Author Note: This fic is a mongrel of many fic clichés. Written for hp_getlucky fest for Misplaced_exile. Enjoy!

Draco had been trying to pluck a hair from Harry Potter's scruffy head for weeks now. It was getting silly. The stupid idiot must have thought that Draco had some sort of pathetic crush on him from all the close proximity he'd suddenly been initiating. Which was ridiculous! Of course he didn't have a damn crush, crushes were for girls. What he felt for Potter was a manly sort of violent, aggressive need to see him naked.


The last time he had seen Potter naked had been during the war. During all those terrible months with the broken cabinet and trying to keep his parents alive, and the day that Potter had found him crying in the girls bathrooms. It had been the same day Draco had found a grey hair and promptly switched to the other side of the war to alleviate any more stress-induced signs of aging. He was too pretty to begin prematurely losing his looks. He would not end up like his father who had begun dying his silvery locks 'rich platinum' at the tender age of fourteen.

Unfortunately, being one of the good guys had pretty much meant that for the entirety of the war he had been held up inside the Black ancestral home bored and fighting a lot with Potter. During the two months inside the awful dank house, a lot of shagging with Potter had occurred.

The war had ended as well as their connection via bodily fluids; Potter had defeated the Dark Lord and they had gone their separate ways. Potter had been rebuilding the country when Draco had been setting his mother up in a nice chateau in France.

The next contact they had with one another occurred months later, almost a year in which they had returned to Hogwarts to finish their education.

Draco had felt an itch during the raggedy Sorting Hat's song and had looked up, right into watchful green eyes. They stared at each other for a long moment in which Draco had felt a phantom tongue ghost over his ribs the longer he looked back. Potter finally gave him a polite nod, as if the entire war hadn't happened and Draco, for propriety's sake, nodded back.

All of this would have been fine if not for the dreams. Dreams about rooms of fire and Broomstick Rides With Heroes For A Sickle A Go. Memories haunted him in his sleep; he knew what that skin tasted like, how that body had moved under him and he was an addict. He wanted Potter. Desperately. But he was a Malfoy - he had his pride. He'd be damned before he went crawling back to Potter who probably just thought it had all been in the name of releasing some stress during difficult times.

Not only had getting a good night's sleep become difficult for him, but Draco was forced to see Potter all day, every day. Through the throng of his fan club, in the halls, at lunch, in class and on the pitch, all of it was driving him batty.

Something had to be done.

During one potions class when the twelve returning students, mixed in with the seventh years were brewing Draught of Death, Potter had casually as he pleased, rolled up his shirt sleeves. Admittedly the classroom had been sweltering and most of the students had shed their robes, loosened their ties and top buttons. Potter had been raised by Muggles and had the propriety befitting to his mongrel breeding.

He had rolled up his sleeves, showing browned forearms and loosened the top two buttons of his shirt to show that hollow where Draco had liked to lick during spell raids. Then, as he was leaning over to assess the colour of his cauldron contents, Potter casually slipped a hand into the back of his trousers, untucking his shirt and running a hand over the gleaming skin between two dimples above his arse. Draco had almost had an aneurism and dropped a salamander head into his potion, causing both him and Blaise to have bright blue hair for the rest of the day.

The Muggleborns had all called him Smurfette and he'd hexed them, though he had had no idea what it meant.

Ever since seeing those two dimples again, Draco had been plagued with thoughts of spreading Potter over the breakfast table and licking raspberry jam out of the indents.

There had been raspberry jam galore during the war.

The situation only became worse a week later when Potter had flashed his hip-dents in the middle of a Quidditch game as he had reached high to pull the Snitch from under Draco's nose. Draco hadn't really cared, he'd been thinking of jam. That day, he had gone to the library and looked up love potions. Then he'd looked up Polyjuice instead because everyone in the world knew that everything that went within ten feet of the stupid Saviour was screened and checked. Slipping something into the idiot's food would be impossible. But borrowing his body for a little while...just a little while with a mirror and a pot of jam would be doable, Draco had thought.

He had brewed the Polyjuice, it sat bubbling in his private room - an advantage of being an eighth year - and all he had to do was get the last ingredient. A bit of Potter.

The problem was, the only contact Draco had really had with Potter had been when the Stupid Idiot had handed back his wand with a simply, 'thanks' in the first two weeks of term. Then off he went, surrounded by a world of awed witches, all begging for an autograph or his hand in marriage. And of course the occasional Creevey thrown into the mess too. He hadn't been brave enough to risk the chewed off piece of nail he'd found on Potter's desk after the end of one potions class because he didn't want to accidentally turn into Weasley - jam, mirrors and ginger pubes were not a combination that he ever wanted to contemplate.


Weeks of frustration had begun to take its toll on Draco's psyche because a couple of times in the last few days he had thought about simply going up to Potter and saying "Can I have a locket of thine hair, good sir, or a hearty snog?"

