As requested, just posting stuff from my tumblr page with edits for fluency and grammatical errors. This one was prompted my muisa-ama. As usual, you're free to drop prompts in my ask if you're so inclined. I tend to answer all of them in due time. :)
Enjoy~
Monsieur Crookshanks
The first time he sees her, silver blond hair in a baby blue uniform, Crookshanks knows that the girl would mean nothing but trouble. He knows because his master is nervously blubbering things to that girl, stuttering out half connected phrases about how pleasant of an evening they had together. He knows because, after the blue eyed creature with curves that could lure a man into the pits of hell leaves, Hermione flops down onto her bed and breaths a long, happy sigh.
Hermione is barely fifteen then, halfway through teenage-hood and barely experienced in the life—or love for that matter. Still, like a lovesick girl, she lays in her bed playing with the tips of her hair-she never did that before but never stopped either after the blonde girl visited).
"She's not as bad as I made her seem before, Crookshanks." He sits down on the window sill, eyeing his master curiously. Hermione has spoken of the girl before? Surely he would have noticed. "Beneath the arrogance and bluntness, Fleur is very kind. And pretty."
By the time Hermione says the last syllable to the world 'pretty', her face is glowing, her smile wide and true.
xxxx
The next time he sees her, he's learned that her name is Fleur Delacour.
He and his master are in the library, preparing for a Transfiguration exam when Fleur appears, holding a book. It had been many weeks since he first saw Fleur and, not trusting her; Crookshanks hops down from the table onto the only available chair. The blonde girl, who is strangely wearing a Gryffindor scarf, eyes him with intrigue but doesn't move from her standing position.
Hermione fusses and asks him to move. He replies with a bored, annoyed stare before redirecting his gaze at Fleur, who was interrupting their study time. The girl simply smiles charmingly at him, taking a few more steps until she was leaning against the table facing Hermione.
"Good evening, Hermione," Fleur greets, sounding very shy and very French. "I hope am not intruding upon your time?"
"No, no. Of course not." Hermione flushes and gestures towards the table that is filled with open books and loose parchment. "It's just Crookshanks and me."
"I brought you something." Fleur declares, uncharacteristically nervous. She puts a book onto the table in front of Hermione, her hands tremble when she pulls them back to her side. Crookshanks wonders if Hermione can tell but one look at her and he knows she doesn't. Hermione is took busy looking between Fleur and the book in surprise.
"Oh Fleur, you shouldn't have," his master's face slowly grows pink as she gently fingers the corner of the book. "How did you know I was looking for it?"
"I recall you spoke about the book in one of our earlier conversations, oui?" Hermione nods with astonishment written on her innocent countenance. The blonde's smile turns triumphant, her body emitting a faint glow. Can his master see that Fleur has more magical blood in her than most of Hogwarts? "You should read it."
"Right now?"
"Oui—unless you are busy." Fleur's cheeks blossoms into a bright red. "But you do not have to—I do not mean to rush—"
The girl doesn't get a chance to finish her sentence as Hermione opens the cover with obvious excitement. From what Crookshanks could discern, it was a slim book of poems with intricate illustrations; the pages look old and worn.
"It's beautiful…" Hermione exhales. Her breath catches as she is flips to a new page. Crookshanks has to jump onto the table to see the cause of his master's increasingly reddening face.
In the book, between its aged and crinkled pages, lay a brand new piece of parchment. Inscribed on it with perfect, ornate writing was an invitation to the Yule Ball.
Hermione grows silent until Fleur's nervousness spills over into her vocal cords.
"You are under no obligation to attend with me…I understand that Harry Potter and Viktor Krum—and your red haired friend—have all shown interest in you." Fleur takes a deep breath and gathers herself even as her shoulders tremble. Her voice shakes when she says, "And I understand that it is customary for a male to ask a female to a social outing such as this but…"
Fleur leans downs and lifts the younger girl's chin so that they make eye contact.
"…Hermione please understand that, out of all the boys, non, people in this school, there is not another person I would rather attend the Yule Ball with. I have found the greatest pleasure in your company and I would be honorred to have you as—as my date."
Date.
The word hangs in the air.
Then, Crookshanks observes, Hermione does something that he had never seen her do.
Hermione lifts her head, pushing herself ever so slightly up from her seat and kisses Fleur.
First, slowly and chastely, barely leaning in with a closed mouth until their lips met. His master's arms come to wrap around Fleur's neck shortly after, pulling herself up from the seat until they are both standing, bodies and lips pressed against each other.
