Yeah, shoddy summary is shoddy, I know.
So, this is intended to become romantic between the two greatest witches of their times (and eventually become 'M' rated). I started writing this intending for it to be a (long) oneshot, but whataya know, it wants to have at least a few chapters. ^^
I'm open for suggestions (or anyone wanna be my Beta Reader?) and reviews.

Disclaimers: I feel dopey telling you I don't own Harry Potter because it's kind of obvious. Why would I be writing shoddy fanfics if I had billions of dollars from writing the real thing? Seriously.

Chapter One:
The Cat at the Window

-/-

The first time she had met the cat was at the beginning of her seventh year at Hogwarts. Hermione had been reading in her private Head-Girl quarters when there was a scratching at the window. She had believed it to be an owl from Harry or Ron (who had decided not to finish their schooling after the war) and so had taken her time to put her book away properly. When she finally did go to the window, she was shocked to find a cat perched precariously on the sill, scratching and mewing with determination. Hermione quickly let the creature into her room, peering out for a moment in wonder. How on earth did it get up here? She wondered. Her room was incredibly high up and other than the window sill there was no ledge for the animal to have crawled along.

When she turned back to examine the cat, it had made itself quite at home on her bed, sitting with its tail wrapped around itself and staring at her from the foot of her bed. Hermione tried to let the animal out of her room to roam the rest of the castle, but when she called to it, not knowing its name, the stubborn thing cocked its head to the side and then turned away. Not really minding the animal, she let it sit where it was and retrieved her book from the desk to continue reading.

After just a few quiet minutes, she peered over the top of the book to look at the cat which hadn't moved since she lay down, but when their eyes met, it moved gracefully to the pillow beside her and mewed. Hermione stroked the tabby, determining it was female and tried to think of a name, but every time she tried one out it just didn't sit right with her. In the end the cat remained The Cat and she resumed reading to herself while the cat curled beside her head.

The cat stayed in her bed the night it first appeared, but when Hermione woke in the morning it was gone again, as if it had never been there. How it got out was just as mysterious as how it had gotten onto the sill. Both the door and the windows of her room had been shut and locked, but Hogwarts had many mysteries and in comparison, the strange tabby cat was nothing.

-/-

It became a regular thing for Hermione to find the cat scratching at her window, let it in and read or study with it sitting nearby. At first it was a very stern looking thing, forest green eyes watching her from far away, almost studiously. It let her pet it if she approached, and when she got ready for bed it would trot around, looking at things and then curl next to her, but it never seemed to behave too affectionately.

After a couple of weeks, the silver tabby had become more accustomed to sitting on Hermione's lap, purring while she stroked it and seeming to listen when she read aloud. Unlike Crookshanks, it never sat on her parchment while writing, didn't scratch or bite her things and seemed to know exactly when Hermione needed to concentrate. She came to adore the animal, and even though there were times when it didn't show up for days and days, she didn't disbelieve for a moment that it shared similar feelings.

While she felt silly at first, Hermione would talk to the cat like an old friend, and loved that it listened with its head cocked to one side. She liked that it never interrupted her, never chided her for being so involved in her studies and when she was upset, it didn't hesitate to rub its body against her. Even though her two best friends were far away and the friends she still had at Hogwarts were more interested in Quidditch (in Ginny's case) and chasing imaginary creatures (in Luna's), she didn't feel lonely with the strange cat.

-/-

After a few months it was nearing Christmas and Hermione became more and more withdrawn from the few friends she had. Even her teachers were beginning to worry, but she wouldn't let anyone too close. As she became more introverted, staying and studying in her room or library every minute that she wasn't in class or sleeping, the tabby's visits became so frequent that it was with her, not just at night, but in the mornings and even sat by her in the library at times.

She told the cat everything that was bothering her that she didn't tell anyone else. To protect them during the war, Hermione had wiped her own parents' memories and given them new identities. They now lived somewhere in Australia, and she didn't even know where. The up-coming Christmas would be spent not knowing where they were and not knowing what she would do. There wasn't even a war to preoccupy her from it. She had started to cry once she had unloaded her worries, and the cat let her hug it like a child's toy. When she finally finished sobbing, the compassionate creature carefully slipped from her arms and stood on her chest, licking away her tears with its rough tongue until she couldn't help but laugh.

Things went from bad to worse for Hermione. Her grades were as high as ever, but she hardly ever saw her friends, had lost more weight than would be healthy and could only sleep through the night with the tabby lying beside her. It was the dreams- the nightmares. The explosions and the lights and colours and the screams. It was a private war that roared in her mind every time she was alone and closed her eyes. Then she got the letter.

It wasn't a long letter, but it took Hermione at least ten minutes to read it, and for what it said to register in her mind. Ron. He didn't think he could do this. By 'this' he meant a relationship that involved such a long distance. 'It's not your fault, but it's not mine either,' he had said. It certainly sounded like it was her fault. It was her fault for coming back to Hogwarts and not being a house-wife like he wanted. It was her fault for not visiting the Burrow every weekend and every opportunity. It was her fault for not writing often enough. It was her fault.

Of course when the cat returned that night, Hermione read it to her and the animal was as caring as a cat could be, lending her its warmth, licking her, rubbing against her. "At least I have you," she whispered into the silver fur, "and I don't even know your name." The cat meowed loudly at that.