A/N: Written for QLFC Round 3 by Chaser 1 of the Montrose Magpies.
CHASER 1: Tamagotchi
Optional prompts: (colour) mauve; (word) cryptic; (dialogue) "Pay attention to me."
Also for the Build a Zoo Challenge with the prompt 'kitten'.
Thank you so much to Celestia0909, The Lady Rogue, and whitetiger91 for betaing.
For Mum, whose birthday was yesterday, and the girls I coach, who somehow manage to be lovely and exasperating and inspirational all at once.
Word count: 2738

It all started when Henry brought Tracey home after her best friend's eleventh birthday party, only for her to perch herself on a stool at the kitchen counter and declare in no uncertain terms, "I want a cat."

The expression on her face was so adorably stubborn that Anna's first reaction was to laugh — but then the words sank in. She shot a panicked look at her husband, who nodded once, the resignation on his face showing that the girl had already brought it up with him on the way home.

For years, she and Henry had been putting off conversations about pets with the assurance that they'd talk about it when Tracey was older, hoping that they could delay it until she forgot or was mature enough to take care of one on her own. Now, it seemed, Tracey had decided it was time to stop waiting — even if they hadn't.

"What's brought this on, sweetie?"

Tracey shrugged as she picked an apple up from the bowl they kept on the counter and turned it about in her hands. "I just want one."

"Tracey…" Henry said.

The girl sighed. "Daphne's grandmother bought her an owl so she can keep in touch when we go to Hogwarts."

Anna should have known. The girls were close, but there was an unspoken competition running between them. If Daphne had a pet, then Tracey wouldn't rest until she had one too. Thinking quickly, she said, "That's lovely, sweetie! Owls are adorable, and they're really practical since you don't have to wait to use the school owls."

Not being a witch herself, it had taken a while for Anna to wrap her head around the idea of an owl as a pet. But Henry had insisted that it was the best way for him to keep in contact with his family, and she had grown used to the barn owl he'd had since he was a boy. Besides, from what he'd said, owls tended to eat and sleep in the Owlery at Hogwarts, so they wouldn't have to worry about Tracey remembering to look after it.

"But we already have one," Tracey complained. "Besides, an owl wouldn't be able to stay with me in the dormitory. A cat would. And it would make me feel like I was still at home with you."

Anna narrowed her eyes, recognising that she was being manipulated. But before she could chastise her, Henry spoke.

"Your mother and I will have to talk about it," he said. "But keep in mind that if we do decide to get you one, you will have to look after it all on your own. You won't be able to rely on us to feed or wash her when you're at Hogwarts, so you'll have to do it now as well."

"Thank you, Daddy!" Tracey jumped off the stool and threw herself at her father, wrapping her arms around him tightly.

"I'm not saying it's a yes," he reminded her. "I'm just saying we'll think about it."

Anna met his gaze over the top of Tracey's head, her eyes narrowing. Henry never had been able to resist their daughter's requests. For a 'Slytherin', he was surprisingly susceptible to manipulation. Especially if it was from his daughter.

-x-

With fuzzy white fur, a soft nose, and the palest of blue eyes, Tracey's new kitten was the most adorable thing she had ever seen. The moment she'd met her, she'd fallen in love. In the week since, she'd involved little Snowy in everything she did, unable to get enough of the furball. She knew her parents didn't think she'd be able to look after Snowy on her own, but she was determined to prove them wrong; if Daphne could take care of an owl, Tracey could take care of a cat.

As she finished mixing red, blue, and white paint into pale mauve to match the feature wall in her bedroom, she glanced over at Snowy, who was sniffing her best friend's fingers delicately. After a moment, the kitten butted her hand against Daphne's hand, apparently deciding that the girl was worthy of petting her.

Daphne cut off her description of the murder mystery novel she was reading mid-sentence and giggled, running her hand along Snowy's back. "She's so sweet."

Tracey smiled, spreading the mauve paint over the canvas carefully. She'd finished most of it that morning while Snowy was asleep, so it didn't matter too much that they kept moving. "Isn't she, though?"

It was uncharitable of her, but Tracey was glad she finally had something that Daphne didn't. For once, she was the one sharing with Daphne rather than the other way around.

"Anyway, what was I saying?"

"You were telling me that Mercy's alibi checked out." Tracey wasn't much of a reader herself — there were so many other things she wanted to do — but she liked hearing about the stories.

