Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: Some of you who read Crookshanks's Bane may have noticed that I got the last two chapters up less then a week apart from one another. Well, I'm sorry to say that I won't be updating that story soon. I was working on chapter nine, but I can't finish it right now.

You may be wondering, how could she have the time to write this short vignette and not be able to update Crookshanks's Bane? The answer, my friends, is not about time. It's emotional this time around.

The stories I put into Crookshanks's Bane were, for the most part, not fictional. They were based on the excursions of my own two cats, Fred, and Marta. We were one happy family, the three of us. Fred and Marta did have their spats, but they put up with each other so they could both sleep on my bed.

But that ended three weeks ago, when Fred, age sixteen, had to be put down. We had had him since he was a year old and in many ways was my closest friend. I didn't want to do it, but it was clear that he was suffereing. It's going to be a while before I can continue that story, even though Marta is still her spunky Marta self, and even enjoying herself even more, because she has never been an only cat before.

I'm sorry if I've depressed any new readers with this right off the bat, but I felt I needed to explain all of this before I disappeared for a while. I will keep writing in the meantime, just not on that story. And I'm not abandoning it – it's just on hiatus. I'm somewhat attached to it.

So, anyway, this was a fic I felt I had to do, considering recent events. I hope you enjoy, and remain on the lookout for when I do get back to Crookshanks's Bane.

Hermione came out of the shop for a minute, her face ashen. Doctor Fickle said it was for the best, that he was in irreversible pain, but Hermione just couldn't believe it.

She could not believe that Crookshanks, her beloved ginger cat, was going to die in a few minutes.

How could a half kneazle end up with kidney cancer? Weren't the creatures with magic in their blood immune to those muggle diseases, just as witches and wizards were? Wasn't there some potion she could brew and shove down his throat?

The symptoms had started about six months ago, when Crookshanks started rubbing the left side of his mouth with his paw. Hermione thought something might be wrong with his teeth, so she had taken him to Doctor Mozzo then, as Doctor Fickle was unavailable. But when Doctor Mozzo tried to open his mouth, he flinched, as if the gentle contact she had made had made him hurt more then he already did.

Doctor Mozzo was not put off. She decided that she would need to look in there somehow, and she took some blood so she could know what potions she could use with him and give Hermione instructions to be back in three weeks.

Hermione took it, still assuming it was nothing. But when Doctor Mozzo drugged Crookshanks a month later, the only thing wrong was that he had a broken tooth. Still, Mozzo wasn't worried.

"It was probably hurting him before because it hadn't fully broken off yet. Just feed him stuff food, and he should be fine."

But when Crookshanks began losing weight three months later, Hermione was back in Mozzo's office. This time, the diagnosis was hyper active thyroid, which Crookshanks had had two years earlier, but had corrected itself. Hermione questioned if the rate of how fast it had made him drop the pounds was alarming, but Mozzo said it wasn't. Hermione, not quite convinced, accepted the medicine and left, only to be back only a week ago. Crookshanks was still losing weight and to make things worse, there were three large abscesses on him, one on his chest, one on his spine, and one the size of a muggle golf ball on his haunches.

By now, Hermione was worried. So when the diagnosis came back as kidney cancer, even though she was distraught, it was not a surprise. Crookshanks had stopped eating all together, and was so skinny he could barely walk. His eyes had gone cloudy and he could not stand up. If he did manage to get to his feet, it was wobbly.

She knew this day would come eventually, but just as two best friends never expect to be separated, Hermione never thought this day would actually come. Marta was at home, probably sunning herself on the back porch. What a life that cat had, and what a life Crookshanks had had.

Hermione took a deep breath and stifled the tears that were threatening to embarrass her in the middle of Diagon Alley. Holding her head up high, she turned and walked back into the shop, past the waiting patients and their owners and through the oak door of the examination room. Doctor Fickle was there, finally available. It had only taken the emergency light to go off on Fred's case.

"Do you want a moment?" He asked gently. Hermione nodded, and took the once plump ball of fur into her arms as he left. Crookshanks was so weak that he couldn't even hold his head up.

"I don't want to do this," She whispered. "But I don't want you to be in pain. Catch some birds in the other world, okay? Have some fun. Just remember that I love you."

With his last ounce of strength, Crookshanks purred.

Sobbing, Hermione stepped out of the fireplace into her large living room, holding the small towel which was wrapped around her once best friend. Fickle was a good man – when installing his veterinary practice, he had put a floo fireplace right the examination room for owners such as Hermione to get home without walking through the crowd.

Hermione laid the little bundle on her kitchen table and unwrapped it. Crookshanks was still warm. With trembling hands, she cut one lock from his fur and wrapped it in a ribbon. With a flick of her wand, this little piece of hair flew across the room and stuck itself to the wall which Hermione reserved for special things. Pictures of Ron and Harry, both killed in the war, were there, as well as many pictures of Crookshanks and Marta. Hermione sighed and went outside.

The ground was unusually soft for late winter, but it still took Hermione several tries before she found a spot that she could dig deep enough. As she heaved the dirt, Marta came trotting from the woods.

Marta instantly knew something was wrong. She did not bite Hermione as she usually might to get attention, but instead just sat nearby until Hermione had finished digging. Hermione, with tears in her eyes, picked Marta up, who did not protest.

Finally, the tears could be held no longer. Marta did not move as Hermione sobbed into her long black fur. When Hermione did pull her face away, Marta licked her face, as she had every morning for the past eight years.

"Funny, isn't it, Baby? I'm twenty five years old, and I'm bawling like a baby."

Marta growled.

"Okay, I'm sorry. I still have you, after all.

Hermione released Marta, who unwaveringly stayed right at Hermione's heels. Hermione returned with the rewrapped bundle and laid it in the cold earth. She hated to think of him there, but there was no other place for him now.

"Good Bye, Crookshanks" Hermione whispered.

Every man in her life was gone now. Her father had died the year previously of a heart attack. Voldemort had captured Ron to get to Harry, and when Harry ran in heroically, Voldemort was ready that time, unlike he had been when he used Sirius. Viktor was at home in Bulgaria with his wife and three little boys.

It was just her and Marta now, all alone.

A/N: Thanks for reading.