On the morning after the storm, Harry wakes up in bed to sunlight streaming in through the curtains, startling but not unwelcome. He rolls over to face Liam, already reaching for him, and instead his hand lands flat on the empty bedsheets. There’s a sleeping black cat where Liam should be, curled up on Liam’s pillow.
Harry squints and then rubs his eyes, but the cat is still there, purring softly while it rests. Harry lifts his hand from the sheets to pet the cat, murmuring, “Good morning, little guy,” smiling a little into his pillow at how soft the cat is, just as soft as the downy hairs at the back of Liam’s neck or the skin on his inner arm. “Where did you come from?”
Draco Malfoy:[in the Gryffindor common room using Polyjuice Potion] A buddy of mine saw Draco Malfoy take his shirt off in the Quidditch showers, and he said that Draco Malfoy had an eight pack. That Draco Malfoy was shredded.
Harry Potter:What?! Your friend's a liar, mate, Draco Malfoy is a punk bitch. That guy looks like he weighs thirty pounds soaking wet underneath that little black dress.