Fic: Found in Translation
Author: gilpin25
Title: Found in Translation
Rating & Warnings: PG-13; none apart from some very bad jokes.
Word Count: ~4850
Prompt(s): #15, Crookshanks
Summary: When Hermione is forced to flee with Harry and Ron, immediately after Bill and Fleur's wedding, Crookshanks is left behind and no one knows quite what to do with him. But Crookshanks has some rather firm plans of his own...
Notes: Phew, thank goodness for extensions! I haven't written anything for far too long and I worry if parts of this - or all of it - will come across as slightly mad! But I've always wondered what Crookshanks was up to during DH, and wanted to come up with a possible R/T-related answer. Thanks so much to everyone who has contributed to this event, and I'm looking forward to catching up with all the entries I haven't had chance to read yet.
Found in Translation
She arrives on a different day and at a different time for their usual chat. Everyone keeps saying journeys are increasingly risky now. But she isn’t the type you could stop without a very good reason, and probably not even then if she set her mind to something. Bit like me, really. Obviously that husband of hers, if he hasn’t left her again (I’d heard talk about that, too, a while back), hasn’t been able to. And am I glad to see her and her bright pink hair after sitting all morning on the windowsill at the top of the stairs. It’s by far the best eavesdropping position in the house.
“Stay, Crookshanks,” says a familiar voice behind me, one which I’d hoped would have been fully occupied with the questions they all ask each other at the front door. If only they used their noses instead they’d save so much time.
And ‘stay’? What am I, some kind of dopey, obedient canine that can’t think for itself?
Stay? Really? I don’t think so.
I let out a loud purr of approval and walk casually forward to greet our visitor. As though there was nothing on my mind but a good ear rub and the next dish of lamb with mint and gravy. This was going to have to be judged just right as it only takes a puff of wind to trip her up at the best of times. She bends down a bit awkwardly to say hello - it’s a shame I can’t linger as she’s good at ear rubs; hits just the right spot - and then I dart through her legs as fast as I can as the outside world beckons and-
Slam!
It’s hard to say who is glaring the most. Mrs W with her red hair all over her face and a wand still pointing at the door, or me who’d nearly lost a whisker as it shut in my face. One of us was hissing loudly. Okay, that was me.
“Molly, what on earth is going on?” asks the pink-haired witch gazing round in bewilderment. “He’s not still-?“
“He is. Tries to get out at every opportunity he can. I can’t even open windows anymore in case he sees me do it. There’s nearly as many spells keeping him in as there is everyone else out.”
“Oh no, poor old Crookshanks.”
There is a note of sympathy in her voice that makes me feel even worse. I ignore the outstretched hand and take myself off to the shelf where Errol and Pigwidegon nap (second best eavesdropping position), high above the family table, and pretend to wash my back legs amongst the feathers. Pretend I don’t care. They, meanwhile, get out the plates, the tea cups and the biscuits, and, low-voiced and solemn-faced, discuss their families, an upsetting letter that has come from Hogwarts asking where Ron is, and then something called the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, which I gather is a very bad thing as people are being forced to join it or be in a lot of trouble if they don’t.
Eventually, they get round to me. They decide I am pining, which must be like missing someone and worrying about them like mad, because that’s what the young witch says she and her mum are doing about her dad. He wouldn’t join the commission because he knew it was wrong, and so he had to go away in a very great hurry.
She suggests giving me some of my favourite food to perk me up. Mrs W says she’s tried that and is at her wit’s end.
Naturally I don’t get a say in any of this. If Mrs W really is at the end of her wit then we’re all going to have to look out. I’m good at understanding the meaning of what people say after all these years, but I do struggle with some words and gestures as they have such a lot of them. I suppose you can say they get lost in translation, but then people fail to cope with the most basic of feline chat. Such as ‘tuna’ and ‘where’ve you put the litter tray now then?’
Some names can be really, really tricky to get the hang of, but then they have such odd ones. I have several and yet, despite the instructions my previous mistress left in her will, I was known by the simplest of them all at the Magical Menagerie where Hermyonly found me.
Hermyonly. I found her there, too. Now I’ve been left behind and she promised I never would be again.
She promised.
I lost my first mistress. She didn’t mean to die, and she didn’t want to, but she did. Her relatives promised her they’d look after me but they took me to the Menagerie instead and I stayed there and grieved for her. Now Serious, Dumbledore and Hedwig are gone too. I’m not losing Hermyonly.
“I thought the plan was for him to go back to Hogwarts with Ginny,” the pink-haired witch they call Tinks says. (I know, I know. It’s baffling when she’s got a beautiful name like Nymfradorma, but that’s people for you.) “Wasn’t it all settled?”
“He vanished the minute we started packing, didn’t he?” Mrs W has her swallowed-a-wasp look on again, which doesn’t suit her. Don’t suppose the wasp’s too happy either. “We couldn’t find him anywhere and in the end Ginny had to go without him. Then we got back from the station and he was sat in the middle of the kitchen waiting for us.”
I had felt bad about that. Ginny’s nice. We both enjoy a game of chasing Butterbeer corks and she’s got a comfy lap for lying on. She was the only person who told me what had happened at Bill and Flu’s wedding after I’d looked for Hermyonly for hours. But she’s such a busy person, always on the go or up in the air; a good match for that Harry Potter who also doesn’t know when to sit down and have a nap. Hermyonly likes quiet and she likes clever books, and she likes to read them quietly for long periods. I like sitting quietly on the clever books she’s reading and keeping an eye on her and them. We suit each other.
Besides, Ginny didn’t need me. Hermyonly’s out there somewhere, no one knows where, with only Harry Potter and That Idiot Ron who slept with a miserable, evil rat, who wasn’t even a rat, for years on end. How comforting is that? I know I could find her if they’d just let me out-
“What about Fred and Gorge? Bet they’d have him.”