"Oh, yes!" Daphne's eyes brightened. "I really have no idea where this one's going. I can usually work it out about halfway through, but this one is all very cryptic."

Tilting her head to survey her painting — the proportions were a little off, but other than that, it looked how she wanted it — Tracey asked, "What does 'cryptic' mean?"

"It's when something is really confusing and difficult to understand."

"Oh." That really was quite obvious in hindsight.

With that, Tracey's good mood fled, and she could feel the jealousy bubbling up within her. Daphne always acted so mature and grown-up, even when they were just having fun. Not like her.

Before she could say something she would regret, her dad poked his head through the door. "Ready for lunch?"

"Very," Tracey said, standing up without a moment's hesitation.

"Should we take Snowy with us?" Daphne asked, looking down at the kitten that had, at some point, curled up to doze in her arms.

Tracey's dad looked at her, and she shook her head. Snowy wasn't meant to be at the table while they were eating, but it was clear he wanted her to take responsibility for the decision. "No, she stays in here while we eat."

Being the one to make the call made her feel a little better.

-x-

After they ate lunch, Tracey and Daphne hurried back to her room. The painting would be almost dry, and she wanted to show it to her parents. As she reached the doorway, however, she froze in horror.

The colour mauve was everywhere. There were mauve patches on her bedspread, mauve pawprints circling in patterns across the floor, and a mauve kitten curled up on her desk. On the ground, her palette was overturned, and red, blue, white, and mauve paint had spilled out and stained the floorboards.

It was too much. It was —

"I forgot to put it away," she whispered, frustrated tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She'd never had to before; she was used to just leaving it where it was and coming back to it later, no matter how much her parents tried to convince her to do it first. Snowy must have gotten into it while they were gone.

"Tracey," Daphne said, putting a hand on her shoulder, "it's alright."

Tracey shook her head, not even bothering to try to keep the tears from falling. "No, it isn't; it isn't. It's — "

"Your dad can use magic to clean it up, and then it'll all be as good as new — magic can do anything, remember? I'll go get your parents, okay? It'll be alright."

It really wouldn't be, but Tracey was beginning to feel like a fool again. Be mature, she thought. Be mature like Daphne.

She nodded and reached up to wipe her tears away. "Okay."

-x-

Tracey sighed as Snowy jumped into her lap and walked in a circle before settling down to sleep. A few weeks had passed since the disastrous day with Daphne, Snowy, and the mauve paint. Things were slowly getting back to normal. The kitten's fur had finally returned to its original state, and the sight of the painting hanging on the wall was starting to make her laugh rather than want to cry.

But ever since that day, things had been different, and she wasn't sure they would ever get back to how they had been before. The time she spent with Snowy had lost its shine. Now, all she saw was rust, and all she felt was irritation.

Tracey could never seem to tell what her cat wanted. Snowy would meow, so Tracey would give her biscuits, but then Snowy would turn away from them without a second glance. Figuring that she might be short on water, Tracey would check on her bowl, but that would be full to the brim. So Tracey would pet her instead, and Snowy would enjoy that until she suddenly didn't. And every single time, she would decide that the best way to convey that she was ready to be alone was to scratch the hand that petted her.

It was all so cryptic, as Daphne would say. So cryptic and so, so frustrating.

As much as she hated to admit it, she was beginning to regret getting Snowy at all. She still loved the little thing, but her nerves were fraying like one of the pieces of wool the kitten liked to bat around. Maybe she just wasn't a cat person — or even an animal person. Or maybe her parents were right and she just wasn't ready to have a pet.

But she didn't want her parents or friends to think she couldn't handle it. Daphne was getting along splendidly with her owl, Heracles; she seemed to understand her pet well enough. Tracey knew it wasn't exactly the same — full-grown owls didn't need as much attention as kittens — but it didn't matter.

She had to prove them all wrong. After all, she was nothing if not proud.

"Meow."

Tracey ran her hand down Snowy's back gingerly, hoping she wouldn't get scratched or bitten again. She usually didn't, but it was always a possibility.

At least Heracles' pecks generally didn't hurt.

-x-

Something sharp dug into Tracey's neck, tearing her from her dreams. Her eyes snapped open, and she flailed desperately as she tried to stop the pain. Her right hand knocked against a solid object, which tumbled away and landed on the floor with a disgruntled hiss —

"Snowy?" she asked, her throat dry and voice cracking. Her hand went to her throat. Fluid was welling up — she was bleeding. Not satisfied with taking her patience and her time, Snowy had decided to take her blood, too.