He'd even rehearsed his Ye Olde Accent in his head during History of Magic. Thankfully, before donning on a pair of pantaloons, Draco's salvation had come that day. It was pure luck that he had seen Blaise recieved a vial in the post from his mother at breakfast.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Nothing," said Blaise too quickly, shoving the shining bottle into his pocket. Draco narrowed his eyes. Blaise coughed and said, "Err, just something from mother to help me win over Millicent." Blaise sent doe-eyes down the table at Bulstrode who was demolishing half a plate of bacon with her heavy set jaw. Draco had tried to counsel Blaise in the error of his ways but the man was convinced he was straight despite fancying the Butchest of Them All in Uniform.

"What sort of something?" asked Draco, raising an eyebrow and motioning to Blaise's lap, "You could have told me. It is a friend's place to be supportive; I could have brewed you a tonic."

Blaise scowled.

Draco smirked.

Blaise stomped off.

Draco thought about the vial, wondering how desperate his mate must have been to ask for enhancers from his mother - despite her own reputation as a Kneazle in the sack - when something occurred to him. Bulstrode was as frigid as they came; if it wasn't slathered in butter and raised on a farm, she wouldn't touch it...the liquid had been gold. Pearly in appearance. Draco could think of no enhancing potions that were not blue.

Felix Felicis, his brain supplied helpfully.

Poor Blaise, needing luck to get into Mrs Manfeatures' knickers.

Draco shook his head pityingly and allowed his attention to drift over to Potter who was once again surrounded by idiots, all laughing at his every word. His shirt sleeves were rolled up. Even the Ravenclaws had moved one of their benches over to the Gryffindor table to hear their exulted leader tell tales.

Draco huffed and went to class.


"No, Hermione, I just need a moment to myself. I'm sick of being followed," Draco heard Potter lie while he was transfiguring his ink pot into a Latin dictionary.

"But Harry, don't you want to -" began Weasel. Draco picked up his transfigured dictionary and opened it, only to find every page was covered in ink. Fucking noisy Gryffindors. He cast Finite Incantatem and tried again.

"Look, Ron, I can't stand another night of everyone asking me about The Prophesy, about what it was like to die. I just wanna be alone. I'm going to take the Mauranders' Map and my Invisibility Cloak and I'm just going to spend some time away."

Draco tried the spell again, but upon opening the pages, found he'd made a French dictionary. Frustrated, he gave up and blatantly listened to the conversation happening on the table behind him. Potter, alone. Alone at last.

"There are still Death Eaters out there." Draco felt a pointed glare brush the back of his head but he remained facing forward with barely contained rage. Weasel-face had never taken kindly to his arrival at the Order of the Pheonix. "One of us should -"

"For God's sake! I will take the map and the cloak, stop worrying like an old woman, you sound like your mother."

Draco snorted quietly into the entry between 'chasseurs' and 'chat'.

"I'll make sure I'm back by twelve, okay?" appeased Potter.

Draco smirked. Tonight he was going to get his ingredient, and he knew how he was going to get it…

Draco looked over to Blaise. Liquid Luck would surely be no match for an Invisibility Cloak.


That night, Draco had bravely told Millicent Blustrode that all the sausages she had eaten at lunch had given her a hairy double chin and asked if her father ever expressed his disappointment that his masculine heir didn't have a penis to match?

She'd slapped him dizzy and stormed off.

Blaise had gone off on one as soon as his beloved had departed. Draco held off being slapped again by saying he'd done it for Blaise: "She's upset. Go and comfort her. I know women, Blaise. Too well. That's why I'm gay, they're complicated and emotional creatures. And right now, your creature - err, I mean, girl - your girl is surely crying out in that corridor and in need of some comfort. Here's your chance. Go."

Blaise had looked dubious and darkly suspicious, but Draco had given him what he hoped was a 'would I lie to you?' and an 'I'm your best friend, why are you doubting me?' look combined. It was a deadly combination and Blaise had always been a soft touch. It had worked. Whisking off to comfort his Dumpling in Distress, Draco was left alone to whisk off to raid Blaise's room.

Blaise was the only other Syltherin from Draco's year and gender to return to school. Nott was off in Italy, revisiting distant relatives and Draco preferred not to think of Crabbe and Goyle, their fates equally as grim as the other's. As it was only the two of them, they had commandeered their own rooms and while Draco was meticulous in his mess, Blaise liked to keep his abode in chaos. Draco didn't take much care replacing what he disrupted during his search as he doubted Blaise would notice a Hippogriff stampede.

He'd eventually found the vial under Blaise's pillows. Closer inspection of the sheen of golden liquid convinced Draco it really was Felix Felicis. Uncapping the bottle, Draco downed it in one.

He waited for a second, feeling it trickle warm down his throat and settle into his stomach with a slosh, warming him with luckiness from the inside. Draco was guessing he had about three hours of luck before it wore off; plenty of time to search for Potter after hours.


War had made all the teachers paranoid, they herded the children between classes and their dorms, suspicious of all who tried to escape. Since the rebuild of Hogwarts, curfew was ridiculously early and while no one would be wondering the halls, Draco had to wait for all witnesses to leave the common room. Lucky, everyone skived off to bed early, faking fatigue to escape sudden onslaught of assignments that had come flooding in that week. Other than keeping out of sight of one or two lingerers, Draco made it out of the Slytherin area with a vial of Polyjuice rattling about in his pocket.

