Making A Habit Of You
I would never classify it as love.
An infatuation perhaps or simple curiosity, I could describe it as easily as those but the word that first came to mind was a habit. Watching her every day, envying her simple life – of course emotion had come into it.
But love? No, it would never be that.
I was here for the boy's sake, for Harry who lived five doors down. I rarely saw him, only the summers and winters I could get away from Albus and my teaching responsibilities. Over the last year he had stayed an afternoon on occasion as Arabella baby sat him and I let the toddler pull my tail and stroke me with fumbling hands which seemed to be consistently sticky or damp. Discomfort was something I could handle if it made him laugh.
He was skinny and Arabella would often be furious when he left. We never saw bruises, there were never any signs of mistreatment but he was becoming quieter, his eyes always wary and the clothes they put on the boy – it made me want to rake my claws across that damned woman's face. How on earth that shrew was related to dear Miss Evans I would never comprehend.
Bella would drink heavily some nights and often the kneazles left her alone, off to hunt and mark territories. They were independent and antisocial when I was here, knowing that I was a fraud, that Tabatha wasn't merely a stray cat but a human in disguise. I always suspected that Bella knew too, she was beyond clever when she was sure she was hidden from the world. Her life was an act put on for everyone, the carpet slippers and the wayward hair kept them all way, kept her safe.
I understood. I watched her drink her loneliness away and curled on her lap, letting her pet me until she purred because us living together and watching over the boy had become routine, a habit. My feelings for her, the care and respect, the longing I felt when I was at Hogwarts away from the comforting albeit unusual smell of her home, of the dated wallpaper and the way she would constantly talk to herself, eating yoghurt hourly and breakfast for dinner… I missed it all. I missed her, the one woman I could understand.
To call it love would ruin the foundation we had built, the mutual understanding that I clung to so no, I would never let it be that. A habit however, a twisted, unusual and curious habit – that I could indulge in.