Disclaimer: Draco, Crookshanks, and all other proper nouns belong to the great and wonderful JKR. Please don't sue, I don't have any money.

Author's Note: This fic has absolutely no point or purpose. I, like Draco, am an insomniac and this is what happens when I have too much caffeine and not enough sleep.

It has been decided! I am going to expand this fic into a full-on espionage fic. So consider this the first chapter.

xXx

Chapter One: In which Draco rants, Potter seethes, Granger glares and Weasley is lost.

It was almost two in the morning, and once again, he couldn't sleep.

Draco Malfoy sat by the fire in the Slytherin common room, Granger's blasted wreck of a cat curled in his lap. Draco looked down and stroked the cat's head absently. It wasn't a bad cat, per say. In fact, Draco quite liked it. The problem was that it was Granger's. And it shed. A lot. All over Draco's best robes.

And his pajamas.

And his sheets.

And how, Draco wanted to know, did the blasted thing get into the Slytherin dorms all the time? Draco narrowed his eyes at the dozing creature. What secrets was it hiding?

He picked the cat up and held it at arm's length, considering it.

"What secrets are you hiding?" he asked it.

The cat merely blinked at him. Draco glared. The cat blinked. Draco sneered. The cat blinked.

And so on.

Draco sighed and put the cat down on the floor, whereupon it hopped back up into his lap and continued purring. Draco couldn't be sure, but it sounded as if it was a smug, triumphant sort of purring.

"Blasted cat," he muttered. "I will find out what you're hiding."

"Draco, who are you talking to?" Blaise Zabini had wandered into the common room. Draco looked up, unconcerned.

"To the cat," he answered, as if this were a perfectly sane and logical thing to be doing. Blaise raised his eyebrows, but said nothing, just continued on his way out of the room. It was then that Draco noticed that the other boy was not, in fact, in his pajamas, but fully dressed.

"Where are you going?" he demanded.

"Astronomy Tower," Blaise answered.

"Ah. Say no more, old friend, but remember to use a condom and whoever she is, I hope she is not diseased." Draco nodded his approval and Blaise left, wondering exactly how much sleep Draco had been getting and if it was enough. He decided it wasn't.

Draco turned his attention back to the cat. Granger's cat.

Why was he cuddling Granger's cat? The damn thing probably had fleas from being around that filthy Weasley peon and may have developed a sort of superiority complex from Potter.

Was that sort of thing contagious? Could a cat have a superiority complex?

Draco made a mental note to look into that.

Then he made another mental note to get more sleep. He was ranting, and there was no one to rant to. It was a bit disturbing. He checked the clock above the fireplace. Two thirty. Classes didn't start until nine and breakfast wouldn't be served until eight. That left him with at least five and half hours to either mentally ramble about Granger's cat, sleep, or wander the castle.

He chose the latter.

xXx

Draco could never understand why the teachers made such a big stink about students out of their beds after hours. Maybe two years ago, when things were still dangerous, but the war was over, which meant that Voldemort was not hiding behind the tapestries. The only thing you really had to watch out for was Peeves, and one could usually hear him coming a mile off.

And anyway, Draco didn't see the big deal when the war was still in progress. From someone who knew the man personally, being in your bed would not stop the Dark Lord. He was not the type to jump out at you from your wardrobe and shout "Boo!" He was not Peeves and you would not hear him coming.

But, having known the man personally, Draco also knew that the codger was just a big has-been wind-bag. He talked a big game, but when it came down to it, all it took was a couple of sixteen-year-olds with wands to stop him. Lucius had been crushed at his downfall. Draco had been secretly relieved. The idea of branding his perfect skin with that disgusting tattoo was more than he could bear. His body was his temple and he'd be damned if some ego maniac and his henchmen were going to sully it up. And world domination didn't appeal to Draco. All the planning and the scheming and the killing and general messiness was far too much. It all seemed like a colossal pain in the arse.

Not that Draco planned to run off and become an Auror or anything. He just preferred terrorizing locally as opposed to globally. There was a difference, even if Potter and his friends failed to see it.

Draco stopped suddenly, listening. He could hear the swish of a cloak from down the dark hall and cursed under his breath. It was either a teacher or a Prefect doing rounds. He slipped into a dark classroom, leaving the door cracked just enough to know when the intruder was gone. Voices reached his ears, sounding as if they were right outside the door. The only problem was that Draco couldn't see anyone.

"No, no. We're going the wrong way. We have to go down. The dungeons are at the bottom."

Wait. Draco knew that voice. It was that infernal Mudblood. He smirked.

"Brilliant deduction, Granger. Ten points to Gryffindor." Draco stepped out from behind the door to see – no one.

Well that was odd.

"Malfoy!" Potter's voice demanded from nowhere. "What are you doing out after hours?"

"Potter!" Draco demanded right back. "What are you doing being disembodied?"

"What does that mean?" Weasley's voice piped up. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Honestly Weasley. Just keep your mouth shut. By the way, where is your mouth?" Draco was terribly curious and would not rest until he found out what spell Granger had taught those two imbeciles to make this happen.

"Honestly, Malfoy." Draco could hear Granger rolling her eyes. There was a swish of cloak and all three of them were suddenly standing a little to his right. He jumped, but only a little. And he most certainly did not squeak.

"Did you just squeak?" Potter asked, leaning forward.