He knew the luck was working because he'd tripped up the stairs out of the dungeons at the same moment Mrs Norris had walked by, peering down the corridor briefly and leaving without seeing his slightly bruised but flatten form on the floor. Grinning at the brilliance, though slight inelegancy of Felix Felicis' methods, Draco made his way to the Gryffindor side of the castle.

With his luck, he'd catch The Fat Lady swinging open by herself as an invisible person was expelled from the depths of burgundy and gaudy gold hell.


Draco re-evaluated the potion he had taken. It was Super-Luck!

Fair exceeding his expectations, Draco had reached the Fat Lady quick enough to jump behind it as it had swung open on its hinges and expelled one slightly peeved Harry Potter.

"I'll be fine. I'll stay inside the castle."

"I can get Ginny to give back the cloak and map, mate," said Ron, "I'm sure she's snuck off to see Corner, lemme just send her an owl and get her to come back."

"No need. See you."

"But Harry -"

Weasley's nasal protesting was cut off as Potter slammed the door in his friend's freckled face without a backwards glance to the portrait, or Draco revealed form. He watched Potter stride off, clearly in a huff and thought of the odds that the Weaselette had borrowed Potter's possessions the same night Draco had taken Blaise's Potion.

What amazing luck!

Silently as the night, Draco followed.


It turned out that Potter's idea of a quiet night was actually skulking round the corridors and muttering to himself in agitated tones, all the while ruffling his hair which only incidentally made him look ready for a good, hard poke. The man was such a tool.

Draco had followed him at a long distance, tiptoeing as quietly as possible and wondered how luck was going to help him rip hair out of Potter's head without the idiot noticing. He kept looking at the floor to see if Potter had happened to shed a hair or two in his wake.

Fortunately, Luck decided to take Harry Potter into a pensive stroll towards the dungeons and Draco, who had lived there for seven years, grinned with the brilliance of how clever the gold liquid was. Of course the potion didn't have the power to make Potter's hair drop off! But it did take Potter to the one place in the castle Draco could have the advantage. As Potter descended the stairs towards the potion classroom, Draco slipped through a tapestry and at full speed ran the length of the hidden corridor, hoping to intercept Potter at the other end of the passage.

Trying to shallow his breathing, Draco pulled back the edge of a tapestry at the lower end of the passage and waited, hand poised, to pluck Potter's head as the man walked by.

"- how am I supposed to get a good view of that arse when all the third years are standing in the way asking about bloody Volde - AAARGH!"

Fuck. Draco hadn't been able to rip out any of that diabolic hair, but he'd manage to quickly steal a loose hair from the shoulder of Potter's robes. He'd overestimated the Felix because his attempt at subtle harvesting had apparently been quite painful. The combination of hair pulling and a slight naughty caress of his broad shoulders seemed to have left Potter startled. Draco had only just managed to duck back behind the tapestry when Potter spun round, clutching his sore scalp.

"Who's there?!...Show yourself!"

Draco held his breath and tried to beg his heart to stop beating so loudly.

"...Fucking Peeves. I'd probably be better off changing, at least I'll have some bloody warning when that ..." Potter's muttering seemed to be a terminal habit.

Draco waited until the low voice disappeared out of hearing before he let out a sigh of relief. So close! Draco gave a laugh. It came out breathy but he didn't care, he held the strand up to the speckled light of the hidden passage. It was about two inches long, glossy dark with a tiny little bulb of pale flesh on the end. A perfect specimen.

Pulling out the vial from his pocket, Draco quickly popped the cork and slid his sample gently inside. The sludge turned a violent green and then faded as the ingredients stabilised again into an aquatic colour. Draco could still remember what Potter had smelt like under dusty covers during the war and it was most certainly not the same smell coming out of the vial. The evil potion had perverted one of Draco's favourite scents with its magic. Pinching his nose, he threw back the concoction, gagging and stumbling out into the corridor.

He coughed and choked and hoped that he had brewed the vile stuff correctly and that the narrowing of his windpipe was all part of the change instead of a slow and awful death. Or that it wouldn't adversely affected by the Felix Felicis.

Apparently it had, because his luck had ran out when Potter appeared at the end of the corridor, attracted by the sounds of his death and asking in a funny voice, "Malfoy?"

God, he couldn't let Potter see him changing into his doppelganger! Draco ran as fast as he could, aiming for the nearest boys bathroom as he spluttered bile and shivered as his skin began to crawl.

"Malfoy, wait! Hey, stop, wait up!"

Draco kept running, his feet pounding as he staggered his way through the underground maze of stone corridors, Potter's voice chasing after him. He made it to the toilets and locked himself into one of the stalls before collapsing on the damp floor, the final change overcoming him.

God, it was agony. Clearly the Polyjuice had reversed the Felix Felicis because as the word seemed to shrink with what had to be Potter's inherent bad eyesight filling his retinas, he heard "Malfoy?" from outside the stall. God, what bad luck. Transforming painfully into a body he had intended to perverse with raspberry flavoured preserves while Saint Potter stood outside, waiting for him to immerge from the bog, probably thinking he was passing a Hippogriff through his bowels from the moaning he couldn't contain.

Eventually, it was over.

