A/N: Great Thanks goes out to my Beta, who has given me ideas and fueled more hilarious concepts of the ferretboy.
This could not be happening. The little Weasley was stroking his head and cradling him in the crook of her arm. That was definitely the worst part about the entire predicament…he liked it, until of course, Ginevra asked the group what “that horrible smell was.” Draco thought he would die of shame by the hands of the Weasleys when Ginny continued with “Oh poor Draco, he’s all dirty and he wet himself.” He concluded that it was true, he would die of shame.
Yes, as a ferret it was harder to control his bodily functions and earlier when he was scared he had, inadvertently…wet himself. But to presume to say that HE was dirty was too much for a Weasley. They are the blood traitors. They are the poorest wizarding family in England. And yet…she was right. Yes, he did smell very bad, in contrast to Ginny’s clean, fresh flowery scent. He buried his head into her arm and squeaked in dismay. He felt her laugh.
“Thanks, Ron and Hermione. I think that I should go wash little Draco, right now.”
He was carried up a treacherously narrow staircase and taken into the bathroom. Ginny put him down as she filled the large industrial sink with water and soap. Draco looked at her as she quietly hummed and looked at the water rising in the sink. The white suds were glistening and Draco couldn’t stand it anymore. He straightened up, and was about to take his shirt off when he remembered that he was a ferret and had no clothes. He fell back on all fours and jumped enthusiastically into the warm water. Draco heard Ginny gasp and when he surfaced, he realized that he had splashed water all over her. He was both horrified and smug. He had dirtied the Weasley, but he was her pet, for all intents and purposes. His father would not tolerate animals splashing water on himself or Draco. So why would the Weasleys? Draco was suddenly very afraid that Ginevra would get mad and send him back to the muggle pet store.
Ginny just laughed and gently reached for a mild shampoo and squeezed it out into her hand. Draco could smell the heady scent of pine and wood. It was such a conventional scent, and yet he still arched against her palm as she spread it over his white fur.
There’s no use in my being dirty. I would rather be clean and smell common than smell like rubbish anyway.
He realized that Ginny was talking. He listened to her with interest, hoping to pick up scandalous information in regards to what she thought about Saint Potter. Instead he found she was talking to him, or rather talking to the ferret she was washing off in her sink.
“This is Bill’s shampoo. Ever since the accident with the werewolf he has favored it. Before, he preferred the smell of patchouli, though now as you can smell he has taken a liking to the smell of pine and wood ash. He left this here, though I think he ought to have taken it with him, since he’s on his honeymoon for two weeks. I guess Fleur will have to find him new shampoo, or force him into the tub with some generic flowery stuff. It should serve him right for marrying her, the git.”
Ginny shuddered theatrically for his benefit. She continued to wash him down. He enjoyed her careful ministrations until her attention came to his genital area. He did not want the Weaselette to massage shampoo on him down there, ferret or not. He fought her and tried to bite her, however, to fight against someone who was used to dealing with garden gnomes on a regular basis, Draco's attempts were pathetic. He was firmly flipped over and scrubbed down thoroughly. Dumping him in the sink again, Ginny shook a finger at him.
“Don’t you ever try that again, Draco. I don’t take nonsense from anybody. Now let’s rinse you down.”
The warm spout of water fell onto his back and hindquarters. It was harsh and heavy and it felt amazingly good to him. He lifted his face into the water and let the flow push his fur this way and that. Ginny turned off the water and Draco was suddenly and instantly cold. He shook himself and tried to fluff the water out of his fur. Again Ginevra came to his rescue by providing a small worn hand towel. She wrapped him up securely and placed him in the crook of her arm. He was disturbingly comfortable there.
“Oi, Mum. Can you do me a favor? I washed my new pet and I would appreciate it if you did a drying spell on him. I don’t think I want to subject him to Hermione’s hair dryer,” Ginny shouted down the stairs.
“Sure thing, sweeting. Bring it down here.” “It’s not an it, it’s a he, Mum, and I named him Draco.”
Draco was jostled about as Ginny bounced energetically down the stairs. The dumpy red-haired woman that he recognized as Mrs. Weasley was peeling potatoes at the kitchen table. Flicking her wand over at the fuzzy bundle that was Draco, she uttered a simple drying spell. His fur was soft, dry, fluffy and smelled like pine trees. Apparently life is not going to be perfect in the Weasley house. Ginny smiled at him again and hugged him to her chest.
Although, this is very nice. Very nice indeed. This is something I could very well live with. This is perfect. Why haven’t I ever noticed that she had breasts before? Draco cuddled himself into the large expanse that was Ginny. It was warm and comforting, and at that moment Draco would have given anything to be human and feel her body crushed against his chest. Draco froze. Oh, Merlin! What am I thinking? She’s a WEASLEY. That’s almost worse than imagining Granger in a bikini. Ack! Ew. Ew. Ew.
He began shuddering uncontrollably, trying with little success to get the images of Granger and Ginny bouncing around in bikinis out of his head.
Once again, Ginny misunderstood the reasons behind Draco’s reaction.
“Mum, do you think I could get a box to keep him in? He’s probably tired and frightened of his new surroundings. I don’t think I’ll introduce him to the rest of the family just yet. Oh, do you think that ferrets like carrots? I should put in some more food with him just in case, but I’m not sure what he can eat. Where’s Hermione when you need her?”
A box was quickly conjured, along with some food. Ginny took Draco back upstairs and he realized with dawning horror that she was going to put him in her room. Oh no. Not her room, anywhere but there. Ginny didn’t stray from her course and placed the box on the top of her brown dresser. She put Draco on her shoulder and rummaged around in one of the drawers for something. I wonder what she’s looking for. And she is so small; I can barely stay on her shoulder! It was true. Draco was beginning to slip from his perch and he clawed unceremoniously at her shirt in a desperate attempt to stay on. Luckily for him, Ginny found what she was looking for and gently readjusted him on her shoulder while she unfolded a t-shirt and set it inside the box.
“There, now you’ll get used to my smell and won’t be so afraid next time I hold you.”
I’m already used to your smell. The thought came unbidden and Draco’s eyes widened in panic. He scrambled down her arm, crawled into the box and curled up into a ball. Bad Draco! Don’t think those thoughts about a Weasley! He began shaking again, neglecting to notice Ginny’s smile, or the fact that she didn’t leave until long after he recovered.
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