Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.
A/N: This isn't properly British.
Crookshanks sticks out his tongue and licks at his orange muzzle. He lifts a paw and licks that down too. Got to look good. He sits on his haunches and lazily flicks his tail. He glances up at the ceiling again. Good. Check. Everything in order then. She'll have to come this way.
She does a second later, tail gently swaying to and fro as she totters down the hallway. Mrs. Norris looks like a vision; her gorgeous grey fur is fluffed in all the right places. Her whiskers twitch as she struts. As a student passes overhead, she moves to her usual stalking-posture incredibly gracefully, and then back to full elegance when the student disappears around a corner.
Crookshanks straightens up where he is, trying eagerly to match her. He'll never be the regal prince she deserves, but he can try.
Mrs. Norris slows as she approaches him. Her head lowers a bit, front legs creeping forward, and she eyes him suspiciously, before catching a glimpse at the ceiling. Always an observant one, Mrs. Norris. She meows loudly, and Crookshanks sheepishly drops his head.
Mrs. Norris brushes past him and places a featherlight peck to his sunken cheek. Crookshanks perks back up suddenly, feeling like a million Galleons. He turns to meow after her, but she's already slipped through the door.