Panting on the floor, lying on his back and looking at the ceiling and the underside of the toilet, Draco finally felt the last wriggle of his new skin settling over him. God, this is a nightmare, I'm in a nightmare! Somebody, pinch me! On hindsight, he should have done what most normal people do and wanked over Potter's new Charity Calender which was rumoured to appear next month.

The toilets were silent. Maybe Potter had gone. Maybe he thought he would give Draco some privacy to make constipated sounds to the world. Maybe, Potter hadn't seen the partial change as Draco had ran away from him.

Or not.

Something moved on the other side of the stall and Draco rolled his head a little to see something black and shiny poke under the door. The black thing was a nose. Draco blinked. Potter didn't have a black nose. As far as staring at Potter in class, Draco hadn't really concentrated on Potter's nose because nose weren't really sexy but Draco could be almost certain that it wasn't black. He would have noticed that. The black nose wiggled from side to side as it sniffed, and then withdrew. A moment later, Potter's voice came through the door, "Malfoy?"

A whimper escaped Draco and he tried to clap a hand over his mouth. Except...he had no hand.

Before he could investigate the furry limb he'd just waved in front of his eyes, Draco heard 'Alohomora' and the door stall hit the wall with a loud crash. Potter was standing tall above his prone figure with a funny look on his face.

"...Malfoy, is that you?"

Draco whimpered again and tried to scramble to his feet. Two large hands had come down and grabbed him. The suddenly loss of gravity before he was cradled to Potter's chest clued Draco into the fact that maybe the transformation had not gone well.

"I don't know why you have decided to Polyjuice yourself," said Harry. He wondered over to the sinks with Draco tucked under one arm. "But I know Hermione made this mistake once so I don't know how long you are going to be like this. I might have to take you to Madam Pomfrey in the morning."

Potter's babbling hardly registered with Draco who was too occupied freaking out to listen. Looking down from the great height that Giant-Potter was suspending him at, Draco could see four furry brown legs swaying with every step his unlikely carrier took.

"Here." Potter had arrived at the sinks and held Draco up to the mirror. "When you turn back to normal, I want an explanation of why you have decided to turn into me."

Draco blinked in astonishment and the puppy in the mirror blinked too.


"I suppose we should wait out the rest of the hour and see if you turn back." Potter settled Draco on the floor and sat himself down beside the row of sinks, watching the puppy.

If Draco could have, he would have flushed with embarrassment and wished for the hole that was usually needed in such situations to arrive and swallow him up, but of course, it never came. Oh, how horribly the whole night had backfired on him. He was already planning to write to Mrs Zabini about checking the quality of her supplier when he returned to normal. Whenever that was. Unfortunately, Draco couldn't do any of that because he had paws so holding a quill was out of the question, and flushing would be useless under the scruffy black fur that covered his snout. Merlin, I have a snout!

Draco looked at Potter who was still studying him, his face lopsided with a small smile and a smudge on his glasses. Almost like a fond expression. Which Draco doubted because most people didn't feel fond of people who tried to steal their bodies.

He wondered when Potter had gotten a dog. Dogs were not on the list of approved familiar.

Draco decided to make the best of a new experience and try to stand on his new four paws. Standing up was a perplexing sensation, for as a human, standing had a certain sensation of...well, uprightedness for lack of better words. But standing as a dog was an odd feeling, as though someone had come along and kicked his vertical axis; wobbling on his paws felt remarkably like lying flat on his broom, arms and legs dangling down the centre of the earth. A definitive feeling of horizontalism with support. Draco tried to take a step and fell straight onto his elongated nose.

Potter gave a hearty laugh. "Yeah, it takes a while to get used to."

Draco looked up...way up, into laughing green eyes that complimented Potter's cheerful smile. Dismissing Potter's words as the ramblings of the most incomprehensible being in the world, Draco tried to stand up again.

It had taken a couple more tries. Too many legs sprawling in every direction and Potter's mocking cheer echoing in his sensitive ears, but eventually he got the hang of standing and moving. In his mind he tried to think of it akin to crawling on his hands and knees. Draco then spent a minute trying to inspect the rest of himself and was almost balled over by surprise when he encountered two tails at his rear.

"Half Crup, half Alsatian puppy," informed Potter, leaning forward to try and stroke Draco.

Draco jumped back and snapped his teeth, trying to make a run for it. Potter just laughed and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, the big bully!

"As if I am going to let you get away when I have you at my mercy," Potter said in what sounded like an ominous voice.

"HELP! HELP! TORTURE!" Draco screamed. A weak yelping echoed through across the tiles instead.


"Calm down, calm down," soothed Potter. He pressed Draco's wiggling form into his lap and kept him there with a firm hand on the back of his neck. "You can't go running off like that. What if you really are stuck like this? You can't bark at Pomfrey and expect her to know it's you; she'd hand you over to Hagrid."

Draco stilled at that.

"Good boy, very good boy." Potter was cooing. Actually cooing, like he though Draco was the cutest thing he'd ever seen. The hand on his neck had suddenly fallen to stroke the length of Draco's back. Draco almost died. Potter's massive hand ran over both his shoulder blades, down the stretch of his back and ended on the curve of his buttocks. If he was human, Draco would have called in molestation. "You're so cute like this." Okay, even now Draco was inclined to call it molestation.