“…No. I don’t think so. They’re always so busy.”
To give Mrs W her due, she knows her own children. Fred and Gorge are fun but they’re not kind. ‘Kind’ was one of the first people words I learned because it’s so important.
“Bill?” Tinks answers her own question this time with a shake of the head. “No, Flu’s probably not the cat hair type, is she?"
I certainly don’t want to live with those two, either. I don’t know what ‘honeymoon period’ means, but everyone who goes to see them comes back with a funny look on their face and says they’re still in it. Long before that, Hermyonly said something to Harry Potter about feeling like she’d walked in on a Muggle prawn film. I also don’t get what that is, though I’ve yet to meet a fish I don’t like. Perhaps too much prawn is bad for you.
“He’s no trouble at all, not really, if only I could get through to him that he can’t go off and find Hermyonly. Especially when I’d like to go off and find them myself right now.” Mrs W’s voice wobbles. Tinks says something which makes her nod her head and smile, though it’s almost as if she doesn’t want to. After a bit Mrs W carries on. “The trouble is if we ever do have to leave The Burrow, and Arthur says we’ve got to be prepared for it, we simply can’t take him to Auntie Muriel’s because she’s allergic to cats. They bring her out in an awful rash. Then what will I do?”
We all sit and consider Auntie Muriel’s rashes (there are some good worming powders around). They don’t consider letting me leave, unfortunately. While Mrs W and I have had our differences we get on all right. There was the time I was sleeping under the bed when her and Arthur started all that huggy and kissy stuff people do. I’d have put my paws in my ears but unfortunately they sat on the edge of the bed to do it and their combined weight… Well, you get the picture. So did I. Then there was the confusion about Arthur’s fur balls. I coughed one up at his feet to show him how it was done. Only it seems it was his little foibles that were being discussed, and that means something different. But Mrs W feeds me and she cooks the best roast chicken in the world. She liked it when I chased all the gnomes in the garden off because I got extras then (chicken, not gnomes). So it seems I’m stuck here till I can get away. Not really wanted.
“Looks like he’s coming to live with us then,” says Tinks, picking up another biscuit. “I’ve never had a pet before apart from the goldfish and owls.” A brief frown crosses her face. “The goldfish didn’t go too well.”
“What?”
What?
“It’s the obvious solution.” She swallows a mouthful of biscuit and glances up to where I’m sitting, trying not to look as though my eyes are popping out of my head with alarm. “We’re staying at Mum and Dad’s place for now, and it’s a fairly big house and there’s a pond and a garden. You’ll love it, Crookshanks. Plenty of space to explore if you behave yourself.”
“But-“ Mrs W looks as if she has as long a list of ‘buts’ as me. “But what will Reemuss say?”
“Oh he’s a real softie when it comes to animals. Didn’t you know?”
“But, I mean, but, well, aren’t the two of you-“
“Not long married, back together after a dodgy start, I’m recently unemployed while no one ever wants to employ him, and we’re already having a baby. Yes, that’s about it, I think. Now why on earth wouldn’t anyone want to come and live with us? We’re very much your average couple, after all.” Tinks laughs, almost to herself and as if she's daring Mrs W to disagree. Something about it, and about her, makes me think that while some parts of her life might be a flea-ridden, nightmarish mess, she is, unmistakably, happy.
I haven’t had much to do with her but I rather like her. She’s interesting, and not just because she can change colour. I like watching her do that.
But. Reemuss Lupin. I’ve nothing against the man, but he’s not always a man is he? He nearly hurt me and Hermyonly and Harry Potter and Serious Black at Hogwarts, and because of him the rat got away and Serious had to go away. I haven’t had much to do with him since. I don’t want to.
Werewolves and cats don’t mix. Werewolves don’t mix with anyone apart from their own kind. Werewolves are killers.
I begin some angry tail lashing which should tell any idiot sat below that I am definitely not going.
“Of course you can have him if you’re sure he won’t get in the way of you and Reemuss.” Mrs W seems to have missed the tail-lashing point completely.
“We’d love to have him. It might give Mum something else to think about. That’s all settled then?”
No, it is absolutely not.
“It is.” Mrs W, who I’m rapidly going off despite her food preparation skills, is enthusiastic to a degree that is less than flattering. “I’ll sort out his dish and his bed for you. Hermyonly has lots of notes on his food and likes, and they’re very easy to follow. He loves a bit of cheese now and then. Oh, I’m so relieved he’s going to stay with you! I can let Ginny know as well and put her mind at rest.”
Stay with them, did you say? I’m going to be sent off to a house with a witch with the most lethal pair of hands and feet known to the feline world. Who lives with a werewolf. They’re having a baby person (who thought that was a good idea then?) and baby people are not my favourite kind. They cry, they scream, they always want feeding and animals come a long way last when they’re around.
Stay? Really? I don’t think so.
First chance I get I’m out the door to find the one person who needs me most.
*~*~*
Upon reflection, we might be talking second chance because there are as many spells and locks to get through at this new house as there are at The Burrow. We also arrive by some never-ending route that makes my head spin. By now it’s getting dark. Tinks has my carrier and a big bag Mrs. W gave her while Reemuss Lupin has everything else. Yes, he came to get her from Mrs W’s, and Mr W was with him, so maybe I was wrong about him not wanting her to go there and they’d had other things to do. There were long hugs and sad faces as they all said goodbye to each other. They’d been off meeting King-ersley Shacklebolt (now that’s a good person name), who I know, and who’d said it wasn’t safe for any more visits for a while as the Death Eaters were getting closer to where the Lupins live.
