Crookshanks was a cat with a mission. From the first time their paths had crossed, he had known that there was something seriously wrong about the rat that the orange-haired boy called Scabbers. It was more than the natural animosity between feline and rodent. Much more, just as Crookshanks himself was much more than a cat. Whenever the scruffy rat was around, the kneazle blood that ran in the marmalade cat's veins asserted itself, declaring the other beast an evildoer, and therefore an enemy.
Crookshanks was not alone in his conviction. Mrs. Norris could be snarky at times, but she was a clever girl. After all her years at Hogwarts, surrounded by magic, white and black and every shade in between, she knew arcane trouble when she smelled it, and Scabbers reeked of it. She detested its presence in her school, enough to be willing, if reluctant, to join forces with a student's companion to be rid of it.
Tonight was the night to do the deed. Unnoticed by his own student, Scabbers had been sneaking out every night for the past week. There was no reason to suppose that tonight would be any different – except that this time, when he left the Gryffindor boys' dormitory for whatever nefarious deeds he had planned, he would be followed by the valiant feline who waited and watched for his departure from a concealed spot on the stairs to where Crookshanks's brilliant Gryffindor girl slept peacefully. Mrs. Norris, ostensibly on night-time patrol, would await them both around the corner from the Fat Lady's portrait.
There he was, the dirty rat, bold as brass jumping off the bottom step and scurrying across the common room. Crookshanks's tail thrashed back and forth while the cat waited for his quarry to gain enough distance to carry him out of sight. Then the feline leaped into action. The hunt was on!
Outside in the hall, Mrs. Norris awaited him. "It's about time!" she hissed, flicking a dusty gray ear at him. She turned, tail held high, and trotted away after the retreating rodent.
"It's not my fault!" Crookshanks protested. "I was ready for ages before he showed. The boys must have been talking again. They say girls are chatty, but the boys put them to shame."
Mrs. Norris snorted, sounding remarkably like her human in a sour moment. "As long as I'm back before my Argus wakes up for his middle-of-the-night trip to the litter box, it's all good."
The cats followed Scabbers at a safe distance, at times having to listen for the quiet scrabbling of his claws to relocate him. Their journey came to an end on the seventh floor, where the rodent was performing what seemed to be an odd kind of dance. He walked three times past the same section of wall, and then tried to walk into it, accomplishing nothing beyond bashing his head against the stone.
After several repetitions, Mrs. Norris batted Crookshanks with a velvet paw. "The next time he stuns himself, let's get him!" Her eyes gleamed with anticipation, which changed to annoyance as the rat stopped in his tracks and looked in their direction. "Bother! He heard me."
Scabbers took off at full speed, with the two cats close behind. He hurtled around a corner and ducked behind a suit of armor. Crookshanks approached from one side, crouched low to the floor, while Mrs. Norris went around to prevent the rat's escape. She poked at him, and yowled as rodent teeth sank into her paw. The enemy sneaked out past her and took off down the hall. Tail flailing furiously, Crookshanks dashed after him, pounced… and missed.
The rat was gone. Crookshanks yowled curses, great foul feline words, explicit comments on Scabbers's ancestry, personal habits, and relationships with lower life forms. He stopped when he noticed that Mrs. Norris's eyes were wide with shock, and her dust-gray fur stood on end. "Sorry. It's just that…" he mumbled, voice trailing off.
"It's all right," she assured him, rubbing her head against his side. "We'll get him next time." With a final caress, she sauntered away.
Next time. Yes. This war was not over. Crookshanks was not a cat who would admit defeat. Not while there was breath in his body or claws in his paws. He would prevail if it was the last thing he did! With his head held high and proud, and his tail fluffed out behind him, he trotted back toward Gryffindor tower. One day, he too would be a hero.