Draco tried to struggle out from Potter's lap, though he found it difficult to find the motivation to do so. Doing anything seemed impossible when that massive hand was massaged its whole way down him, setting off some sort of canine pleasure within him to be stroked and fondled. As Draco's eyes rolled in the back of his head, he couldn't figure out why Potter wasn't committing animal cruelty on him - the man knew what he'd been trying to do, somehow. Draco would have taken issue if anyone had tried to steal his vessel of blonde perfection.

"You'll love being a dog, its brilliant. It feels like pure freedom." Potter continued to stroke him as he spoke, hand gliding through Draco's fur and occasionally tugging a soft pointed ear gently. Something had gone wrong with that Polyjuice. It was affecting his brain too because he would never accept a petting from Potter in his right mind. Or body.

...Well...he might have...

"All your senses are heightened. The whole world is in sharper focus and when you become human again, you feel suffocated by the loss of visibility and smell and sensitivity..."

Potter clearly wasn't going to let up on the whole petting issue. Maybe the man was trying to friction all his fur off in a sort of gentle skinning-technique.

"...and the best bit about being a mutt is…" Potter trailed off. Draco took offense to that, unsurprised that Potter's pet was a mongrel and horrified that he'd transformed his pureblood brilliance into such a degrading breed. "...this feels brilliant..." and Draco really should have been listening a little closer to what Potter was saying because all of a sudden a finger pressed against the base of his new tails, massaging firm circles at the muscle in the fork of his tales. Oh Merlin!

Draco almost came.


As Potter continued to rub that special spot with both of Draco's tails wagging furiously around his working hand, Potter leaned down close and spoke in a low voice, thick and scratchy. "Feels good, doesn't it? I'll do this when you're human too, if you'd like."

Draco had enough brain power that hadn't leaked out of his tails to whip his head around and look at the person rubbing his backside. Potter's eyes were dark from desire but a faint flush was spreading up from under the collar of his jumper.

Even as a mutt, Draco's face must have shown a stupefied expression. Draco's mind was slowly fathoming the possibility that his puppy virtue was in danger. He was highly aware that it would only take a small slip and Potter's rubbing finger could be rubbing somewhere a lot more sensitive. Bestiality, his mind supplied helpfully like an encyclopaedia page left open.

Potter looked awkward but determined, still pressing on the forked joint of his tails. "Well...I've been trying to get you alone all term," said Harry. That was a lie because Draco had been trying to do the same thing to get a damn hair for his potion. If Potter had been trying, surely at one point they would have met. "I sort of, well...erm..." Potter's words died away as he lost his battle. "God," he gritted, looking away in frustration, "It should be easier to tell you this when you just look like really cute puppy...I - I... I like you. There. Make fun of me, turn me down and tell the whole school."

Potter had withdrawn his hand the moment the word 'like' had come out of his mouth. His arms were folded protectively across his chest and resolutely looking away from the ball of fluff sitting in his lap.

Draco took a moment to mull this over. Potter fancied him. Potter was probably in love with him and had probably been battling his unrequited desire for years. Poor man.

Yes, that's right! Unrequited, and if anyone claimed otherwise Draco would bite them with his needle-like underdeveloped teeth. Thoughts about preserves did not equal reciprocation. Really. It wasn't like he had been thinking of spreading marmalade on Potter, marmalade was another matter entirely. But if Potter had had marmalade-related thoughts about him...well...

Draco made up his mind.

Shuffling around in the circle of Potter's legs, Draco batted at the man's arms and gave a little whine. Potter's head moved a fraction so he could peer at Draco out the corner of his eye. "What?" he pouted stubbornly. Draco gave another whine.

Potter didn't seem to understand so Draco leapt off him, onto the floor and faced him. Forearms on the ground, mouth open with his tongue hanging out and bum in the air, tails wagging furiously, Draco gave a bark. It felt better. The movements and gestures still felt alien but more familiar now that he had been in his new body for a while.

He gave another bark and jumped his whole body left and right before settling back in the crouch, arse to the heavens and barked again. Soon Potter would get the message.

Potter did get the message because he gave a weak smile and said, "Thank you for not being a wanker about this." He shifted, moving onto his hands and knees and leaning down so that his front end was eye level with Draco's. "I know you probably don't like me back, but when you're human again, do you think that maybe you could give me a proper answer...because I would like to go out with you..." Potter trailed off with a small smile and then peeked at his watch. "It's already been ten minutes past the hour. Looks like you will be stuck like this for the rest of the night."

Draco wagged his tails. He didn't mind, he liked his new body, he wanted to explore the world and play and wanted Potter to take him for a walk because Draco was charitable like that and the poor sap would probably treasure the opportunity. Draco barked again.

Potter laughed and then scrunched up his nose.

Draco stilled, tails aquiver as fur suddenly sprouted on the bridge of Potter's nose and like ink spilt over paper, spread outwards and his features shortened and elongated in different places all within a second. The whole evening made a sudden sort of sense. It was like looking back in the mirror. The puppy opposite him gave a bark and wagged its two tails, then sped off.

He'd Polyjuiced into Potter's animagus.

Of all the stupid luck...