Mrs W started to cry at that. Tinks looked as if she’d like to hex something, but gave her and Mr W another hug instead.
“But I promise we’re going to stay in touch, Molly, don’t worry,” Reemuss said. “You’ll always be able to reach us. We can’t use anywhere the Order did, because Snape will know about them, but there are some haunts from my old days with James and Serious he knows nothing of. The trick is to keep moving and never be predictable.”
From which I gather that I’m not likely to be at this new house for long. What is the point then?
It seems a good decision to bolt for it the minute my feet touch the ground. I don’t get very far but I do learn two things: Tinks can’t half move fast and my tail aches where she grabs it. She apologises. I have a hissy fit and don’t.
We’re met at the door by an older, elegant witch, who looks calm but has anxious eyes, and reminds me of Tinks. Same kind of smell. Reemuss tells her there’s no news about someone called Ted but he and King-ersley have laid false trails for Snatchers (whatever they are), and it’s almost certainly a good sign that nothing has been heard. Mrs T, for that’s who it must be, nods but doesn’t say anything, and then her eyes fall on me. Tinks has me in what feels like an arm lock and I’m being presented legs and tummy first. Undignified is the word. Tinks says she hopes I’m not going to be a problem (thanks a bunch), but she didn’t get chance to say I was coming. Mrs T crisply says something about it being marginally less of a surprise than when Tinks got married and didn’t get chance to tell them about that either.
Everyone laughs. Sort of. Then there’s some throat clearing from Reemuss, who has gone a bit red-looking, and Mrs T goes upstairs, to carry on with the packing she says. I decide I won’t be scratching the legs of her furniture any time soon. Reemuss looks as though he feels the same.
We finally make it into the kitchen, which looks a lot whiter and less cluttered than Mrs W’s, and Tinks deposits me on the floor as I wriggle like mad to get free. I start to crawl round the werewolf in large, cautious circles on my belly, breathing him in to make sure he’s not going to change. Normally I’d get the scent of the room first but that can wait. He’s putting my basket in a sunny corner and then some water in my bowl. I’d like a drink but that would mean going near him.
I knew him from before of course. First at Hogwarts, then at Grimmauld, where he came and went at intervals, and now here. Hermyonly likes him. Serious and Dumbledore did. He smells like a good man, but there is Darkness in there as well. Not like the Darkness of the rat, who enjoyed his, but it’s there all the same. He buries it down deep inside but I can still smell it, trying to get out.
It’s frightening.
“Come to think of it, I didn’t really tell you about Crookshanks, did I? It was such a rush at the end there.” Tinks flicks her wand at the door and it closes softly as my circle takes me near. She looks tired now. “Molly said he seems so unhappy at The Burrow and keeps trying to leave as well as not eating much. You don’t mind?”
“No. Although Crookshanks might.” He’s putting water in the kettle and tapping it with his wand. He looks at her over his shoulder and smiles slightly. “Cats don’t usually like me much.”
“You’ll have to turn on the charm then. What was that tale about the Grindylow you had at Hogwarts? They’re the most evil little things, and yet I heard you went out of your way to take it back to where it was found and then it wouldn’t leave the tank! Serious said something about true love…”
“Serious always did have a tendency to exaggerate. It was a summer fling with the Grindylow. I've moved on now.” He says it lightly, like it's a joke, but neither of them seem entirely comfortable speaking or hearing Serious’ name as they go quiet after they do.
Grief is something I know about. How you don’t think about the person who has gone, and then you do and you know you were only not thinking about them because it makes you feel bad inside. I miss Serious a lot. He was like me, he just wanted to be needed.
“Anyway, Molly found this wonderful chart Hermyonly had left in her bedroom, which is all about Crookshanks. What he likes to eat. What games he likes to play. There’s even a bit about his back legs being stiff in the mornings and troubling him. There’s everything on here; I hope someone does as much for me one day.” Tinks is putting a brightly-coloured piece of paper up on the wall, her back turned away from us. Her shoulders are rigid.
“Now that takes me back.” Reemuss is looking at the chart and sounds amused. “Hermyonly’s organisational skills never cease to amaze. That year at Hogwarts when she was doubling up on- Dora?”
Dora? How many names can one witch have? But something’s wrong…
“It’s nothing.” She turns round and it’s clear, even to me, that it is very much something. She passes a weary hand across her face. “It’s just… I dunno… Molly and Arthur being so worried about Ron and living with a ghoul pretending to be him. Her giving us all this food. There not being any news about Dad - though I know that’s good - and then us having to leave here when we’d got settled. I'm sick to death of not being able to fight back and what a stupid, stupid time it is to be having a baby and - Crookshanks, will you stop slinking round him like that!”
I freeze on the spot. We all do.
“Dora.” Reemuss crosses the kitchen in two strides and pulls her to him. “It’s all right.”
“It’s not.” She pushes him away for a minute and looks directly at me. “Crookshanks, I’m sorry. It reminded me for a minute of the way a lot of people act, but it’s not fair to take it out on you.”
Her eyes meet mine, and it’s like when Hermyonly talks to me. Like Serious used to. Not many people do it. It’s much easier when they do.
I give a little meow to tell her it’s okay. I didn't mean to upset her.
She’s back in his arms and after a few low, murmured words they start the kissy stuff. Lots of face stroking, which I like myself. It looks like this is going to go on for a while so I go and have a drink of water while he's occupied. Some people you look at and can’t work out why they’re together. Or it’s obvious one cares far more than the other, and the other doesn’t even care enough to notice that or is using it. But I can see the connection between these two, bright and powerful. Like very strong magic.
Maybe her trusting him so much makes him be trustworthy?
“Besides,” Reemuss says, and I jump a little at the sound of his voice, quiet though it is. “It might not be the right time, but this is the right baby.”
