Draco the Wonder Ferret (Harry/Draco, NC-17) 2006

Title: Draco the Wonder Ferret
Author: Ravenna C. Tan
Rating: NC-17
Prompt Set: 50.1 from the 100 Quills challenge fest
Prompt: Wonder
Word Count: 2600
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Warnings: Ferret!draco
Disclaimer: I wrote this fanfic for completely non-commercial enjoyment. All characters are not mine and are copyrighted and trademarked by their owners/publishers.
Summary: How Draco Malfoy weaseled his way into Harry Potter’s house.
A/N: A gift fic for Ravengirl76 who requested ferret!draco H/D. I’ve never written ferret!draco before, and didn’t think I would, but what else was I going to do with the “wonder” prompt? It seemed a natural fit…

Draco the Wonder Ferret
by Ravenna C. Tan

As far as Draco was concerned, it started at that disastrous class reunion in London. Five years after leaving Hogwarts for the last time, he wasn’t expecting the night of his life when he received the owl inviting him, but he certainly couldn’t have predicted just how badly it would go. Bad enough that Pansy had smeared lipstick on his cheek the moment he walked in the door and no one had the good grace to tell him it was there until hours later. Worse that Crabbe had gone all weepy-eyed, as he did when he drank, about what happened to Greg during the war.

But worst was when some still-as-yet undiscovered prankster spiked the punch with a lust potion. Draco had been sniffing suspiciously at the cup in his hand–he thought he could detect a hint of ylang ylang and punch-spiking was exactly the sort of low trick he expected from reckless Gryffindors and desperate Hufflepuffs–but just as he was holding it under his nose, Potter had to knock into him.

“Good God, Potter! Do I need Madame Hooch to referee that foul?” Draco said, and then looked up into Potter’s eyes.

Potter’s very green eyes.

“Er, sorry,” Potter said, and Draco watched mesmerized as Potter’s hands came closer and closer to him… eventually dabbing at Draco’s now-damp robes. Draco felt vaguely disappointed by this, and even more so when Potter hurried away, hands shoved in his pockets.

Draco woke the next morning with a terrible hangover and a very persistent case of morning wood. He moaned. Wanking now would certainly make his headache worse, but the throb of desire was too strong to resist. Gingerly, so as not to move his head more than a few millimeters, he slid his hand into his silk boxers and ran his fingers up and down his erection.

“Mm, Potter,” he said, then froze. What the bloody hell? He opened his eyes and looked around the room. His bedroom at the manor was the same as always, richly furnished and devoid of anyone–other than Draco himself, that is.

Draco resumed touching himself. He pulled his foreskin back from the head of his cock and tugged it up and down the hard shaft.

“That’s it, yeah, make me come, Potter,” he said, lost now in the fantasy that it was Potter’s hand working him to climax. He came in sticky spurts inside his shorts and then slumped back against his pillows.

“This is not good,” he said to no one, since no one was there.


By the end of the day, he’d found out where Potter lived. If it was the potion Draco suspected it was, then if he could get his rocks off just once with Potter, the effect would dissipate. But he couldn’t very well just ring the doorbell and explain his predicament, could he? “Yes, I’m here to ask a favor. It shouldn’t take but a moment. Be a good fellow and jerk me off, will you?”

He could imagine Potter’s response. “Piss off, Malfoy!” He could imagine the way his lips would pucker as he made the “p” sound, and what a kinky thought, he imagined piss dripping from Potter’s cock as he shook himself dry in the men’s room, Draco standing at the stall next to him, reaching out to stroke the damp flesh…

This is not good, he thought, clenching his fist.

A short while later, after a cursory goodbye to his mother (accompanied by a vague description of where he was headed), he took his broom and flew to the outskirts of London. It was simple enough to locate the house, simpler to stash his broom in the garden shed out back. He could see Potter in one of the back windows–it looked like he was washing dishes. By hand.

Draco pursed his lips. “Raised by Muggles,” he spat. Really, why would a wizard like Potter choose to live like a Muggle?

No. Potter couldn’t be married to one, could he? Seething at the thought, Draco pulled out his wand and checked the house for protective spells. Pathetic. Potter had only the most basic anti-intruder spells, the sort that only caught the most bungling of burglars. Anything smaller than a house elf wouldn’t even be detected.

Draco smiled. A quick trip to the garden shed to secrete his robes and wand, and he was ready to have a look around inside the Potter household.


Potter was lucky he didn’t really have any enemies left from the war days, Draco thought as he shimmied up the drain pipe and through an open window on the second floor. The insect screen was loose and it was simple for Draco to push his little pointy nose into the gap and slip into the room. Being an unregistered Animagus was so handy sometimes.

