one in his pocket! I could have been crushed! I could have died!

The pocket straightened out again and instantly he jumped out, latched on to the nearby shirt and crawled up with surprising velocity. He was going to give Potter a piece of his mind. Lack of English be damned.

"Sodding git!" he seethed. "Just bending over like that like there's no one in your pocket! I could have been crushed! I could have died! And all because—"

"Wha—ah! Get off my face!"

There was a loud thunking sound and a large hand picked Draco up in one sudden motion. He found himself in the pocket again.

"What's going on out here!?" A person Draco could not see demanded.

"Nothing Uncle Vernon! I just dropped my trunk is all."

"Well pick it up," the voice was much closer and much more threatening this time. "And get inside before the neighbors see you."

Draco grinned widely from his pocket. He'd gotten Potter in trouble. Maybe this little vacation wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Yes Uncle Vernon."

The depressed tone made Draco rub his hands together in glee. Huh? That's about when he noticed there was something on his hands—or paws rather. Blood? Had he been a hairless animal, and had someone been in that pocket with him, they might have noticed him go a bit pale observing his bloodied hands. But Draco was hairy and alone, and so no one saw his reaction.

The pocket shifted again, this time more slowly and carefully, as Harry picked up his trunk again and carried it into the Dursley's house. He sighed deeply as he shut the front door. He'd been here no more than two minutes, and already he'd been yelled by his uncle and clawed up by a very small animal. He had a feeling things were only going to get worse.

He was right.

The first night his relatives had left him alone, and so it was early morning the next day when Harry actually saw his aunt and cousin for the first time in months. It was a very touching reunion.

Upon seeing his one and only cousin, Dudley had joyously exclaimed: "What happened to your face?"

To which Harry replied "I ran into a door."

This seemed to make both Dudley and Petunia's faces glow mildly. (Vernon's face was already too shinny to really see any glow.)

No one pointed out that doors tend to not to come equipped with small claws—especially not at face-level. Harry assumed they enjoyed the idea of him walking face-first into a door too much to argue it.

That was pretty much the end of conversation for Harry during breakfast. He munched on his quarter of grapefruit while the other three discussed Dudley's upcoming (as in two months away) birthday, and what presents he would like. Occassionally they would look at Harry while discussing particular presents, rejoicing in taunting him with things he would never, in their opinion, be worthy of receiving.

But mostly they just ignored him. Which was good really, as he had grapefruit pieces to smuggle upstairs. And getting caught stealing food, even from his own plate, was an offense punishable by death if your name was Harry Potter and you lived in the Dursley household.