She puts her head in his shoulder and I don’t think she’s going to reply. But then she sniffs and gives that little laugh of hers again.
“See,” she says, sounding a bit muffled, “you have got charm and can talk people round.”
“I had the best teacher. Does that mean you’ll start dinner while I have a word with our guest here?”
What? He can’t mean me?
“I suppose. Molly’s sent about a dozen potatoes so it’s going to be a baked potato with cheese each. There’s lots of ham and tomatoes as well. When Mum comes down she might do something more exciting with it. If she comes down. I hope she’s going to eat properly tonight.” She gives him a look I can’t read, disentangles herself gently, and reaches for the kettle which has started to whistle. “Are you both going to pull up a pipe and chair?”
He smiles but instead walks over to the door and opens it. I watch him carefully. He stands in the open space and crouches down, till he’s on much more of a level with me but still a distance away. I keep on watching him, and give little flicks of my tail to let him know I am. I’ve worked out exactly how quickly I could get round him if I have to. Always know your escape route when confronted with something dangerous.
“I don’t know what you’ve overheard, Crookshanks,” he says, “or what people have told you. But I was the last person to see Hermyonly and Harry and Ron. They’ve got something very important to do, something Dumbledore entrusted them, and only them, to do. I thought I could help them. I told myself they needed my help but I was wrong, because they’ve got to do it alone. It’s got to be kept secret. You can understand that, I know.”
I give a little hiss. I am good at secrets. Better than you, werewolf.
“And I was being selfish,” he says. I see him glance at Tinks, and know she’s listening as intently as I am, even though she’s busy pouring creamy-looking milk - any for me? - into mugs. “I was looking to make myself feel better when the truth was it was elsewhere I needed to be. I just couldn't see that at the time. The best way you can help Hermyonly now is to wait for her so she knows you're safe. Sometimes you have to trust people to do what's right. You’re needed here, Crookshanks. We want you to stay with us.”
Stay. That word again. He’s said ‘trust’ and ‘need’ as well. All this I understand. I don’t like it much but I do understand. Nobody talked to me like this at The Burrow. Nobody explained. They meant well but there was too many of them and too much going on. It’s funny that it’s a werewolf who’s done it, but then I remember that Serious was thought of as a bad man and had been locked up. People do get things wrong. Maybe I have a bit as well.
He rises to his feet stiffly, as though his legs are tired like mine. Steps away from the door and lets me see the way out into the hall and beyond. I could run and find a way out of here. I could find Hermyonly…
…or I could have a drink of milk and think it over some more. Tinks has poured some milk into my bowl. I’m hungry and tired. She’s putting mugs of tea on the table for them, and the oven’s starting to warm the whole kitchen. My basket looks really inviting.
“We can’t lock you in or watch you forever,” Reemuss Lupin says. Tinks raises her eyebrows at him and he shrugs. “We can’t, Dora. He’s a very clever cat.”
Well he’s got that right. I flick my tail some more while thinking, and then I slowly turn my back on the open doorway and start on the milk. It’s cold and delicious. I wonder why he thinks I’m needed here. I know people sometimes say things to get you to do what they want, and then it turns out they’re not true at all. I won’t forgive him if that’s what he's done.
It’s not until much later on, when I’ve had a long sleep and an even longer wash, and when Mrs T has come down to dinner, that I get a glimpse of how I'm needed. She heads straight for a cupboard in the corner, gets out a little potion bottle and rubs her head which seems to be hurting her.
“Baked potato, Mum?” Tinks asks, all cheerful-sounding. “There’s a good spread here and we can’t get through it all, despite what you two keep saying about the amount I’m putting away.”
“I’m not that hungry, thank you.” Mrs T looks as if she’s not going to sit down and would like to go straight back upstairs, but Reemuss holds a chair out for her, a bit awkwardly, and Tinks has already put a full plate firmly down. “Just a small amount then, Nymfradorma, as you’ve gone to all this trouble.”
She glances down at me and forces a smile. She doesn’t look as scary now, just sad and pale. “Has our friend made himself at home? I found a cat once when I was young - she was a lovely smoky-coloured grey, but my sisters kept teasing her and my father wouldn’t let me keep her. Crookshanks, isn’t it? Such an unusual name.”
I look up at her and see her hand tremble slightly as it opens the potion bottle. See her rub her head again which is hurting her. See a proud person in need. See someone whose world has gone all flea-ridden, like mine, and who Reemuss and Tinks don't know how to help. No one likes to burden anyone else, but then they worry everyone instead. That's okay though; I don't need to bother about the words. I only need to-
Jump!
“Oh!” Mrs T sounds surprised but not entirely displeased. “Well you're very friendly, aren't you? I don’t really like animals at the meal table, but seeing as you’re here already and it’s your first night… Just this once then.”
Her hands find their way into my fur. She hesitates and then starts to stroke me. I swivel round and round, getting myself comfortable, and catch Reemuss Lupin’s eye. For a second, it's as if we understand each other, without words or sounds, and then he picks up something from the table.
“Salt, Andromeda?” he asks. Which must be another of those funny names they give to people.
“Tomatoes, Mum?” asks Tinks. “Have some cheese.”
I purr at that, very, very loudly so even they can't help but get the point, and everyone laughs. I love cheese. I like ear rubs, too, and Mrs T is like her daughter, pretty good at them. I’ll get her trained up in what else I like, and there is a good chance some cheese will come my way very soon if I sit here quietly and stay on her lap.
Stay. I think I might stay here for a bit after all. See if the werewolf - and the man - is true to his word. Stay and wait for Hermyonly, and trust her to come and get me when she’s done what she has to.
