Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter characters. Fear not, Jo — no NC-17 squeak ahead.

"This cat isn't mad. He's the most intelligent of his kind I've ever met." —Sirius Black, on Crookshanks

Ron had intentionally been avoiding Hermione in the past few days. Well, not her in particular, but there was something awfully odd about that new "cat" of hers, Crook-what's-his-face. ("It's a cat, Ronald. And his name is Crookshanks." she tried to convince him a few times.)

He remembers when Hermione had purchased that little hairy pig"What was that?" he d asked Harry when he saw the bloody beast for the first time. "It was either a very large cat or quite a small tiger." he replied.) and Hermione's ignorance of the fact that Crookshanks was a bloody beast"You bought that beast?" he d asked her, questioning her sanity for the first time. "He's gorgeous, isn't he?" she gushed.)

Needless to say that it had nearly scalped him. Ron really despises that cat.

—

Crookshanks really likes the girl who took him home. She scratches him behind the ears, gives him delicious cat food and pets him until he gets sleepy. Crookshanks also likes the boy with the glasses but does not appreciate the fact that he makes up answers for his homework. Crookshanks does not like that other boy. The boy with the rat.

—

"I don't think your bloody beast, ahem, cat likes me," Ron tells Hermione. sizing Crookshanks up in the same manner a man at sea would look at an approaching shark.

"Now, why would you say that?"

"He, er... is glaring at me."

"It's a cat, Ronald. I've said this a thousand times already. It's a cat and cats are supposed to look like they are glaring. Besides, I don't think it's you he dislikes." She eyes Scabbers who is taking a nap on Ron's lap but doesn't say comment further. Ron is suddenly worried.

—

The girl and the boy settle onto the couch. The girl scratches Crookshanks behind the ears. Crookshanks likes that. Then, she pulls a few heavy books out of her bag, a notebook, and a quill. The boy does the same but keeps his eyes fixated on her. And Crookshanks does. Not. Like that.

—

"Ow! Your bloody beast scratched me!"

Hermione laughs. "Aw. Come on! He's just playing!"

Bloody cat. "I swear Hermione, he is glaring at me."

Hermione rolls her eyes, and Ron decides it's time to give up.

—

Crookshanks is happy now. He purrs and settles again on the girl's lap. He will deal with the boy later.

—

Ron sighs. Cat's asleep for now.

"So, um, why a cat?" he asks Hermione.

"Huh? Oh, I don't know. I just didn't want an owl and frogs are kind of disgusting." She casts a glance at Neville who is chasing his inside the Gryffindor common room. "Cats are cute." Cute. Right. "Why?"

Five words. Polyjuice potion fiasco. Hermione cat.

"Um... If you wanted a cute cat why did you buy a hairy pig?" Bad move, Ron. "Ow!"

Ron managed to dodge the History of Magic book before it caused any permanent damage. Still, that would leave a bruise.

"It's a cat, Ronald. A cat! And his name is Crookshanks."

—

Oh, yes. Crookshanks is very happy now.

Crookshanks is disgruntled. Disgruntled at the boy, that is.

They are all happily studying in the common room all, as in he and the girl when a high pitched shriek causes him to jump to the girl's lap. Merlin's beard, is someone murdering a cat?

"Won Won!"

The girl scratches Crookshanks behind the ears like she always does, but something is different now.

—

Hermione is fuming. That... that despicable excuse of a human being was snogging, snogging, "Won Won(And she cares, because?) being all disgusting in front of... Harry. Well, Harry is here. And... and her and Crookshanks are here. And, oh look, Seamus Finnigan is snoring in the corner.

(Hermione doesn't want to admit it, but she hates Lavender Brown.)

—

Oh, so the boy suddenly decides he has adolescent impulses!

—

Lavender plants a kiss on his lips. And another on his cheek. And another on the crook of his neck. (Oh God, is that saliva?) Merlin, is she hissing?

—

The girl's not his girl's scream is more annoying that before. (How is this even possible?)

"Granger, do me a favour and control your horrible peace of... fur!" The boy's snogging pal hollers.

Oh, hell no! No one talks to his girl like that.

—

Hermione is smiling.

"What was that for?" Ron shouts.

"Come on, Ron. He's just a cat. Lavender, honey..." Lavender rubs the red scar on her arm (Ouch, Hermione thinks malevolently.) and glares at her. "Keep it down next time," she adds cheerfully.

—

Needless to say that Crookshanks is very pleased with himself.

Crookshanks is extremely worried.

The girl left abruptly this morning, and, two hours later, she hasn't come back. This is just unacceptable.

At first, Crookshanks found it a coincidence that the boy was missing as well. It actually came as a surprise to him that he wasn't sucking faces with that... annoying idiot that couldn't hold a candle to his owner.

After the initial surprise, Crookshanks is actually rather annoyed. If the girl isn't here, and the boy isn't here either...

Oh no, he didn't.

—

It's been three hours, thirty seven minutes and twenty nine seconds.

Crookshanks is literally fuming.

A dark-skinned boy, known to Crookshanks as Dean Thomas, swiftly walks past him. More than fifteen annoying prepubescent brats along with a couple of hormonal teenagers had walked past him that morning, none of them being either the girl or the boy.

In the corner, Lavender Brown is being consoled by Parvati Patil, tears streaming down her ugly (as Crookshanks notes) face. He wonders what happened.

