Written for the Care of Magical Creatures category for The School Subjects Competition. Hope you enjoy and please review!
He didn't like it when she was late.
He wasn't a worrier or a nagger - he did like getting his belly rubbed on occasion - but after that one year of her being gone, he didn't like it when his roommate changed her routine.
It started to feel like that one year again, and Crookshanks meowed in worry. He paced back and forth in front of the Floo, tail swaying in dismay, checking the fireplace after every fifth pass - he liked the number five, it was his lucky number after all.
On his fifteenth pass, he heard a lock unhatched, and he immediately jumped onto the sofa, less his roommate think he was actually worried - it never paid to let her think he cared.
He eyed the front door as it opened abruptly, and barely managed to keep himself from flinching when it banged against the wall. His roommate - mistress if he was honest with himself, but he never was when it came to being owned - was pressed against the door by the ferret.
He didn't know why he was a ferret but his mistress's - no, roommate, he reminded himself, he always called her mistress when in distress - red friend always called him that.
Crookshanks vowed to catch a ferret and deliver it as evidence against calling the man eating his mistress's - no, roommate, bad kneazle! - face the name. Crookshanks preferred pointy pale man.
He was rather pointy, if the noises Hermione - yes, call her by her name, and avoid the whole mistress/roommate issue entirely - were making was anything to go by. Crookshanks thought maybe she was being poked in an unpleasant way, and he didn't like that.
Not only was she possibly being mauled to death, but she was completely ignoring him. He couldn't have that.
He jumped off the couch and pranced up to the couple still doing whatever it was they were doing against the door. Hermione's friend with the glass on his face called it snogging - whatever that was, but Crookshanks decided he didn't like it if it meant going hungry.
He screeched in the best of ways - hair standing at attention going down his spine, tail straight up, spittle coming from his mouth as he hissed - making Hermione jump and push pointy pale man away from her person.
Crookshanks truly did screech when the man tripped over him and fell over on his arse. Crookshanks glared at the man and was poised to attack in retaliation when his mistress - no! Roommate, just because your hurt doesn't mean she deserves to be called mistress, she let you go hungry! remember that - picked him up and cuddled him close to her chest, cooing at him.
He wasn't a baby kneazle, cooing and cuddling did nothing for the pain in his back, nor did it put food in his belly. He squirmed, trying to get the point across.
When she started to rub her hand down his spine, he stilled, glad that his mistress understood. It was why they were roommates and he kept her. She understood him.
"That cat is a menace," the pointy pale man hissed from the floor.
Crookshanks turned and hissed back. Who did this person think he was, a menace? Who was the one assaulting Hermione? Not Crookshanks, that's what.
"Hush you, you were the menace attacking me before we even made it fully inside," Hermione replied, while walking in the direction of the kitchen.
Crookshanks smiled in his kneazle-way, happy that his mistress took his side. He smile became feral when he realised that he was finally going to be fed. He was placed on the counter, and he watched in strict attention - less she make a mistake, she may have forgotten how to serve him his dinner. She did manage to forget it was his dinner time a few hours ago - as she peeled a can of his most favourite Meowmix open. She reached up into the cabinet above him, stretching on her tippy toes, but became distracted when pale arms reached around her, pulling her around to snog once more.
Crookshanks hissed. He did not like this snogging business. It was distracting and kept him from being fed. This wasn't going to work. He knew his mistress liked the pointy pale man, but if he kept her from feeding him, he vowed to make his life miserable.
"Granger, your cat is glaring at me," he whispered into her lips.
"Of course he is. You're distracting me from his dinner."
"A dinner from a can. What sort of food is that?" he asked, taking the can away from her and tossing it in the rubbish bin.
Crookshanks propped himself up on all fours and hissed even more. What was he doing? That was his dinner? It was already two hours late! And now it was gone! He was going to attack him, his mistresses feeling be damned.
"What are you doing?" Hermione asked as the man snapped his fingers.
A green short person - a House-elf if Crookshanks remembered correctly, it had been a while - popped into the Kitchen and kowtowed to the pointy pale man.
"Dra-"
"Hush, Granger. You and I have something else to do. Keeley, please see that Crookshanks has dinner." The pointy pale man said as he grabbed his mistress and pulled her from the kitchen, making the House-elf pop away.
Crookshanks was just about to follow after them and scratch the man's face when the green thing came back holding a fresh plate of something.
The House-elf placed the plate on the counter, just in front of Crookshanks, and his mouth watered.
A fillet of salmon, if his nose didn't lie. Also the breast meat of a pheasant. The steam wafting from the fresh meat made Crookshanks eyes roll into the back of his head.
The pointy pale man could stay, as long as he kept feeding him like this.