Crookshanks can hear two sets of heartbeats beating like the wings of a hummingbird and they do not slow down until the pair breaks apart and Hermione, very quietly, whispers;
"Yes."
xxxx
Several more weeks pass where Hermione spends a significantly larger amount of her time in the secluded section of the library and a significantly lesser amount of her time studying. She stops taking Crookshanks with her and allots at least half an hour to look in the mirror, adjusting her tie and smoothing the creases of her uniform before leaving.
Crookshanks is sure the blonde girl, who Hermione now loving calls her girlfriend, is to blame.
xxxx
There is a large uproar the night of the Yule Ball in the Gryffindor commons.
"Did you see that?"
"Who knew Hermione Granger swung that way."
"Maybe Veela charms work on girls too?"
It doesn't matter because when Hermione enters through the painting, she looks happier than he had ever seen her before. Most of the Gryffindor House react with enthusiasm, some curious, but none too scornful. Crookshanks retracts his claws. No one was getting attacked in their sleep that night, he ponders, slightly disappointed.
He still doesn't trust Fleur Delacour but, at the very least, she is making his master happy.
xxxx
Fleur tries to bond with him come springtime.
The snow having melted, Hermione and Fleur spend a good amount of their time walking about the school grounds. He follows, making sure that Fleur does not try anything suspicious.
Hermione is still, only, fifteen.
He does not have a reason to attack Fleur (a part of him is disappointed at this) as she is the perfect gentlewoman. In the view of judging eyes, they hold hands and kiss in quiet corners of the school. Sometimes, underneath the trees or between shelves of thick books, frantic hands sneak underneath thin layers of uniforms but never anything more.
Crookshanks notes with great satisfaction, as much as Fleur spends her time snogging Hermione, she spends almost an equal amount of time try to win him over. They have an ambivalent give-and-take relationship where he stares her down and she dotes on him with treats and toys. She gives. He takes.
"Bonjour Monsieur Crookshanks, Mademoiselle Granger." Fleur says, approaching the two of them on a sunny Saturday with a picnic basket. He is at Hermione's side, standing guard on their blanket.
Fleur sets the basket of goodies down—Crookshanks can smell milk and biscuits and tuna. She tries to pet him and he hisses. Hermione's hand comes down on top of his hand and scratches the back of his ears.
"I do not understand. Monsieur Crookshanks, why will you not let me touch you?"
He looks up at her, somewhat pleased that she is addressing him with honor and respect. Crookshanks is a strange name, given to him by his careless breeder but when he hears monsieur stretched in front of his namesake? It makes him proud. As much as he loved hearing it from Fleur, Crookshanks knows that the milk, tuna and toys will come less often if he returns her unending affections.
"I'm sure he will warm up to you," Hermione looks up from her book, her eyes lighting up when they meet Fleur's loving gaze. "What did you pack?"
xxxx
Hermione narrows her eyes at him.
"I know what you're up to," she pokes his belly. "You can eat as much as Fleur packs you but know that you're getting chubby."
Crookshanks meows at the word, displeased. He decides to ease up on the milk and curses the French for knowing how to properly prepare fish.
xxxx
When he finally lets Fleur touch him, it is late into the school year, after the Third Task. Fleur is injured. Hermione has been crying nonstop, running between her injured girlfriend and consoling Harry. He appears at her bedside one night, after watching Hermione drift off into sleep.
The infirmary was almost empty, aside from a few students suffering from one of the Weasley twin's toys and foods.
Crookshanks sits on the chair Hermione leaves next to Fleur's bed, watching the young blonde's chest rise and fall. He knows that the following years are going to be difficult. He knows because Fleur tells him, in French, that she lovesHermione and all the reasons why. Separation would be difficult.
"…Monsieur Crookshanks…?" Fleur's eyes barely lift to greet him. "Why are you not with Hermione? She needs your company at such times."
He wishes he was given vocal cords. If he could voice himself, he would tell Hermione the first time he saw Fleur that she was stupidly, carelessly in love rather than watch his young master shuffle through her feelings alone. If he had vocal cords, he would thank Fleur for properly preparing tuna so that it was not overcooked.
Right now, if he could speak, he would tell Fleur that she also needed his company.
Instead, he crosses the space between the bed and chair, brushing his body alongside Fleur's arm and nuzzles his face into her open hand. After the initial shock, Fleur pets him with long, sad fingers.
"I'll get stronger." Fleur says in eloquent French, "I'll practice with Harry Potter, Monsieur Crookshanks. I'll grow strong enough to protect Hermione. She deserves someone who can do that—keep her safe and happy. She deserves the best."
If Crookshanks could speak English or French, he would hum—not purr—in agreement and then say, "She deserves you."
The book that Fleur gifts to Hermione is a collection of poems by Sappho. :)