"Jesus Christ - holy mother of - PATCHES, HOLD THE FUCK STILL!" The minuscule black cat froze at the sound of his caretaker shouting. He turned slowly, hoping that if he didn't make any sudden movements, she wouldn't see him. He watched in terror as the petite, brown haired girl who shared his house locked her eyes on him and began advancing.
"I just need to put your collar back on," the woman said cautiously, holding the vile restraint out in his direction. The lady took his collar off once a week to brush his glorious fur, and if she thought that she was going to get him to put it back on, she was completely and totally drunk. He was a feline - a glorious creature worthy of praise from all other species. The mere thought of being confined by that band of terror was blasphemy. He was above that. He was -
The girl landed on top of him, trapping him in her arms.
...stuck. He was stuck.

Galadriel sighed as Patches stopped his struggle and held still, resigning himself to the fact that he had, yet again, lost the weekly battle of the collar. The buckle snapped shut with a satisfying click, and she nuzzled the miniature cat then let him run free. Standing up, she smoothed her shirt down and checked her hair in the hall mirror. One of these days, she would remember to put the collar back on BEFORE getting dressed - today was not that day.
She ran her fingers through the silky dark brown strands, decided she looked decent enough, then went on a hunt for shoes - always a challenge, since her house had three stories and she had a tendency to chuck them wherever she was when she remembered to take them off. After a quick look in the laundry room, a speedy garage search, and a foray under the couch in the den, she finally recovered a pair of heeled cowboy boots - her favorite shoes by far, no matter how obnoxious they were in the middle of Maine.
"Knock, knock, open up!" An airy British voice sounded from outside the front door.
"Come on in, you know I don't lock it," she yelled as she filled Patches' water bowl.
"That doesn't stop me from hoping every time that you've changed your mind about that," a deep voice responded, accompanied by the sound of the door closing.
"Don't bother Galadriel, this is a safe neighborhood. We aren't all brimming with insanity and the manly desire to protect everything, Charles." The light feminine voice reprimanded.
"Luna, if I'm brimming with insanity, it's because I'm married to you. That's enough to drive any bloke mad," joked Charlie, entering the dining room.
"Hey Galadriel, not ready yet? Of course? As always?" The cheeky red headed man asked - Charles Weasley may have been 35, but he had the spirit and energy of a man ten years younger.
"Shut up you twerp, I had to go to battle with Patches again. It's a time consuming event!"
Charlie laughed boisterously, wrapping his arm around the waist of his wispy blonde wife, who was the epitome of small - except for the ever-growing baby bump, the one that had caused her to finally settle down.
"Galadriel dear, your cat is essentially the size of a flip-flop, it can't be that difficult!" Luna remarked, her cloudy blue eyes looking around for the offender.
"Hey. It's not his fault he's unnaturally tiny. He's the runt of a litter that was birthed by a runt. There was no hope whatsoever."
"THERE'S the cheeky little devil! Patchy-poo, have you missed Auntie Luna while she was in England? Your momma certainly didn't - she never called me, not even once!" Luna exclaimed, rubbing the tiny creature behind the ears.
"FIRST of all, you were gone for three days. Three freaking days, not all of eternity. And second, I would call if you got a phone, but when you tell me to toss some green shit in my fireplace and then stick my head in it? I'd prefer to just wait, thank you very much!" Galadriel shouted with her hand on her hip at the witch and wizard in front of her.
"I was lonely."
"You had Charlie."
"He's useless!"
"You married him!"
"I could have died!"
"Charlie wouldn't have let you."
"Maybe I died while he took a nap!"
"Please. He would annoy the shit out of you until you came back to life."
"But you love me!"
"IRRELEVANT. IT'S A FIREPLACE WITH A FIRE IN IT."
Silence filled the room. Charlie knelt on the floor, he and Patches watching the girls go back and forth with interest, but no surprise. This was a typical conversation between the best friends.
"Fine. Don't attend my death. See if I care." His wife sniffed, picking her purse up off the floor.
"You won't care, you'll be dead, you idiot." Galadriel dead panned, tossing a treat at Patches and grabbing her own bag.
"IRRELEVANT!" Luna shouted as they headed towards the door, followed by Charlie, who was rolling his eyes.
"Nope, can't use that, my line!" Galadriel replied smugly, locking the door behind them as the three of them headed towards her pickup truck.
"Damn. So not fair."
"C'est la vie. Anyway, where exactly are we going tonight?" Galadriel asked, unlocking the silver vehicle and climbing into the driver's seat, with Luna claiming shotgun and Charlie stuck in the back by himself.
"The Golden Plate!" Luna chuckled.
"Wha-Golden Plate? Who the fuck thought of that?" Galadriel snorted. "And why hasn't someone taken their recreational drugs away from them yet?"
"Valid question," Charlie added in from the back. "Luna, you did tell her you invited some other people, right?"
His question was met with silence. Luna slowly looked over at Galadriel. "Oh. Thought I had missed something..."
"You muff," Galadriel grumbled. "Are you trying to set me up again?"
"No! I actually invited someone you like! Well, you've not met him yet, but when I showed you a picture of him you said he was stupidly attractive. So that counts, right?" Luna asked weakly.
Galadriel sighed with resignation. "Who?"
"Theodore Nott -"
"Oh my god, is he the ridiculously good-looking one? The one I said I would gladly make children with?" Galadriel exclaimed as she turned into the parking lot of an abandoned warehouse, also known as their apparating point.
"And beautiful babies they would be," Luna answered with pride.
"Well never mind, I like you again!"

Galadriel hated apparating. Wizards and witches seemed to think they were so nifty, being able to pop from one place to another, but as far as she was concerned, she would stick to Ronan, her handy dandy truck. Apparating was uncomfortable, confusing, and just plain weird. Worst of all, she always seemed to take a tumble after landing -regardless of the fact that she was holding onto either Luna or Charlie upon arrival. Charlie held his arm out for her, and she took a deep breath.
Taking his arm, she muttered, "Theodore Nott better be really fucking -"
The next thing she knew, she was tumbling through the universe - falling, and falling, and... Oh shit, she was actually falling -
She closed her eyes, expecting to hit the ground, only to stop right before. The warmth of a body holding hers made her blink, staring up into a pair of deep brown eyes, framed by square black glasses. "-cute." She finished her pre-apparation sentence dazedly.
"Hello," the man said in a smooth English accent. "I'm Theodore Nott, and I do hope that adjective was directed at me."