Archive of Our Own

My name is Crookshanks Granger.

I do not know how old I am; I do not care about such trivial things. I live with my mistress, Hermione, the most remarkable human there is. She is approaching the intelligence of my own, and with a mane just as luscious and full-bodied. In the past, some have dared to use the term ‘bushy’ while referring to both her fur and my own. Such insolence! Some have also found themselves with claw marks on their ankles, or with fur-balls left as ‘presents’ on their coats.

Accidents do happen, after all.

Digestion can be very taxing.

My dear, sweet Hermione and I have been co-inhabiting now for many moons, ever since we fell in love with each other at the Magical Menagerie. The last two years in particular have been bliss, since my mistress removed that ginger monstrosity from our abode. I’m well aware of what I look like, thank you very much - I am talking about the one the humans call Ron. I have disliked that wizard since he accused me of eating his despicable little rat-man. He and I might share a similar colouring, but that is where the congruities cease.

I had demanded he leave our home for many years, but my orders went ignored. The miscreant even turned my own mistress against me at one stage, after I had pissed on his shoes. What was I supposed to do? My intonations were falling on deaf ears, so he had forced my paw to more drastic measures. I was banished from the bedroom for a week for my actions. Just one of many hardships I had to endure, thanks to that weasel of a man.

In the cold darkness of the utility room, I plotted my revenge. A most beautiful plan unfolded before me, as though I was channelling the message directly from Bastet herself… I’ve always thought the Ancient Egyptians were the most sensible of civilisations. But of course they were. They appreciated the feline form and worshiped cats like deities.

As. We. Should. Be.

Honestly, modern day Britain has a lot to learn from the Egyptians. Humans do not deserve their place as kings of the mountaintop. I deserve it though. Indeed, my fur is not orange, it is golden. I am the golden god of this place. I alone reign supreme…

Anyway, where was I?  

Ahh, yes. My revenge. In those cruel hours spent on the hard utility room floor, I missed the company of my dog-man, Sirius. He always smelled a little on the nose, but would have been a most helpful ally as I mapped out my next moves. May his soul rest peacefully in the beyond.

As it turns out, my scheming was unnecessary. Not one month later, my mistress removed Ron from our home with much aplomb. In the end, I was the cat that got the cream. My triumph over Ron complete, I returned to my rightful place as master of the household, and it has remained that way ever since. I sleep with tranquillity and a state of grace at the foot of my mistress’s bed.

It continues to astound me that my delightful, beautiful Hermione shed tears over that rapscallion. While she no longer cries, her mood remains subdued. My nuzzles are obviously a most soothing balm for her soul, but she has lost much over the years; parent Grangers still absent from our lives.

I have gathered from conversations between my mistress and her Harry that the ginger monstrosity is now breeding with a woman who has two colours for a name. And they say my name is peculiar! Humans are such quaint, confusing creatures.

A new man has visited the house. His skin is as pale as ivory and his fine, silky fur is light like the snow. He looks familiar. I believe I remember him from the halls of Hogwarts, but he seems very different now. If I’ve placed him correctly, he was once a weak, callous type of child, with a peculiar penchant for apples. Now fully grown, he appears and behaves in a completely different manner. He even smells different. Tall, broad, and stoic… he seems, considered. That is something my feline brain can appreciate, but if he thinks himself a fellow predator, he will soon find himself at the pointy end of my claws, as my prey.

The man spoke very little while he was here, and there was an apprehensiveness to his movements. My mistress was tense during their interaction too, but I noticed her shoulders loosen slightly after he had muttered an apology for something or other. I wasn’t really listening properly because I had been distracted by the most delightful speck of dust in the sunlight. It had floated up, and then down, and then up again, before doing a little twirl – truly, it was quite remarkable. I could have watched it for hours…

Anyway.