You have to stay where you’re needed the most, don’t you?
Title: Found in Translation
Rating & Warnings: PG-13; none apart from some very bad jokes.
Word Count: ~4850
Prompt(s): #15, Crookshanks
Summary: When Hermione is forced to flee with Harry and Ron, immediately after Bill and Fleur's wedding, Crookshanks is left behind and no one knows quite what to do with him. But Crookshanks has some rather firm plans of his own...
Notes: Phew, thank goodness for extensions! I haven't written anything for far too long and I worry if parts of this - or all of it - will come across as slightly mad! But I've always wondered what Crookshanks was up to during DH, and wanted to come up with a possible R/T-related answer. Thanks so much to everyone who has contributed to this event, and I'm looking forward to catching up with all the entries I haven't had chance to read yet.
Found in Translation
She arrives on a different day and at a different time for their usual chat. Everyone keeps saying journeys are increasingly risky now. But she isn’t the type you could stop without a very good reason, and probably not even then if she set her mind to something. Bit like me, really. Obviously that husband of hers, if he hasn’t left her again (I’d heard talk about that, too, a while back), hasn’t been able to. And am I glad to see her and her bright pink hair after sitting all morning on the windowsill at the top of the stairs. It’s by far the best eavesdropping position in the house.
“Stay, Crookshanks,” says a familiar voice behind me, one which I’d hoped would have been fully occupied with the questions they all ask each other at the front door. If only they used their noses instead they’d save so much time.
And ‘stay’? What am I, some kind of dopey, obedient canine that can’t think for itself?
Stay? Really? I don’t think so.
I let out a loud purr of approval and walk casually forward to greet our visitor. As though there was nothing on my mind but a good ear rub and the next dish of lamb with mint and gravy. This was going to have to be judged just right as it only takes a puff of wind to trip her up at the best of times. She bends down a bit awkwardly to say hello - it’s a shame I can’t linger as she’s good at ear rubs; hits just the right spot - and then I dart through her legs as fast as I can as the outside world beckons and-
Slam!
It’s hard to say who is glaring the most. Mrs W with her red hair all over her face and a wand still pointing at the door, or me who’d nearly lost a whisker as it shut in my face. One of us was hissing loudly. Okay, that was me.
“Molly, what on earth is going on?” asks the pink-haired witch gazing round in bewilderment. “He’s not still-?“
“He is. Tries to get out at every opportunity he can. I can’t even open windows anymore in case he sees me do it. There’s nearly as many spells keeping him in as there is everyone else out.”
“Oh no, poor old Crookshanks.”
There is a note of sympathy in her voice that makes me feel even worse. I ignore the outstretched hand and take myself off to the shelf where Errol and Pigwidegon nap (second best eavesdropping position), high above the family table, and pretend to wash my back legs amongst the feathers. Pretend I don’t care. They, meanwhile, get out the plates, the tea cups and the biscuits, and, low-voiced and solemn-faced, discuss their families, an upsetting letter that has come from Hogwarts asking where Ron is, and then something called the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, which I gather is a very bad thing as people are being forced to join it or be in a lot of trouble if they don’t.
Eventually, they get round to me. They decide I am pining, which must be like missing someone and worrying about them like mad, because that’s what the young witch says she and her mum are doing about her dad. He wouldn’t join the commission because he knew it was wrong, and so he had to go away in a very great hurry.
She suggests giving me some of my favourite food to perk me up. Mrs W says she’s tried that and is at her wit’s end.
Naturally I don’t get a say in any of this. If Mrs W really is at the end of her wit then we’re all going to have to look out. I’m good at understanding the meaning of what people say after all these years, but I do struggle with some words and gestures as they have such a lot of them. I suppose you can say they get lost in translation, but then people fail to cope with the most basic of feline chat. Such as ‘tuna’ and ‘where’ve you put the litter tray now then?’
Some names can be really, really tricky to get the hang of, but then they have such odd ones. I have several and yet, despite the instructions my previous mistress left in her will, I was known by the simplest of them all at the Magical Menagerie where Hermyonly found me.
Hermyonly. I found her there, too. Now I’ve been left behind and she promised I never would be again.
She promised.
I lost my first mistress. She didn’t mean to die, and she didn’t want to, but she did. Her relatives promised her they’d look after me but they took me to the Menagerie instead and I stayed there and grieved for her. Now Serious, Dumbledore and Hedwig are gone too. I’m not losing Hermyonly.
“I thought the plan was for him to go back to Hogwarts with Ginny,” the pink-haired witch they call Tinks says. (I know, I know. It’s baffling when she’s got a beautiful name like Nymfradorma, but that’s people for you.) “Wasn’t it all settled?”
“He vanished the minute we started packing, didn’t he?” Mrs W has her swallowed-a-wasp look on again, which doesn’t suit her. Don’t suppose the wasp’s too happy either. “We couldn’t find him anywhere and in the end Ginny had to go without him. Then we got back from the station and he was sat in the middle of the kitchen waiting for us.”
I had felt bad about that. Ginny’s nice. We both enjoy a game of chasing Butterbeer corks and she’s got a comfy lap for lying on. She was the only person who told me what had happened at Bill and Flu’s wedding after I’d looked for Hermyonly for hours. But she’s such a busy person, always on the go or up in the air; a good match for that Harry Potter who also doesn’t know when to sit down and have a nap. Hermyonly likes quiet and she likes clever books, and she likes to read them quietly for long periods. I like sitting quietly on the clever books she’s reading and keeping an eye on her and them. We suit each other.
Besides, Ginny didn’t need me. Hermyonly’s out there somewhere, no one knows where, with only Harry Potter and That Idiot Ron who slept with a miserable, evil rat, who wasn’t even a rat, for years on end. How comforting is that? I know I could find her if they’d just let me out-
“What about Fred and Gorge? Bet they’d have him.”