A bark outside the toilets echoed down the corridor to remind Draco that he was stuck in this fascinating imitation of Potter's body for the unforeseeable future and he'd best make the most of it. Giving the biggest howl his miniature body could produce, Draco ran off at a sprint, every step of the chase towards Potter's scent feeling more natural by the minute.

The stone floors had moved quickly as he ran through the halls, then the floor changed underneath him, the grass outside made the fur between his pads wet. Potter was still running ahead of him, but Draco stood by the edge of the castle, nosing the air with disbelief.

Everything was so…close. The smell of the lake water, the horses and centaurs of the Forest, the hot ambers of the smoke billowing out of Hagrid's hut – it was all so far away in distance, but travelled on the air like dinner wafting from the kitchens in the manor.

Potter had galloped out of sight somewhere but a bark was calling out to Draco from the darkness to come and play, chase, run and just be. Draco took another few minutes to sniff the air, to understand the world's new focus before he took off bounding in the night.

As he trotted towards the lake, something came out of the dark and smacked into his side. The two of them tumbled through the glass and dirt, and they took turns in trying to rip each other's ears off or nip at the other's ankles. Draco rolled his shoulders into the ground, flinging his limbs about and trying to bite everything that came near his face but Potter kept the advantage. They were the same animal, Draco was but a clone of Potter's uncultured mongrel animagus and should have had the same advantage in the scuffle but Potter knew how to control this foreign body, had already practised with it and knew how to pin Draco to the ground. The soft fur and firm muscle draped over him, pressing down into the softer ground and sharp teeth were clamped around his throat. A signal, a demand for submission and defeat before the alpha male.

Draco understood the dynamics of this play fight, but all the remnants of his human mind could contemplate was the friction. Animals didn't wear underwear and Potter's wiggling weight was wonderful.

Get off, growled Draco. Potter answered with a soft growl in return, pulling and ragging on Draco's ears. He thought it was all a game. Merlin, please, get off!

Draco gave a loud bark, trying to kick Potter's weight off him. His hind legs worked furiously until the stupid, brilliantly dense Gryffindor moved back. Potter stood above him, head cocked and ears pricked. He gave a soft whine.

Potter made a pretty good dog, he even stood like one, weight distributed evenly between all four legs, tails held high and eyes steady on Draco while his ears twitched for danger. Draco just rolled to his feet, trying to hide the horrifying furry appendage between his legs that had turned drawn back and become hard, glistening brilliant pink in the moonlight.

Tails tucked between his legs, ears drooped, Draco wanted to die from the humiliation of it all. A puppy erection! A brown and black splodged blight of biology conspiring against him.

Potter moved forward, coming to investigate Draco's statuesque form. When a wet nose prodded at him enquiringly along muzzle, Draco bit Potter's ear. A soft huff wafted next to him, like a doggy laugh. Then Potter, as happy as he pleased, dipped his head and pressed his cold nose against Draco's crotch. Draco let out a strangled yelp and kicked, jumping away from Potter.

Potter gave another huff of amusement and jumped. Draco frowned. Potter jumped again until he managed to rock his weight onto his hind legs, to proudly display to Draco a similar state of affairs between his legs.

Draco's mind thought back to the war, to what he remembered Potter's cock had looked and felt like. It had certainly not been that pointed or fuzzy, and Draco was disturbed to find he wasn't put off any less by the idea of a furball from waltzing over – as much as dogs could waltz – and giving Potter's problem a good licking.

I must be high. That damn potion.

Draco looked determinedly away, his whole body thrumming with the uncomfortable prospect of bestiality. Could he call it bestiality when they were both animals?

Potter fell back forward and bowed down, bum in the air as Draco had been in the bathroom, and gave a bark. Play, he barked, an unspoken understanding to ignore the unfortunate side effects that species crossing had brought upon them.

Draco bared his teeth in an approximation of a grin and took off running, tails wagging and ears flapping as he went. Potter was not far behind.


Morning had come around like one too many drinks at the Hog's Head because the sunlight through the infirmary window was summer bright. Draco tried to hide from it by pulling the covers up over his head. He'd begun to drift off into a nice dream about the Forbidden Forest and doggy paddling with the squid when everything came back to him.

He jolted upright, the sudden familiarity of his returned humanity made him splay his legs testily in every direction and almost knocking over the puppy that was curled up on the end of the bed. The little thing gave a yawn, cracking open its eyes and studying Draco was sleep-dazed consideration.


One black ear twitched in acknowledgement but the dog did not unfurl itself. Despite being very cute and adorable, the way that the puppy was staring at him was unnerving and Draco suddenly knew how Potter had felt the night before, talking to a being that could...or in this case didn't want to respond.

"Err," Draco began, sitting up against the headboard and checking about for Madam Promfrey. He couldn't remember making his way to the infirmary, the last thing he could remember was curling up into a tight warm ball with another dog among the leaves of the veggie patch behind Hagrid's hut. "Well...the thing is...the reason that I wanted to Polyjuice into you is because..."

Draco's racked his brain for a good lie, something not terribly illegal or embarrassing as the truth would probably make him come off sounding like a gibbering loon. He thought of how he could express what he felt in a way that other people without perverse fetishes might understand. His brain give a 'don't ask me' and Draco drew a blank. He told the truth.

