Chapter One—Crookshanks

Crookshanks wandered idly across a corridor, pausing to sniff at a beam of pure moonlight filtering through a high window. Light snores issued from several of the surrounding portraits, but the orange cat ignored them. There would be plenty of time to tease them tomorrow, when they couldn't wake the castle on him. He sauntered down another corridor, brushing a rusty suit of armor with his bottlebrush tail. He was extremely proud of this tail, much to the annoyance of most animals he met; the mice in particular seemed to loathe it.

Over four years of wandering the castle at night, he'd come to know it quite well—perhaps even as well as Fred and George had once known it. Hermione had never restricted him, and he enjoyed his free roaming. This was the castle at its most peaceful, but also at its most revealing. Countless secrets were hidden here, more than anyone (even he) could hope to uncover in a lifetime. However, it had become a hobby of his to root out and solve as many of these secrets as he could.

Some of them were small secrets, mere trifles which he perused to their ends only for the amusement of it. A sharply snide portrait of a wigged witch had once mentioned a visit Dumbledore himself had made to a room filled with chamber pots on the seventh floor, while in dire need of a bathroom. He rapidly discovered the Room of Requirement, and afterward he often paused for a snack or nap in comfort.

Other secrets the castle hid proved to be not quite so small. On the contrary, Crookshanks was rather proud of himself indeed for uncovering the entrance to the old Chamber of Secrets, which he had heard Harry, Ron, and Hermione mention many times. Although he was unable to open the Chamber, he knew where it was and was fairly certain he also knew what it had once contained. It was pervaded by a lingering stench as though the evil smell was unwilling to accept that its master would never return.

The very first secret he had come upon had happened quite by accident, but it had stirred his interest about the unrevealed whispers and buried mysteries of the castle. He had been here for only a month or two after Hermione had rescued him from the Magical Menagerie in Diagon Alley. Hermione had been in her third year then, and was so besieged by all the classes she wanted to take that she was compelled to request a Time Turner to attend all of them. This left her exhausted at the end of the day, and she always forgot to keep Crookshanks in her dormitory at night, though it stained her friendship with Ron. Crookshanks realized this, but he enjoyed the freedom of his nighttime ramblings too well to give up, and he just couldn't seem to leave that darned rat alone. There was something wrong with it, and he knew it.

As he was shambling around the grounds one cloudy night and pondering why the peculiar rodent should give him such a foreboding, he haplessly stumbled into the vicinity of the vicious Womping Willow. It was none too kind to him. He scrambled about, trying desperately to escape its flailing branches. As he dodged a thick branch, he tripped over the knot which froze the violent tree. Its bending, creaking branches stopped cold in mid-strike. Crookshanks stood completely perplexed until the tree thawed and redoubled its attack. The cat received several more painful whacks before he'd worked out the knot's purpose. Once the tree was still again, his irresistible feline curiosity led him to the hole, the passage, and the dog-man.

Crookshanks came upon him first as a dog, but knew at once there was something unsettling in this one, too. He felt the same as that wretched rat. The cat was immediately wary, emitting a low hiss of warning. Stay back, he spat plainly. The dog whined and retreated fast, but quite suddenly grew up into a man. Crookshanks' fur prickled on end and he tensed, arched his back, and yowled at this unexpected changeling. The man shuddered and backed up even more. He was thin and gaunt, with rags that hung limply from his body and a pale, shadowed face. His hair was unbelievably filthy, long and matted. But it was when Crookshanks looked into his eyes that he began to feel some measure of pity for the man.

They were sunken and grey, washed out. They seemed dull and dead in his face, as though a soul no longer lived behind them, but had been sucked dry by a dementor's cruel kiss. They peered out of his head in fear at the feral cat before him.

Crookshanks slowly lowered his hackles and straightened his back, but not completely. It was the beginnings of trust between them—but trust takes time to build.

Soon however, they came to accept each other well, and the dog-man often talked to Crookshanks during the lonelier hours of the night, confident that somehow the determined cat could understand him.

In this way Crookshanks learned that the dog-man too had suspicions of Ron's pet. He knew many things that the cat didn't, but soon he had told Crookshanks everything he knew and many of the things he'd only wildly guessed at; what he knew of the rat, of Pettigrew, and of Harry Potter. The cat had sensed something about Harry as well, the very first time he'd met him, like nothing he'd ever felt before. Now he knew more, but he still suspected there was something about the boy he didn't know. Something that no one knew... Something impending.

Crookshanks sighed as he recalled these first memories of Sirius. They had been such companions. Crookshanks had probably saved Sirius's life in the Shrieking Shack that year when he'd made Harry hesitate. But Sirius was gone now. Gone. Crookshanks didn't know where, but he did know that wherever he was, he wouldn't be coming back, and he knew it made Harry unbearably sad to remember.

The solitary cat picked his way up yet another corridor. He pulled himself out of his reverie and poked his head into several deserted classrooms, scaring a couple of mice. He wasn't in the mood to chase them tonight. He wanted a mystery.

He passed the staff lounge—nothing interesting there. He made his way along the moonlit hall beyond. As he reached the end, an electric shiver clawed down his spine from head to tail as he once remembered doing to Ron's head. He sensed consternation, a stubborn unknown waiting to be poked and prodded. Acting on instinct, he thrust his head behind a tapestry of Merlin sneezing into a handkerchief and found a rough-hewn wooden door about four feet high. He pawed it open with ease and loped inside, letting the tapestry fall softly into place behind him.

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A/N—First fanfic that I've ever actually posted. What do ya think?? REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!!! Totally want constructive criticism. Next chap to come soon, but after that I'm not so sure. But I definitely WILL finish this one, so don't give up on me!!! I will NOT leave you hanging in the middle! (PS… If you want to know something about the next chap, just read the title. Sound promising?)

Disclaimer: I didn't write it, OK?? Haven't you heard that enough times already? (especially if you're wandering around this site…)