“…No. I don’t think so. They’re always so busy.”
To give Mrs W her due, she knows her own children. Fred and Gorge are fun but they’re not kind. ‘Kind’ was one of the first people words I learned because it’s so important.
“Bill?” Tinks answers her own question this time with a shake of the head. “No, Flu’s probably not the cat hair type, is she?"
I certainly don’t want to live with those two, either. I don’t know what ‘honeymoon period’ means, but everyone who goes to see them comes back with a funny look on their face and says they’re still in it. Long before that, Hermyonly said something to Harry Potter about feeling like she’d walked in on a Muggle prawn film. I also don’t get what that is, though I’ve yet to meet a fish I don’t like. Perhaps too much prawn is bad for you.
“He’s no trouble at all, not really, if only I could get through to him that he can’t go off and find Hermyonly. Especially when I’d like to go off and find them myself right now.” Mrs W’s voice wobbles. Tinks says something which makes her nod her head and smile, though it’s almost as if she doesn’t want to. After a bit Mrs W carries on. “The trouble is if we ever do have to leave The Burrow, and Arthur says we’ve got to be prepared for it, we simply can’t take him to Auntie Muriel’s because she’s allergic to cats. They bring her out in an awful rash. Then what will I do?”
We all sit and consider Auntie Muriel’s rashes (there are some good worming powders around). They don’t consider letting me leave, unfortunately. While Mrs W and I have had our differences we get on all right. There was the time I was sleeping under the bed when her and Arthur started all that huggy and kissy stuff people do. I’d have put my paws in my ears but unfortunately they sat on the edge of the bed to do it and their combined weight… Well, you get the picture. So did I. Then there was the confusion about Arthur’s fur balls. I coughed one up at his feet to show him how it was done. Only it seems it was his little foibles that were being discussed, and that means something different. But Mrs W feeds me and she cooks the best roast chicken in the world. She liked it when I chased all the gnomes in the garden off because I got extras then (chicken, not gnomes). So it seems I’m stuck here till I can get away. Not really wanted.
“Looks like he’s coming to live with us then,” says Tinks, picking up another biscuit. “I’ve never had a pet before apart from the goldfish and owls.” A brief frown crosses her face. “The goldfish didn’t go too well.”
“What?”
What?
“It’s the obvious solution.” She swallows a mouthful of biscuit and glances up to where I’m sitting, trying not to look as though my eyes are popping out of my head with alarm. “We’re staying at Mum and Dad’s place for now, and it’s a fairly big house and there’s a pond and a garden. You’ll love it, Crookshanks. Plenty of space to explore if you behave yourself.”
“But-“ Mrs W looks as if she has as long a list of ‘buts’ as me. “But what will Reemuss say?”
“Oh he’s a real softie when it comes to animals. Didn’t you know?”
“But, I mean, but, well, aren’t the two of you-“
“Not long married, back together after a dodgy start, I’m recently unemployed while no one ever wants to employ him, and we’re already having a baby. Yes, that’s about it, I think. Now why on earth wouldn’t anyone want to come and live with us? We’re very much your average couple, after all.” Tinks laughs, almost to herself and as if she's daring Mrs W to disagree. Something about it, and about her, makes me think that while some parts of her life might be a flea-ridden, nightmarish mess, she is, unmistakably, happy.
I haven’t had much to do with her but I rather like her. She’s interesting, and not just because she can change colour. I like watching her do that.
But. Reemuss Lupin. I’ve nothing against the man, but he’s not always a man is he? He nearly hurt me and Hermyonly and Harry Potter and Serious Black at Hogwarts, and because of him the rat got away and Serious had to go away. I haven’t had much to do with him since. I don’t want to.
Werewolves and cats don’t mix. Werewolves don’t mix with anyone apart from their own kind. Werewolves are killers.
I begin some angry tail lashing which should tell any idiot sat below that I am definitely not going.
“Of course you can have him if you’re sure he won’t get in the way of you and Reemuss.” Mrs W seems to have missed the tail-lashing point completely.
“We’d love to have him. It might give Mum something else to think about. That’s all settled then?”
No, it is absolutely not.
“It is.” Mrs W, who I’m rapidly going off despite her food preparation skills, is enthusiastic to a degree that is less than flattering. “I’ll sort out his dish and his bed for you. Hermyonly has lots of notes on his food and likes, and they’re very easy to follow. He loves a bit of cheese now and then. Oh, I’m so relieved he’s going to stay with you! I can let Ginny know as well and put her mind at rest.”
Stay with them, did you say? I’m going to be sent off to a house with a witch with the most lethal pair of hands and feet known to the feline world. Who lives with a werewolf. They’re having a baby person (who thought that was a good idea then?) and baby people are not my favourite kind. They cry, they scream, they always want feeding and animals come a long way last when they’re around.
Stay? Really? I don’t think so.
First chance I get I’m out the door to find the one person who needs me most.
*~*~*
Upon reflection, we might be talking second chance because there are as many spells and locks to get through at this new house as there are at The Burrow. We also arrive by some never-ending route that makes my head spin. By now it’s getting dark. Tinks has my carrier and a big bag Mrs. W gave her while Reemuss Lupin has everything else. Yes, he came to get her from Mrs W’s, and Mr W was with him, so maybe I was wrong about him not wanting her to go there and they’d had other things to do. There were long hugs and sad faces as they all said goodbye to each other. They’d been off meeting King-ersley Shacklebolt (now that’s a good person name), who I know, and who’d said it wasn’t safe for any more visits for a while as the Death Eaters were getting closer to where the Lupins live.