"I have sort of had thoughts about you and they involve doing some disturbing things with my tongue and certain food items but I'm not mental because I blame you for being indecent in public, I mean honestly, you're always flashing every bit of skin this way and that way - with your elbows and your dimples - you might as well save everyone the trouble and get naked because I think -"

The puppy bounded across the bed, leaping at Draco's chest and Draco suddenly found himself flat against the mattress with a heavy Harry Potter pressing him down. The nuzzling felt distinctly different from when they'd been chasing round the lake. Potter's nose was dry but his breath was still hot and moist against Draco's neck, a slow and clever tongue was lapping at the hollow of this throat and Draco didn't think it was a good time to interrupt the lovesick puppy. Especially when he murmured, "Let me show you that massage thing again."

Draco wasn't going to say no to such an offer.

Potter rolled them over and began pressing kisses all over Draco's face. They were sweet, small kisses peppered everywhere but distinctly possessive, as if marking Draco's cheekbones, forehead, lips and chin for his own. Each earlobe was claimed and nibbled, and then finally his neck. Draco had always loved to poke a finger to the love bites, see the bruises change from purple to yellow and flash them about in the common room to make Pansy pout. Potter was treating his neck to the same possessive treatment, kissing the length from ear to collarbone and biting around his Adam's apple with blunt teeth, humming in a pleased manner that ran through to make Draco's vocal cords vibrate.

As Draco lay prostrate, allowing Potter time to explore his body and strip him of his clothes, Draco writhed on the bed and thought how brilliantly things had turned out. Some amount of Luck must still be thrumming through his veins. Although, thinking logically – hard to do when Potter was 'claiming' his bellybutton – the luck would have worn off within three hours, five at the most. Maybe everything else was a ripple effect. One lucky thing produced another. Or, maybe, he was making his own luck!

"We should have never have stopped doing this," said Potter, "I've dreamt of nothing but licking your –"

Draco grabbed Potter by the hair, sharply. He gave a dog-like yelp as Draco brought him to eye level and rolled them over so Potter was underneath him. "We don't have time for that, its daylight."


Draco had always despaired at the other houses. Gryffindor breed the biggest idiots. "We're in an unlocked public room," hissed Draco.

Potter merely shrugged as reached round Draco and slipped a finger under his hospital issued pyjamas, sliding it down his spine. Draco couldn't help himself as he leaned forward and kissed Potter. They'd always kissed with plenty of teeth at Grimmauld Place. As they moved their mouths together, Potter was rubbing at each vertebrae, massaging each nub of his spine until he got the swell of his buttocks and then paused. They pulled apart and looked at each other.

Draco tried to let out an encouraging smile without letting out any embarrassing sounds. He had had enough of that for one day.

Potter grinned and the finger slipped down further between the crease of his arse, continuing the massage until Draco's coccyx was getting a thorough soothing. That wonderful finger fell down a fraction and Draco's hips bucked, pushing his hard prick into Potter's stomach. Potter bucked back as he drew circles around the furrowed skin of Draco's hole.

Potter managed to choke a string of Latin in the still, quiet air of the infirmary. It echoed off the walls like the hiss of Parseltongue. Draco didn't have time to contemplate how powerful Potter must be with his unregistered animagus ability or wandless magic; one wet finger slid slowly inside him and he clutched tightly with his knees to the body beneath him. Oh this is so much better! Instead of the soft wisping sound of fur, there was nothing but the smooth slide of skin against skin, perspiration slicking the way beautifully.

Another finger slid in without resistance and when Potter twisted his hand, pressing into that wonderful spot that made Draco see stars, an undignified noise escaped his throat.

"I like it when you yelp like that."

Draco pinched Potter's nipple in retaliation; he was not the only one who made canine noises with human cords, and it was nice to know that he wasn't the only one who was a horrible slave to the desires of their body. Potter's face scrunched up, his teeth turning his bottom lip pale as he bit it.

The two fingers twisted and pushed against his prostate again and Draco spread his knees further apart until they fell over the edges of the mattress, pressing him even closer to Potter. He'd waited so long to see those green eyes staring at him again, this was so much better than a reflection.


"Get on with it before I bite."

Potter gave a rueful grin and Draco wasn't going to comment on biting or the reason his left butt cheek felt suspiciously sore from the previous night. Potter removed his fingers and something thicker sought to replace them. The head of Potter's cock slid over his hole as Potter shifted up and down between his arse, to be a terrible tease. Occasionally it would catch on the gap of Potter's absent fingers and Draco could not control the roll of his hips. Potter looked content to tease but Draco could only think of Promfrey making her rounds. Time was precious and Draco reached back, grabbing hold of the hard flesh and lined himself up against it.

He pushed back just as Potter decided to be a little more active. Draco had always loved the feel of penetration, whether he was the one receiving or doing it. The slow slide and dawning fullness was about the best thing he could ever think of. But this time, it was quick, to the hilt and Potter's gasp of shock was worth the loss. The sudden fullness burned and made his nerves scream in protest and remembered the associated memory of Potter, overcome with desire for him on top of Mrs Weasley's baked tarts.

"Move," Draco said, shifting. They began to move in earnest, rolling and rutting their hips against one another, slapping flesh echoing around the hospital wing and breathing low moans into each other's mouths as they slid together.