From the look of the rumpled bed, as well as the socks and skivvies on the floor, this was someone’s bedroom. Draco stuck his head through the leg hole of one of Potter’s pairs of underwear, snaking his way through the other hole. Was that what Potter smelled like? Yes, it must have been, since his tail bristled, as did other parts of him.

Well, if this was Potter’s bedroom, there was no sign of a wife–or if he had one, she refused to pick up after him, the slob.

Resisting the urge to ball up in Potter’s dirty underwear and hump the rug, Draco scampered into the hallway, then pressed himself back against the wall. There were voices coming from downstairs. Male voices.

A little light went on in Draco’s head. Maybe Potter had a roommate, or even a boyfriend? He nearly squeaked with glee at that thought. What a scandal that would be in the old Hogwarts circle! He hopped down the stairs, one at a time, and poked his nose between the banister rails to peer into the sitting room.

Potter appeared to be alone, sitting in an armchair. Draco could just see the top of his head over the top of the chair, black hair sticking up like always.

The voices were coming from the box in front of Potter, a box with a kind of window and figures that moved like photographs.

The figures appeared to be two half-dressed men, on the verge of mauling one another. The darker one ran his hands down the belly of the paler one, saying the most outrageously dirty things…

Okay, so maybe Muggles did have a few good inventions.

Draco’s eyes glittered as he watched the men tear off what little they were wearing and then kiss like they were starved for each other.

Potter whimpered. Suddenly Draco’s attention was on Potter, and the way the armchair moved slightly, rhythmically.

Draco nearly fell down to the next step. Potter was wanking. Without realizing what he was doing, Draco had run down the stairs and halfway across the sitting room rug when he thought What am I doing?

He ran full speed into the kitchen, grateful that Potter did not seem to have a cat nor dog, and then ran in circles, he was so excited. Potter is wanking in the next room! To homosexual Muggle entertainment! Draco, being a rather long-spined ferret, was literally beside himself with joy.

Potter’s moans were growing louder now, and Draco wondered whether he was doing it out in the open air, or if he kept his hand inside his trousers. Draco let out a little squeal at the thought. He had vivid memories of that time he’d been shoved down Goyle’s pants. Or was it Crabbe? It had been dark, and smelly, and at the time he hadn’t much appreciated the experience, but now the thought of burrowing into Potter’s warm, musky trousers made every little white hair on Draco’s body stand out and his mouth go dry.

An even louder moan came from Potter and Draco climbed up on the counter to see if he could catch of glimpse of Potter or the Muggle device from here. But the angle was wrong.

And look at this, Potter didn’t even finish the bloody dishes before going off to have his little wank session. The sink was full of soapy water and Draco could see a couple of plates at the bottom. Draco paced back and forth on his tiny feet, scheming. Perhaps he could use the information to blackmail Potter into doing what he wanted. (The information about the homoerotic wanking, of course, not the dishes.)

Bloody hell, maybe Potter might even want to do it. Wizards and witches alike were forever making passes at Draco; he knew he was beautiful. He squeaked with glee at the thought of the power he could lord over Potter if that were the case.

He was about to make his way back to the open window upstairs, retrieve his clothes and then ring the doorbell with a cheeky grin on his face, when a sudden shout from the sitting room startled him. He lost his footing on the slippery sink’s edge and before he knew it, he plunged into the soapy, scummy water.

This is so not good. He couldn’t very well transform back–he’d be naked in Potter’s sink and would never live it down.

Draco’s first squeak of indignation was quite loud, loud enough to bring Potter to see what the ruckus was about, as Draco swallowed a mouthful of water and began to squeak like he was drowning.

“Hey, hey!” Potter said, grabbing a tea towel and fishing the squirming Draco out of the water. “Calm down, little guy. I got you.”

He sat in a vinyl-covered kitchen chair and toweled Draco all over. Draco fought it for a few moments, but once the soap was out of his nostrils, he caught the musky scent of Potter.

Oh Merlin. Potter was naked from the waist down, his cock standing erect against his dark pubic thatch. Draco forgot his embarrassment at having to be rescued and began trying to worm his way into Potter’s crotch.

“Hey now, where you going?” Potter picked his wand up off the table and Draco shivered under the delicious warmth of a Drying Charm. “Is that better?” Potter leaned forward as he said it, and Draco rubbed his whiskers along Potter’s cheek. “Damn, you’re cute. Where the heck did you come from?”

Draco squeaked excitedly. As long as Potter kept petting him and stroking him, he was happy. He rubbed his nose against Potter’s, licked at Potter’s lips, and then dove into his lap, licking at the salty pre-come beaded at the tip of Potter’s cock.