The man’s apology seemed sincere, which is lucky, because she tells me he will need to continue his visits while they work on a ministry project. I’m unsure how I feel about another male being present in the house so often. As long as he understands his place in the pecking order, and he doesn’t turn out to be a flaming idiot like Ron, we shouldn’t have any trouble.

The man’s name is Draco. He has continued his visits at least twice weekly for a month now, and I endure his presence well enough. Recently, he has started communicating with me while my mistress is otherwise occupied. I appreciate that he doesn’t dramatise his voice and talk to me as though I am a gormless human baby. I’ve deemed him worthy of two head-butts thus far, to express my gratitude.

While my mistress is busy, or has her back turned, I watch Draco watch her. He stares, and stares, and snaps his gaze away as quick as lightning whenever her eyes flick back to his. He thinks he's gotten away with it, that nobody knows, but I see all from my perch on the sofa’s back. Nothing gets past my superior intellect and razor-sharp discernment. I smugly lick my paws as I observe the blush bloom high on his cheeks.

Draco has started presenting my mistress gifts, mostly in the form of sustenance and wine. They work late over meals, but I have noticed he now lingers longer and longer once their work is complete. My brilliant Hermione has even started laughing again, like she used to - a throaty chuckle with crinkling eyes. I think this is Draco’s doing. Should I feel threatened by this? No, I’ll allow it for now, because each night as my mistress and I ready ourselves for bed, she tells me I am still her 'fluffy king'. Order is still maintained; all is as it should be.

Draco kissed my mistress before he departed tonight.

He kissed her again; this is becoming quite a to-do.

But never fear, I am still maintaining order.

I remain the lord of this house and am still my mistress’s ‘favourite little guy’. I’ve been providing extra kneading on her legs while we eat our morning meals to ensure this remains the case.

Draco snuck me a bit of bacon from his carbonara this evening. I like the man.

I have mixed feelings about this evening. Draco visited again, bringing his usual offerings for my mistress, but this time, he also lavished me with a gift most wondrous. A wobbling contraption with a little moving rod that houses bright bird feathers on its tip. It is honestly the most delightful thing.

The motion of the fluorescent plumage enthrals my senses and excites my soul. If those dastardly feathers think they can outwit me, they have another thing coming. My sharp claws, and killer instincts, honed and refined over millenniums of select breeding, will catch them. Will always catch them. Still, you really should see it, they zig and they zag through the air. It’s very pleasurable to watch, knowing I will soon crush them under my paws.

The humans appreciated my athletic prowess too, they watched me catch those feathers with keen intent. They also laughed loudly at the audacity of those paltry bits of fluff for thinking they could evade me. Ha!

Safe to say, Draco rocketed up in my standings, and, for a blissful few hours, I considered him tied with Harry and Hagrid as my favourite human males.

But then, he and my mistress argued.

My beautiful, wonderful Hermione had received a threatening letter from someone called Narcissa this morning, and upon learning this tidbit of information, Draco was livid. I joined him in his rage as I protracted my mighty claws – if that Narcissa creature ever darkens this doorstep, it will be the end of them.  

The conversation was flying thick and fast, but I heard the words ‘disinherit’, ‘Astoria’, ‘pureblood’, and ‘betrothal’ uttered with frequency. Draco seemed to be pleading with my mistress by the end of their argument, but she replied – in tears, mind you – that she would not be the reason another family was torn apart. You see, she and I still both ache for our parent Grangers, and my kind-hearted mistress doesn’t want Draco to experience a world without parent Malfoys.  

He left looking heartbroken. I think he might love her.

My mistress is sad again. Sadder than she was after Ron left.

My licks and nuzzles can only do so much.

Draco has not visited.

I am so mad at him.

My mistress is sojourning in Australia, and because of this, I have been relegated to Grimmauld Place, with Harry as cat sitter, for the next two weeks. The difficulties I must face in this life apparently know no end. I can’t say how, but I am sure this is Draco’s doing.

If he does not fix this mess, I will end him.