It felt wonderful. Every time Potter was hitting his prostate, Draco was reminded why it had been so important to be close to this body, how brilliant it had been during the gloom of the war. With raspberry tart jam on his crotch.

Potter moaned something pleading and inaudible, looping an arm around Draco's shoulders to pull his face closer at the same time he raised his knees, feet flat on the bed for leverage. Draco's arse rose with the motion and he was suddenly aware that this was how he'd been as a dog. Bowed and panting. Potter didn't have him bent over some surface, fucking him from behind, but there was something still distinctly animalistic about it all.

"Touch yourself," grunted Potter, both of his hands too busy in securing Draco's position as each thrust became more brutal and desperate. Sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead, the vein in his throat becoming more pronounced so that Draco watched his pulse and those teeth. Biting that lip white.

Draco wiggled a hand between their bodies, circling his own cock as the pressure started to build low in his stomach. His eyelashes fluttered as he pulled a measly three times on himself before his whole body pulled taut. Draco couldn't hear Potter's moans anymore, all he could concentrate on was the feeling of release, holding on stubbornly to the intrusive cock in his arse that felt bigger and hotter for all the clenching and covering Potter's deliciously tanned stomach in brilliant white strings of come.

He sagged a little in Potter's grip, glad that the other man was steadying him. The slow languid movements of the Gryffindor, combined with the cool, wet feel told him that Potter's stupid loony grin was merely afterglow and not mental deficiency.

He waited for a moment, for his body to tell him that yes, that was a fantastic shag but it was time to get off the ride or pay for another go. Draco looked at Potter's lazy smile, satisfied and smug, and gave a little laugh before noticing the world again. God, the door wasn't even locked.

Sitting up was almost a mistake. Both boys groaned and Potter tried to pull him back down for another go, but it was over twelve hours since he'd taken the Felix Felicis. Pomfrey would come soon, his luck must have run out by now.

They carefully separated and Potter shifted to make room for him on the mattress. They both grinned up at the ceiling together, too unsure of their renewed connection to look at one another yet and be sappy.

They were not touching, but the fine hairs on Draco's arms felt static. Each hair stood on end towards Potter as if demanding more. Waving for attention.

"You should go," said Draco, "Madam Pomfrey will be doing her rounds soon."

Potter was still breathing hard and gave him a stony look. "You're kicking me out?"

"If you would rather her see you in my bed, then -"

Draco's words were cut off as fur brushed his sides and then Potter was leaping off the bed, his forked tails whipping out of sight. Draco didn't have time to explain that he had a private room in the Slytherin quarters that had jam in the bedside table.


Draco tried terribly hard to stop watching Potter's brown forearms now that his taste buds had become reacquainted with the taste of them, the texture burnt into his memory. Potter had resumed his integration into one united organism with his fanclub, getting a private moment was an impossible task as it had been before The Night of Amazing Luck.

Draco had decided, after he had been released from the hospital wing that maybe the Felix Felicius hadn't malfunctioned. Maybe it had planned the whole thing out, adding up some seemingly pathetic and embarrassing bad moments of luck to create one brilliant end goal that was Harry Potter and his magnificent, panting, sweaty-soaked, wonderful...err...tail. All he needed was another dose of the magical golden liquid and then he could have another whole night of puppy romping fun...

"Draco, you're drooling."

Draco surreptitiously wiped his mouth. "Malfoys don't drool."

"Alright, if you say so," said Blaise placating. He handed Draco a knife to cut up the spider legs for their rat-based Energy Potion.

"Hey, Blaise," Draco began, noticing Millicent Bulstrode fluttering her eyelashes over to their table, "How did things go with Lady Chunk?"

"Don't call her that." Blaise hit him with the stirring rod. "And it went very well. You were right. I comforted her and told her that she was none of those horrible things you called her, and that she was really pretty." He had said this last bit with a steely tone, as if daring Draco to slag off his new girlfriend, "And then I asked her out and she had said yes. I obviously didn't need that anti-blemish lotion my mum sent me."

"...anti...? That wasn't Felix Felicis?"

Draco felt faint.

"No, of course not."

"Class dismissed." announced Snape. The whole classroom began to move and Draco felt dizzy with mistake. Jumping up and employing a good amount of elbow to the Hufflepuffs and third years, Draco pushed through the crowd and grabbed Potter's arm. He held on tight as Potter struggled then eventually subsided and looked resigned to some sort of abusive humiliation in front of all his hangers-on and housemates.

"I'm sorry!" blurted Draco. "I thought I had taken Felix Felicis and that was the only reason that you didn't drop-kick me into a toilet when you found me and when I said that Madam Pomfrey might be coming, I meant that I didn't want you there when she diagnosed me up to my eyeballs in Luckiness because then you would know, but it turns out that what I took wasn't luck and – err - I want to pet you!"

Potter had listened, taken a moment or two to process before dropping his head. He pulled his arm out of Draco's grasp and grabbed something insignificantly small off the front of his robes, "Got any more of that Polyjuice left?"

Draco looked at the black hair held between Potter's fingers and thought that he was probably in for another lucky day.

After all, it had been all his own luck from the beginning.

The End