Author's Notes: Truly I have no business writing anything after being unable to finish Starting Anew, but this is a one shot. It will always be a one shot so I guess it's alright.

You should be aware that I am taking some liberties with Hermione's character for this short story, and that it is heavily based on the events of these past few days and weeks, culminating in the struggle that was today. I'm making you aware of this because, while I adore constructive criticism I really don't want to hear it for this particular story. This story is me sharing my grief for a beloved pet; it is not meant to be some epic novel. It's just sadness. If that's not your cup of tea please just stop now and find something that's cheerier or what have you.

Also, I do not ship Ron/Hermione and J.K. can't make me.

In Loving Memory

Matthew

Beloved Feline Friend

2009 – 02/25/2012

Hermione frowned as she looked down at Crookshanks, the orange kneazle-mix had begun to lose weight and was sleeping far more than was normal, even for a cat. For some days now Crookshanks had been off his food, even crying out at times when he did eat.

Hermione was worried, but she was still at Hogwarts, helping the others with the post-war clean-up efforts. Magic was certainly helpful, but it could not fix everything, and she had very little time to venture into Muggle London to visit a vet and even less money magical or muggle. She still hadn't had the time to travel to Australia to find her parents, for Merlin's sake. Nevertheless, she was worried.

Days passed, the clean-up effort continued, and Crookshanks got worse. Hermione was in agony for her beloved pet, but could not figure out what to do for him. She kept him inside her room and hand fed him soft meat. Over time she had to shred it finer and finer until finally it was at the consistency of baby food or Crookshanks could not eat it.

Hermione hadn't been idle. She had taken the time to speak to the school nurse, but Madam Pomphrey had little time herself, and was not at all trained in veterinary medicine. The days passed slowly, and Hermione found herself spending more and more time trying to help her cat. She knew something had to be done when one chilly morning she'd found Crookshanks sleeping in a puddle of his own urine.

Much to Crookshank's consternation Hermione gave the half-kneazle a warm bath, gently soaping and rinsing the ailing cat. Crookshank's attempts to avoid the water were all too feeble.

Unable to bear it any longer, unable to watch her cat suffer a moment longer, Hermione meekly asked Harry for a small loan, just enough to take Crookshanks to the vet.

Hermione gently wrapped Crookshanks in a soft towel and carried him out of the castle to Hogsmede, where she used the floo to travel to the Leaky Cauldron. From there she went to Gringotts and had her galleons exchanged for pounds and made her way to a local Muggle vet's office.

FIV; feline immunodeficiency virus. Feline AIDS. It was too late for the vet to do anything.

Hermione was not a crier. She didn't cry when she left her parents for the first time to go to a boarding school in Scotland. At eleven years old her tears were those of anger when Ron had made his snide remark about her having no friends; even then she knew the little snot was a jealous prat. She didn't cry when she obliviated and sent her parents away to Australia to protect them.

Now though it seemed as if the tears would not stop. Sitting in the vet's office she turned away from the compassionate veterinarian and sobbed until she began to hyperventilate. She clutched Crookshanks to her chest, not caring that the disease had left him with breath that would knock out a mountain troll, not caring that his beautiful orange fur was matted and filled with dandruff. All she could feel was her heart ripping in two.

Hermione knew that she couldn't let Crookshanks suffer; he didn't deserve that, no animal deserved that. When she got herself under control wiped her face on her sleeves and looked at the vet with sad eyes and nodded.

The vet told Hermione that the euthanasia that they would use was injected into the vein and it would be more comfortable for Crookshanks if they put in an IV catheter. Hermione agreed and passed Crookshanks to the vet. A kind woman who introduced herself as a bereavement counselor led Hermione to a small quiet room. Distantly Hermione noticed that the room was actually very nice. It was not a sterile exam room with metal tables and cabinets full of frightening instruments, but rather more of a living room with a brown leather loveseat, a neutral patterned area rug, flowers, tissue boxes, and even a large dog bed that she guessed was for pets too large to lift on or off the table with ease. Dimly she noticed a plaque on one wall.

She sat and waited and ten minutes later the vet and her assistant came in, gently carrying Crookshanks in another towel. They told her that the towel she'd brought Crookshanks in had a bit of urine on it. Hermione glanced down at her pants and suddenly became aware of the cold, smelly, damp spot on her thigh. She'd not even noticed that Crookshanks had peed on her.

They let her hold Crookshanks one last time, and for a few bittersweet seconds she gave Crookshanks a last cuddle and passed him back. They asked her if she wanted to stand next to him, but she couldn't bear it and backed away, shaking her head. The tears began again as she watched them inject Crookshanks with the pink anesthesia, and she watched as he went limp.

She tried and failed to stem her tears as they took Crookshanks away, and she had mostly controlled herself as they came back with Crookshanks in a small cardboard box. She numbly accepted the box, paid the vet's fee, and found a quiet, secluded spot to apparate back to Hogsmede.

Silently, and alone, Hermione carried Crookshanks out into the Forbidden Forest and transfigured a fallen limb into a shovel. She dug her cat's grave silently, forcing back the tears, but giving up the effort as she began to shovel the dirt back over the grave.

"Goodbye, Crooks, I'll miss you."