All Life Is Yours To Miss

Chapter 24

On Saturday, after breakfast and Quidditch practice have been dealt with, Draco straps Stanley into his basket, takes a deep breath, and heads out into the castle with him. It's their first walk together during daylight hours and he's nervous, heart racing and string slipping against damp fingers. He has no idea what he's nervous about; logically, he knows nothing terrible can happen, but sharing his best friend with the rest of the school makes him feel somewhat exposed.

The castle is quiet, and he is just beginning to think that he could turn around and abort the exercise before anyone even sees him when he steps into the Entrance Hall and sees McGonagall standing at the bottom of the stairs and staring right at him. A fraction of a second later, her eyes drop to Stanley, who has begun squirming in his harness to greet this new person.

"Good morning, Mr Malfoy," she says, eyes unreadable as they lift back to his.

"He's not dangerous, I assure you," he blurts anxiously.

McGonagall arches an eyebrow. "I had worked that out for myself. Do you think I don't know about the two of you and your night-time wanderings?"

Oh, well, fuck, Draco thinks, keeping his face neutral. He supposes she must know about his midnight visits to Harry, too.

"Hagrid told you?" he asks, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

For a split-second, she actually looks surprised. "No, but Mr Filch did. He was under the impression that you were... 'up to something.'"

"I'm not," Draco says, reluctantly approaching McGonagall to allow Stanley to inspect her more closely.

She smiles. "That remains to be seen. However, I am pleased to see that you have it on a proper leash at last. Just because a thing is harmless does not mean it cannot wreak havoc."

Draco smiles, too. He can't help it. "I can't fault your logic, Professor."

McGonagall bends and adjusts her glasses as she examines Stanley, who appears to thoroughly enjoy the attention.

"What an odd choice of pet," she says at last, straightening up and searching his face.

"I didn't really choose him," Draco admits. "He chose me."

"They say one's true familiar is found that way," McGonagall says. "Does it have a name?"

Draco blinks, startled. "Er, yes. It's Stanley."

McGonagall's thin lips twist oddly as though she is trying not to laugh. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Stanley," she says after a moment, before turning and stalking into the Great Hall, leaving Draco and Stanley alone next to the staircase.

"That was odd," Draco mumbles. "Anyway, come on, let's go and see what you think about grass."

Stanley likes grass very much. He also likes cobblestones, mud, and children's laps. Over the next couple of days, Draco takes him all over the castle and its grounds. They visit the Quidditch pitch and the edge of the forest; they drop in at Hagrid's hut for some of the strongest tea Draco has ever tasted and a cautious meeting of dog and beetle that enraptures both owners for long, silent minutes. They walk around all of Draco's favourite little courtyards where Stanley investigates the beginnings of frost and then tries to join in with a game of Gobstones. In fact, they visit almost every corner of Hogwarts beside the library, because Draco has always been afraid of Madam Pince, and he can't imagine she will be falling over herself to fuss Stanley or even tolerate his presence in her sacred domain.

With this exception, Stanley is universally adored. Boys and girls alike want to hold him or walk him or stroke him, and even the few that initially recoil at the sight of such a large insect are intrigued enough to ask questions from a safe distance. By Sunday evening, Draco is drained from the most social interaction he has had in years, and Stanley is hungry, noisy, and covered in mud. Remembering Poppy's accusation, Draco feeds him and then runs a shallow bath, determined to make Stanley the cleanest giant mint leaf beetle in existence before he goes anywhere near the hospital wing.

Fortunately, Stanley doesn't much mind the bath. "It's a good job, isn't it, if you're so determined to like the great outdoors?" Draco says, lifting Stanley out of the water and onto a clean towel.

Yawning, he sits, leaning against the side of the bath and pulling up his knees. He's not sure exactly what he feels about the great outdoors, but he knows that he doesn't hate it like he used to. His life is bigger, whether he wants it to be or not, and maybe there just isn't the time to hate things.

Eyes heavy, he gets to his feet and carries the towel containing Stanley into the living room, collapsing into his chair with the bundle on his lap. The fire is crackling in the grate and his clothes smell like school and earth and leaves. Within seconds, they are both sleeping soundly.