—

Crookshanks lays on his back on the carpet of the Gryffindor common room.

It's been days and, still, no sign of anyone attention-worthy.

He is about to doze off when a giggle catches his ear.

Finally, he lazily thinks.

—

"Oh, look. The mashed potato is awake!" Ron shouts in pretended excitement.

"Honestly, Ronald. I thought we were through this." Hermione isn't angry, though, and you can tell by her playful tone. She is just happy that Ron is alright. She will probably return to normal Hermione mode soon enough.

Ron flashes a grin at her and practically slumps into the nearest armchair. The mashed potato hisses at him, then climbs at the nearest chair away from him. Lazy cat.

—

The idiotic, whiny, and, apparently, former girlfriend of the boy thankfully moved her whining to another room.

Now, Crookshanks can finally concentrate on plotting his next scheme.

Actually, he can concentrate later. The girl is practically glowing with happiness (Who knows for how long? The boy might decide to externalize his hormonal, um, concerns on some other whiny, self-important teenager.) and he is so tired. There is plenty time for plotting tomorrow. And the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that.

Crookshanks paces back and forth in the dark, empty house. He has been doing so for a long time it stopped snowing weeks ago and there is still no sign of her.

The Weasleys, the red-headed people that inhabit the spacious, groggy house have been absent for days and all Crookshanks can do is pace.

At first, he uses this newfound freedom to look through every single thing the boy owns. Soon enough he finds himself in deep ennui, so all he does is pace.

He misses the girl a lot. Ever since the day she abruptly left, no letters graced by her elegant handwriting have arrived, no news of her whereabouts have been heard. Crookshanks knows she is with him and the boy with the scar, Potter. He can't help but feel jealous. (He secretly thinks that she doesn't love him anymore, that she simply abandoned him, simply not caring anymore.)

He eventually decides he's probably wrong.

Somewhere inside a trunk, he finds dozens of books. A smile creeps to his deformed face; she would never leave without her books. She will return, she has to return.

—

The sun is shining brightly, blinding Crookshanks as he stands behind the window of the spacious, groggy house that looks to the front yard. He has given up pacing it's tiring and, frankly, pointless. He doesn't need any exercise.

Crookshanks swiftly jumps to the comfy sofa, roosting beside a fringed cushion.

That's when he hears it. A sound resembling a car backfiring. Then again. And again. He huffs in exasperation. Damn those Muggles and their wheeled portkeys.

"I almost missed that mashed potato." Crookshanks hisses. The boy's voice in his head sounds overly realistic.

"Honestly, Ron. It's a cat." Crookshanks purrs in delight; the girl defends him even in his imagination. Her tone is playful, though, as if she isn't even furious that the boy uttered such horrible words about him.

Suddenly, the wooden door opens with a loud creak, carrying blinding rays of light with it that prevent Crookshanks from discerning the large figure at the door step. And, suddenly, the girl appears in front of him, momentarily wrapped under the boy's arm whatthehowdidthiseven — before she runs towards him, crying his name in glee. Behind her, the boy huffs and mutters something under his breath, but Crookshanks couldn't care less, because the girl is back, she's back and she missed him.

Crookshanks has never been so happy in his entire furry life.

It is a busy day, Crookshanks can tell.

Giggles echo from upstairs, as Ginny Weasley helps the girl with the preparations. He likes her, despite the deep hatred he feels for her brother.

A flushed lady, dressed in a formal emerald dress that compliments her red hair, quickly runs down the stairs, frantically looks for something in the living room, and, when she derives it, runs back upstairs.

All of that greatly confuses Crookshanks. He hadn't seen the boy -or is it the man? It's been years since he was considered a boy since that morning, when he left with Mr. Lightning Scar and his almost equally annoying older brother, the one with the scary gap on the left side of his red head, dressed in a rather odd costume. Such poor taste, the boy.

An exclamation of admiration coming from upstairs catches Crookshanks' attention once again. A muffled "It looks so beautiful! Like it was specifically made for you!" is audible from where he casually stretches on the Weasleys' sofa.

A few quarters of the hour later, a whacked Crookshanks lays on the maroon carpet, after impatiently striding from the living room to the kitchen and back position of the sun in the sky indicates that it's almost dusk. A creak on the ancient stairs connotes the end of the seemingly endless preparations for "the big day". Yes, it was a "big" day, indeed. Longest four hours of his nine lives.

Finally, he half-meows, half-groans, but is then startled at the sight of the girl.

She looks radiant.

The annoying redhead, Ginny Weasley, tenderly lifts him -he notes that she holds him in a safe distance from her silk, lavender dress- and scratches him behind the ears. She proceeds to softly place him on the wooden kitchen table.

"Now, stand still, will you?" she half-purrs. (Oh, there's no need to try and seduce me, my heart already belongs to the white-clad beauty behind you.)

It is the longest, most torturous moments of his life, as Ginny Weasley exerts to put the black top hat on his gorgeous head. (If I see a monocle, Mr. Lightning Scar will be your perfect match.)

After the annoying redhead succeeds in her purpose, Crookshanks gracefully jumps off the table and tenderly meows at the girl. Behind him, the annoying redhead murmurs something about a "wedding", "guests", the name of boy and "how they will get rid of the annoying hairball when they have to...".

Crookshanks doesn't quite catch that last one.

Wait. Annoying hairball?

the end (?)