Mrs W started to cry at that. Tinks looked as if she’d like to hex something, but gave her and Mr W another hug instead.
“But I promise we’re going to stay in touch, Molly, don’t worry,” Reemuss said. “You’ll always be able to reach us. We can’t use anywhere the Order did, because Snape will know about them, but there are some haunts from my old days with James and Serious he knows nothing of. The trick is to keep moving and never be predictable.”
From which I gather that I’m not likely to be at this new house for long. What is the point then?
It seems a good decision to bolt for it the minute my feet touch the ground. I don’t get very far but I do learn two things: Tinks can’t half move fast and my tail aches where she grabs it. She apologises. I have a hissy fit and don’t.
We’re met at the door by an older, elegant witch, who looks calm but has anxious eyes, and reminds me of Tinks. Same kind of smell. Reemuss tells her there’s no news about someone called Ted but he and King-ersley have laid false trails for Snatchers (whatever they are), and it’s almost certainly a good sign that nothing has been heard. Mrs T, for that’s who it must be, nods but doesn’t say anything, and then her eyes fall on me. Tinks has me in what feels like an arm lock and I’m being presented legs and tummy first. Undignified is the word. Tinks says she hopes I’m not going to be a problem (thanks a bunch), but she didn’t get chance to say I was coming. Mrs T crisply says something about it being marginally less of a surprise than when Tinks got married and didn’t get chance to tell them about that either.
Everyone laughs. Sort of. Then there’s some throat clearing from Reemuss, who has gone a bit red-looking, and Mrs T goes upstairs, to carry on with the packing she says. I decide I won’t be scratching the legs of her furniture any time soon. Reemuss looks as though he feels the same.
We finally make it into the kitchen, which looks a lot whiter and less cluttered than Mrs W’s, and Tinks deposits me on the floor as I wriggle like mad to get free. I start to crawl round the werewolf in large, cautious circles on my belly, breathing him in to make sure he’s not going to change. Normally I’d get the scent of the room first but that can wait. He’s putting my basket in a sunny corner and then some water in my bowl. I’d like a drink but that would mean going near him.
I knew him from before of course. First at Hogwarts, then at Grimmauld, where he came and went at intervals, and now here. Hermyonly likes him. Serious and Dumbledore did. He smells like a good man, but there is Darkness in there as well. Not like the Darkness of the rat, who enjoyed his, but it’s there all the same. He buries it down deep inside but I can still smell it, trying to get out.
It’s frightening.
“Come to think of it, I didn’t really tell you about Crookshanks, did I? It was such a rush at the end there.” Tinks flicks her wand at the door and it closes softly as my circle takes me near. She looks tired now. “Molly said he seems so unhappy at The Burrow and keeps trying to leave as well as not eating much. You don’t mind?”
“No. Although Crookshanks might.” He’s putting water in the kettle and tapping it with his wand. He looks at her over his shoulder and smiles slightly. “Cats don’t usually like me much.”
“You’ll have to turn on the charm then. What was that tale about the Grindylow you had at Hogwarts? They’re the most evil little things, and yet I heard you went out of your way to take it back to where it was found and then it wouldn’t leave the tank! Serious said something about true love…”
“Serious always did have a tendency to exaggerate. It was a summer fling with the Grindylow. I've moved on now.” He says it lightly, like it's a joke, but neither of them seem entirely comfortable speaking or hearing Serious’ name as they go quiet after they do.
Grief is something I know about. How you don’t think about the person who has gone, and then you do and you know you were only not thinking about them because it makes you feel bad inside. I miss Serious a lot. He was like me, he just wanted to be needed.
“Anyway, Molly found this wonderful chart Hermyonly had left in her bedroom, which is all about Crookshanks. What he likes to eat. What games he likes to play. There’s even a bit about his back legs being stiff in the mornings and troubling him. There’s everything on here; I hope someone does as much for me one day.” Tinks is putting a brightly-coloured piece of paper up on the wall, her back turned away from us. Her shoulders are rigid.
“Now that takes me back.” Reemuss is looking at the chart and sounds amused. “Hermyonly’s organisational skills never cease to amaze. That year at Hogwarts when she was doubling up on- Dora?”
Dora? How many names can one witch have? But something’s wrong…
“It’s nothing.” She turns round and it’s clear, even to me, that it is very much something. She passes a weary hand across her face. “It’s just… I dunno… Molly and Arthur being so worried about Ron and living with a ghoul pretending to be him. Her giving us all this food. There not being any news about Dad - though I know that’s good - and then us having to leave here when we’d got settled. I'm sick to death of not being able to fight back and what a stupid, stupid time it is to be having a baby and - Crookshanks, will you stop slinking round him like that!”
I freeze on the spot. We all do.
“Dora.” Reemuss crosses the kitchen in two strides and pulls her to him. “It’s all right.”
“It’s not.” She pushes him away for a minute and looks directly at me. “Crookshanks, I’m sorry. It reminded me for a minute of the way a lot of people act, but it’s not fair to take it out on you.”
Her eyes meet mine, and it’s like when Hermyonly talks to me. Like Serious used to. Not many people do it. It’s much easier when they do.
I give a little meow to tell her it’s okay. I didn't mean to upset her.
She’s back in his arms and after a few low, murmured words they start the kissy stuff. Lots of face stroking, which I like myself. It looks like this is going to go on for a while so I go and have a drink of water while he's occupied. Some people you look at and can’t work out why they’re together. Or it’s obvious one cares far more than the other, and the other doesn’t even care enough to notice that or is using it. But I can see the connection between these two, bright and powerful. Like very strong magic.
Maybe her trusting him so much makes him be trustworthy?
“Besides,” Reemuss says, and I jump a little at the sound of his voice, quiet though it is. “It might not be the right time, but this is the right baby.”