"Malfoys," Draco informed him imperiously, "Do not squeak." In the process of looking down his nose at the trio, he noticed something in Granger's hand. "Merlin's balls, Granger. Is that an Invisibility cloak?"

"Er…I suppose it is," she answered, glancing sideways at Potter.

"I see," Draco continued. "And you were going to – what, exactly? Infiltrate the Slytherin dorms? Hoping to catch a peek of Snape in his dressing gown? Because I can tell you now, I have seen it and it is not pretty."

Weasley narrowed his eyes. "No, Malfoy, we were going to – oof!"

Potter had elbowed him in the stomach to prevent him from telling Draco what their sad little plan was. Not that it mattered. Much.

Draco was still terribly curious.

"Why are you out of bed, Malfoy? What are you up to?" Granger leaned forward and placed her hands on her hips.

"I will have you know that I am up to nothing. I simply could not sleep, so I decided to have a walk."

"I don't believe you. What are you up to?" Potter gave him a scrutinizing look. Draco sighed.

"Really, Potter. The war is over, so you can stop playing the wounded hero role. I am not, in fact, a pawn of the Dark Forces, I do not have the Mark, and I am not going to torture helpless creatures like the Creevy brothers. Actually, scratch that last one." Draco paused to savor the scandalized look Granger gave him. "I am simply an insomniac. I am not, at the moment, up to some nefarious plot, scheme or conspiracy. If you are hoping to turn someone in for debauchery, I would point you in the direction of Blaise Zabini and the Astronomy Tower."

Granger scowled, Potter seethed, and Weasley looked lost. Too many big words, Draco suspected.

"However, your lack of explanations leads me to believe that you lot are up to no good. Or as up to no good as a pack of Gryffindors can get. What's going on?"

Granger sighed. "I can't find Crookshanks."

Draco blinked. "What the hell is a Crookshanks?"

"Crookshanks is Hermione's cat," Weasley explained. "He's gone missing and we have searched the castle from the top down. All we have left are the dungeons."

"Your cat?" Draco asked Granger. "You mean that squashy-faced bowlegged pig with fur?"

Granger bristled. "Yes. And he does not look like a pig." For some reason she shot Weasley the dirty look that Draco was quite sure belonged to him. He was somewhat affronted.

"Well, if you must know, your – Crookshanks, did you say his name was? Well, he is currently sleeping in front of the fire in my common room. There is no need to worry as he is quite safe, although if he continues to shed on my belongings I will be forced to take action."

"Oh, and what will you do, Malfoy? Kill him?" Weasley sneered in his general direction.

"Of course not, Millicent will shave him. Menial labor is beneath me, Weasley. I have minions for a reason."

"Why is my cat in your common room?" Granger asked, somewhat shrilly.

"Malfoy," Potter started in his I'm-the-hero-do-not-mess-with-me tone, "Why have you kidnapped Crookshanks? It will get you nowhere. Really, holding a helpless cat hostage. You are pure evil."

"And you are off your rocker," Draco informed him. "I am only marginally evil and I am not holding Granger's cat hostage. He came to me. Clearly you all are not giving him enough attention because he shows up in my dorm at all hours, shedding on my sheets and eating the mince meat pies that Mother sends for me." He paused and considered for a moment. "In fact, that cat is the only one who eats those pies. Mother's not the best cook, see."

Potter sighed. "Malfoy, give the cat back."

"Potter, take the blasted thing. Look, if you all follow me, I will take you to the common room and he's all yours."

Draco started off in the direction of his common room. He got about ten feet before he realized that he was not being followed. He turned to see the Golden Trio staring at his as if his head were on backwards.

"Well, are you coming or not?" He pulled back a tapestry to reveal a secret passage to the dungeons. The three Gryffindors looked around at each other for a moment, then followed.

Upon arriving at the common room entrance, Draco fretted for a moment about the password. It would just not do to have a bunch of Gryffindors running about with his password. That awful Patil girl would end up stalking him and then pictures of him in his underwear would start to circulate and then – no. No, they must not hear the password.

"You lot! Close your ears!"

They all rolled their eyes and stuffed their fingers in their ears. Granger even hummed "Weasley is Our King." Draco almost chuckled. There may be hope for her yet.

He muttered the password and the portrait swung open. He checked to make sure Nott, who was prone to sleepwalking, wasn't wandering about starkers first, then waved them through. They stepped up to the fire and lo and behold – there was the elusive Crookshanks, curled up on Draco's school bag, shedding like it was going out of style. Granger ran over and scooped him up.

"Oh, Crookshanks, did the mean boy kidnap you? Poor baby." She nuzzled her face in his fur and he gave Draco a look that clearly said "Help me."

"I say, Granger, that is quite enough. No squishy feel-good scenes allowed. House rules and all. I will ask you to please remove yourself, your stooges and your pig from my common room before I am lynched by a mob of angry Slytherins in nightclothes. I could be hung, drawn, and quartered for this. And I demand that you shave that beat. Look at my bag! This is suede." He shook the bag at her for emphasis.

Granger pulled a face at him. "Sod off, Malfoy," she suggested, then turned to leave. Potter and Weasley were already heading out the portrait hole.

"Oh, sure, Granger. It was no problem. No need to thank me or anything!" Draco shouted at the closing portrait. He looked around at the now empty common room, wondering what to do next.

He sighed and plopped down in his chair. It just wasn't the same without Granger's blasted wreck of a cat dozing in his lap.

Damn her. And damn to the depths that blasted cat.

Now he really would have to kidnap the thing.