“Whoa! Hey, I don’t know…um… Oh, God…”

Draco circled Potter’s cock with his newly fluffed and warmed fur, licking at the tender crown. Potter’s moans were very encouraging, and he began to hump his own little prick against Potter’s turgid flesh. Maybe he could get off and then make good his escape, and Potter would never be the wiser.

But Potter finally plucked him up by the scruff of his neck. “Oh, you’re a right naughty little weasel, aren’t you?” Draco squeaked indignantly at both being wrenched from his pleasure and at being called “weasel.” “Come on, now, Daddy’s busy.”

Daddy? Draco wondered. Is that how Muggles talk to pets they think can’t understand them? Harry carried him back into the living room, made him a nest out of an afghan on the couch, and plopped him down in it. “Be good, okay? Just for a little while?”

Draco squeaked. Potter was going to finish his wank, and Draco was going to have a front row seat!

Potter settled himself back into the chair. Draco could see his trousers on the floor now. Potter made the entertainment start again and held himself casually while he waited for the action to get hot and heavy. Within a few minutes he was moaning softly, oblivious to Draco’s presence once again.

Now that he was closer, Draco could see the images better. The dark-haired one was tanned all over, like he’d been playing Quidditch in the buff, while the other was blond and pale, willowy. The dark-haired one pushed the blond against a wall and teased his buttcrack with a sizable erection.

“Draco…” Potter sighed, tugging hard.

What! Draco stared, stunned, at Potter, who was now biting his bottom lip hard and wanking in earnest.

When he repeated the name a second time, Draco was sure he wasn’t dreaming. Of course, Potter must have had some of the punch, too. He was as much a victim of the vile brew as Draco was. It all made sense now.

Draco considered transforming right then, naked in all his glory on Harry Potter’s sitting room couch. But his dignity demanded that he do things his own way. He slipped off the couch and hurried back upstairs. Out the window, down the drainpipe, and back to the garden shed. He dressed quickly, and then ran around to Potter’s front door, slightly out of breath. The sound of the two men in the entertainment was audible through the wood of the door.

There was a little glowing button that looked like it was of Muggle make, but it appeared to do just what doorbells in the Wizarding world did. Draco pressed it and heard the bell ring. Then he heard Potter curse. Not only were his anti-intrusion charms flimsy, so was the door itself. If he didn’t answer soon, Draco was sure he could kick it in. He rang again, leaning on it impatiently.

“Coming!” he heard Potter shout that time, and then a thump–had he fallen over trying to get his trousers on?

Draco rang a third time, just to be cruel, and Potter flung the door open as wide as his fly.

Draco wasted no time in pushing through the doorway and sliding his hand into that opening, his palm pressing against the slick and needy flesh there. “Hello, Potter, I was wondering if…”

Draco got no further in his opening line because it was exceedingly difficult to speak with Harry Potter’s tongue in his mouth. Oh, all right, Draco thought as he gave in to being petted all over. Potter was all hands, disrobing him, stroking his skin, pressing him back against the couch.

And then he was all mouth, taking Draco deep, working him with his tongue and letting Draco fuck the soft inner lining of his cheek.

“Oh fuck, Potter…” Draco said, with feeling.

Harry disengaged his mouth. “Do you want to?”

God, Potter, are you such an imbecile that you can’t distinguish between an epithet and a request? Draco thought, but he was not such an imbecile himself as to say that right now. Instead he said: “Absolutely.”

Later, when they’d each had the pleasure of the other’s mouth, and tongue, and arse–just to make sure the effects of the potion were completely eradicated, or so Draco told himself as they went up to Potter’s bedroom. There they shagged for the second time, this time with Potter’s cock buried balls deep in Draco’s arse, until Draco cried out, his third orgasm of the night approaching. Strong potion. Potter emptied into him, making his channel extra slippery and fucking him extra hard for a few seconds, until Draco spilled himself, into Potter’s fingers.

They lay quietly after that, in the rumpled bed, the breeze from the open window cooling the sweat on their skin. Draco nuzzled against him, and Potter nuzzled back, burying his nose in Draco’s fine hair.

“God, I love the way you smell,” Potter said.

Draco smirked. He’d expected Potter might be a sappy pillow-talker. “Do you?” he said, goading him on.

“Yes. You smell ike you’ve been fucked six ways from Sunday, and like sandalwood, and magic, and a broom ride at night.” Potter squeezed him tight. “There’s just one thing I can’t figure out.”

“What’s that?”

“Why do you smell like dish soap?”

Draco did not miss a beat. “There must be some mysteries in life, Potter. Surely seven years at Hogwarts taught you that.”

“Mmmm, like the mystery of why I want you in my bed?” Potter’s hand stroked Draco’s thigh. “Fancy another go as soon as I’m able?”

Draco thought of a few dozen snide things he could say to that. But he was no fool. “Absolutely,” he said. This is so good.

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