I have been sharpening my claws by scratching that god-awful family tapestry in one of the upstairs rooms, I think I might have even spotted Draco’s name written there. I will end him on fabric as I will in flesh, if he does not act soon.  

I overheard the female Weasley conversing with Harry - it seems Draco has followed my mistress to Australia. I await the outcome. It would be in Draco’s best interest to ensure it is felicitous.

My mistress is home! As is Draco. As I reacquainted myself with my kingdom, I overheard some of Draco’s words. He told my mistress he would rather be poor and happy than rich and miserable. Following that, there was much kissing and hugging, so I made myself scarce as the humans did what humans do.

I have been relegated to the sofa, Draco taking my spot in my mistress’s bed. This will not stand. After the kindness I have shown that man, this betrayal of trust is unforgivable.

All is forgiven.

Draco has gifted me new trinkets and, honestly, gives the most soothing chin scratches I’ve ever experienced. He is able to reach spots, in such a way, that no one else can manage. That alone makes it worth keeping him around, for now.

He visited while my mistress was still at work, and we had a heartfelt tête-à-tête. It is evident that he has my mistress’s well-being in mind. Draco also left flowers all over the flat for my marvellous, lovely Hermione, and I possessed enough inner fortitude to limit myself to only ripping apart three.

My mistress has purchased me a cat bed. It sits atop a chest at the base of her bed, so all three of us can slumber in the main bedroom. She and Draco, however, do not seem to do much sleeping. Honestly, this is something I want no part in. My preference, for now, is to relax on the sofa and leave them to it.

Draco has moved in with my mistress and me.

My dear, sweet Hermione lectured me about being accommodating. Has she given this same lecture to Draco I wonder?!

I should hope so.

Regardless, she has nothing to fear. Draco and I chat often, and he knows his place as well as he knows how to provide masterful chin scratches.

Urinating on his shoes will not be necessary.  

I was manhandled today. I am still recovering from my trauma.

Draco arrived home early and asked me to do him a favour. Being the benevolent overlord of the household that I am, I acquiesced. He slipped a shiny ring around my collar and asked me, to help him, ask my mistress a most important question. Vague, but fine. He seemed unusually anxious, so I bestowed countless licks and purrs upon him to calm his nerves. He was suitably grateful.

We waited, and waited, and waited. I was about to depart and chase some birds on the balcony when my mistress finally stepped through the floo.

Well, the thanks I got for my generosity and patience were grabby hands, snotty tears, and crying from both sides. Honestly, the two of them are as bad as each other. A little bit of decorum can go a long way, is all I’m saying.

Okay, fine. I’m happy they are happy, and I loved being cuddled between the two of them.

Okay, fine. I’ll admit it’s my new happy place.

Draco dressed me in some abhorrent little cat tuxedo today, said it was a surprise for my mistress. The humans cooed and clucked and crooned over me like glorified mother hens.

Okay, fine. I caught my reflection in the mirror, and I’ll admit, I looked quite dapper.

My mistress, however, looked exquisite. Dressed in white, my flawless, gorgeous Hermione was reminiscent of an angel. Draco may be like snow, but my mistress shone like the sun. She positively beamed walking down the aisle toward Draco. And when she saw me, all spruced up as ring bearer, her eyes crinkled and she let out that lovely, throaty chuckle. I think it’s my favourite sound ever.

Draco looked rather dashing too, not quite my equal, but close enough. He makes my mistress so happy.

After they exchanged rings, they also presented me with a new name tag for my collar. The crowd loved it, loved me… Crookshanks, the golden GOD.

My name is Crookshanks Granger-Malfoy.

I live with my mistress, Hermione, and her husband, Draco. He is not my master – I, and I alone, will always be the ruler of this house – but he is a good man, a kind man, and we are family.

My home has never been filled with so much love, joy, and laughter. It is perfect now.

There is no place I would rather be.