She knew she was being over-the-top. She knew it was an accident. She knew the cuts wouldn't be very deep and that her dad would be able to fix them in an instant.

She didn't care.

The dam she'd been trying so hard to hold together for the last few months broke, and the tears came flooding out. Sobbing, she curled into her side, her arms wrapped around her chest as if to hold herself together. For the past few months, it had felt like everything was going in a constant downward spiral. There were moments where she bonded with the kitten and it felt like everything was going to be fine, but they were always overshadowed by the next annoyance that came along.

She was at her wit's end. It was like Snowy just kept screaming out, "Pay attention to me! Pay attention to me! Pay attention to me!" But no matter what Tracey did, it was never right. And it was never going to be. She just didn't have that much attention to give.

There was only one thing she could do.

Faint hints of light peeked through the gaps in Tracey's curtains as she slipped out of bed and walked across the hallway to her parents' room. Snowy followed her out of the room, but she kept well clear of her and made a beeline for the kitchen. That was alright with Tracey. Usually, it would bother her; it would be another sign of how she was failing. But in this case, she'd already failed. She couldn't bear to look at the whiskered face and think about how she was about to let the kitten down in the worst way.

"Mum? Dad?" she asked, knocking on the door. It was slightly ajar; her parents said it was so they would be able to hear her if she needed them. "Can I talk to you?"

She could hear them mumbling as they stirred, and a rush of guilt swept through her. But she was so tired and so exhausted, and she knew that if she didn't do this now, she might not have the strength to do it in the morning.

"Tracey?" her mum asked blearily. "Come in. Are you okay?"

"No," she said as she stepped inside. "I... I can't do this anymore."

Her father lit his wand, and her mother shuffled over so Tracey could slip into bed next to her. She hesitated for a moment before tossing out her pride like the contents of a litter tray. It might not be the mature thing to do — the Daphne thing to do — but it was what she needed to do. As she tucked herself against her mother's side, she felt better than she had in weeks.

"What's wrong, sweetie? Are you crying?"

"Are you bleeding?" her father asked before she could answer. Jumping up, he circled the bed and knelt down on the floor next to her. "Let me see."

"Snowy s-scratched me," Tracey said as she felt him prod the skin gently before casting two spells in quick succession. The cuts itched as they healed and the dried blood disappeared. "Thanks."

"What happened?" her mother asked, this time more firmly.

"I d-don't think I can take care of S-Snowy anymore." It was the hardest thing she'd ever had to say.

"It's alright, honey," her mother said. "We know. We've known for a little while now. We just wanted to wait for you to work it out as well."

"I know that m-makes me a h-horrible person."

"Why would you think that makes you a horrible person?" her father asked, sounding genuinely shocked.

"You told me; you t-told me from the start that it was a b-big responsibility and i-it wasn't fair on her to do it if I wasn't sure I c-could."

Her mother ran a hand through Tracey's hair. "Tracey, not being ready to own a pet doesn't make you a bad person. You tried your best, and that's all we could have asked for. We're just glad you took it seriously."

"B-But what about Snowy?" she asked. She dreaded their answer, but she had to know. "I-I'm leaving for Hogwarts in a week. What w-will we do with her then?"

"We'll figure something out. My friend Matt has been thinking of adopting a cat. I can see if he's interested."

Tracey nodded. Matt had always been nice to her; Snowy would probably like him. Her tears had slowed, but there was still one more thing tugging at her mind. "I feel so b-bad about all of this. Daphne would never — "

"You aren't Daphne, sweetie, and Daphne isn't you."

Tracey frowned at her mum's words. Didn't they mean the same thing? "What?"

"Everyone is good at different things," her dad said. "Daphne may be better with animals, but she can't paint or play the flute as well as you can, and that's okay. That's normal."

That was true. Daphne had borrowed Tracey's flute once, but she hadn't been able to make more than shallow, breathy puffs of sound. Tracey had tried to teach her, but no matter how many times she showed her the correct technique, Daphne couldn't seem to do it.

"Instead of trying to be good at things Daphne likes," her mum said, "maybe you should focus on the things you like instead."

Her mum said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Maybe it was. Maybe being a grown-up wasn't about being calm and good at everything like Daphne always seemed to be; maybe it was about doing what Tracey herself wanted.

And even if it wasn't, Tracey suspected she'd be happier that way.