She puts her head in his shoulder and I don’t think she’s going to reply. But then she sniffs and gives that little laugh of hers again.
“See,” she says, sounding a bit muffled, “you have got charm and can talk people round.”
“I had the best teacher. Does that mean you’ll start dinner while I have a word with our guest here?”
What? He can’t mean me?
“I suppose. Molly’s sent about a dozen potatoes so it’s going to be a baked potato with cheese each. There’s lots of ham and tomatoes as well. When Mum comes down she might do something more exciting with it. If she comes down. I hope she’s going to eat properly tonight.” She gives him a look I can’t read, disentangles herself gently, and reaches for the kettle which has started to whistle. “Are you both going to pull up a pipe and chair?”
He smiles but instead walks over to the door and opens it. I watch him carefully. He stands in the open space and crouches down, till he’s on much more of a level with me but still a distance away. I keep on watching him, and give little flicks of my tail to let him know I am. I’ve worked out exactly how quickly I could get round him if I have to. Always know your escape route when confronted with something dangerous.
“I don’t know what you’ve overheard, Crookshanks,” he says, “or what people have told you. But I was the last person to see Hermyonly and Harry and Ron. They’ve got something very important to do, something Dumbledore entrusted them, and only them, to do. I thought I could help them. I told myself they needed my help but I was wrong, because they’ve got to do it alone. It’s got to be kept secret. You can understand that, I know.”
I give a little hiss. I am good at secrets. Better than you, werewolf.
“And I was being selfish,” he says. I see him glance at Tinks, and know she’s listening as intently as I am, even though she’s busy pouring creamy-looking milk - any for me? - into mugs. “I was looking to make myself feel better when the truth was it was elsewhere I needed to be. I just couldn't see that at the time. The best way you can help Hermyonly now is to wait for her so she knows you're safe. Sometimes you have to trust people to do what's right. You’re needed here, Crookshanks. We want you to stay with us.”
Stay. That word again. He’s said ‘trust’ and ‘need’ as well. All this I understand. I don’t like it much but I do understand. Nobody talked to me like this at The Burrow. Nobody explained. They meant well but there was too many of them and too much going on. It’s funny that it’s a werewolf who’s done it, but then I remember that Serious was thought of as a bad man and had been locked up. People do get things wrong. Maybe I have a bit as well.
He rises to his feet stiffly, as though his legs are tired like mine. Steps away from the door and lets me see the way out into the hall and beyond. I could run and find a way out of here. I could find Hermyonly…
…or I could have a drink of milk and think it over some more. Tinks has poured some milk into my bowl. I’m hungry and tired. She’s putting mugs of tea on the table for them, and the oven’s starting to warm the whole kitchen. My basket looks really inviting.
“We can’t lock you in or watch you forever,” Reemuss Lupin says. Tinks raises her eyebrows at him and he shrugs. “We can’t, Dora. He’s a very clever cat.”
Well he’s got that right. I flick my tail some more while thinking, and then I slowly turn my back on the open doorway and start on the milk. It’s cold and delicious. I wonder why he thinks I’m needed here. I know people sometimes say things to get you to do what they want, and then it turns out they’re not true at all. I won’t forgive him if that’s what he's done.
It’s not until much later on, when I’ve had a long sleep and an even longer wash, and when Mrs T has come down to dinner, that I get a glimpse of how I'm needed. She heads straight for a cupboard in the corner, gets out a little potion bottle and rubs her head which seems to be hurting her.
“Baked potato, Mum?” Tinks asks, all cheerful-sounding. “There’s a good spread here and we can’t get through it all, despite what you two keep saying about the amount I’m putting away.”
“I’m not that hungry, thank you.” Mrs T looks as if she’s not going to sit down and would like to go straight back upstairs, but Reemuss holds a chair out for her, a bit awkwardly, and Tinks has already put a full plate firmly down. “Just a small amount then, Nymfradorma, as you’ve gone to all this trouble.”
She glances down at me and forces a smile. She doesn’t look as scary now, just sad and pale. “Has our friend made himself at home? I found a cat once when I was young - she was a lovely smoky-coloured grey, but my sisters kept teasing her and my father wouldn’t let me keep her. Crookshanks, isn’t it? Such an unusual name.”
I look up at her and see her hand tremble slightly as it opens the potion bottle. See her rub her head again which is hurting her. See a proud person in need. See someone whose world has gone all flea-ridden, like mine, and who Reemuss and Tinks don't know how to help. No one likes to burden anyone else, but then they worry everyone instead. That's okay though; I don't need to bother about the words. I only need to-
Jump!
“Oh!” Mrs T sounds surprised but not entirely displeased. “Well you're very friendly, aren't you? I don’t really like animals at the meal table, but seeing as you’re here already and it’s your first night… Just this once then.”
Her hands find their way into my fur. She hesitates and then starts to stroke me. I swivel round and round, getting myself comfortable, and catch Reemuss Lupin’s eye. For a second, it's as if we understand each other, without words or sounds, and then he picks up something from the table.
“Salt, Andromeda?” he asks. Which must be another of those funny names they give to people.
“Tomatoes, Mum?” asks Tinks. “Have some cheese.”
I purr at that, very, very loudly so even they can't help but get the point, and everyone laughs. I love cheese. I like ear rubs, too, and Mrs T is like her daughter, pretty good at them. I’ll get her trained up in what else I like, and there is a good chance some cheese will come my way very soon if I sit here quietly and stay on her lap.
Stay. I think I might stay here for a bit after all. See if the werewolf - and the man - is true to his word. Stay and wait for Hermyonly, and trust her to come and get me when she’s done what she has to.
You have to stay where you’re needed the most, don’t you?