Ron Weasley was no idiot. He was sitting on his fat arse and blinking stupidly, but he was still no idiot.

A gigantic, bumbling prat, maybe, even a witless git, but no idiot—all this despite whatever everyone said about him, and especially whatever Hermione Granger had to say about him.

Hermione insufferable-know-it-all Granger.

Hermione my-best-friend Granger.

Hermione-can't-live-without-you Granger. In a strictly platonic sense, of course. Wait… a platonic sense? How would one manage? That didn't even make sense to him, and he'd managed to convince himself the man who sold Harry Potter's parents to freaking V-vol-you-know-who, dash it all, was an adorable little garden rat who needed a little pick-me-up.

Well, that would leave with only Hermione down-right-sexy—

NO, Hermione I-want-to-snog-your-brains-out—

Bloody hell, what was he thinking? He only meant Hermione let's-relieve-that-sexual-tension-right-NOW!—

Argh!

"Oi!" Harry smacked him on the back of his head with the oversized book they'd been studying for the past couple of hours. "Are you paying any attention at all? The first rule was to concentrate, mate. Concentrate."

"'Course," Ron murmured, rubbing the lump forming on his scalp. "But I can't do that so well when I'm lying around here on the floor like some kind of raving lunatic."

"Maybe we should skip the jumping step…?" Harry suggested lamely, bringing the book so close to his nose he slightly resembled a bushy-haired individual Ron certainly knew nothing about—

Ron stopped himself before he could begin. "Are you sure we can't wait to do this tomorrow?"

"We have to at least make some progress today," Harry insisted, the familiar firmness in his voice. "This is important."

"I never said it wasn't," Ron retorted, regaining his footing. "But when neither one of us can even decently apparate, which is supposed to be standard for wizards our age, I don't think becoming an animagus is in our immediate future."

"My dad did it just fine," Harry replied, his jaw set in determination. "And if Goyle and Crabbe are spying around for Malfoy, I want to have some sort of leverage."

Ron sighed. His best mate had brilliant instincts and was capable of leading a teenage army through a band of death eaters, but he picked the weirdest things to obsess over, and there was no convincing him otherwise when he set that lightning-scarred head on it. Currently, his obsession was Malfoy; he still expected to become a carbon copy of his father the hour after he'd fooled himself casting the patronus charm.

"We should ask Hermione for help," Ron suggested, seeking no gain whatsoever for himself, being Harry's friend and all.

"Yeah," Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I just don't see her going for it, you know? You saw what she did to Rita Skeeter when she found out about her little 'secret'—I wouldn't be surprised if she ratted us out to McGonagall! Even Dumbledore."

Ron shuddered as he remembered how Hermione relished her revenge against the ill-fated journalist. His stomach twisted unpleasantly as he thought of her discovering the pair of them jumping around like fools so they could complete a bit of illegal magic.

"Look," Ron began, tearing his mind away from thoughts of being beaten to death. "Skeeter had it coming for a long time. It could've been anyone, and I'm sure any of her victims would take up a chance to blackmail her. She went after Hermione, and besides, she wasn't her friend, right? Hermione knows about your dad and the marauders."

Harry nodded, unconvinced. "I think we should keep trying. It's a pity I didn't ask Sirius about earlier…"

"There's always Lupin!" Ron burst out; the thought of Harry grieving at a time like this was too much for him to handle at the moment, his own emotions as haywire as they were.

"Yeah…" Harry agreed, his face dark. "But he's not as much as rulebreaker. 'Specially since he was a professor here and all."

"Well, you know, you could call up Wormtail. Ask him if you could cash in on that favor he owes you since you saved his life and all. Any time that it's convenient to sit down for a little chat, and afterwards he can have a go at you, per his Lord's instructions…"

Ron was relieved when his friend's face broke into a grin.

"It's a good idea, besides the whole trying to kill me thing. But then again, who doesn't want to have a go at me these days?"

Harry chortled at his joke, but now it was Ron's turn to look uneasy. "You're right, Harry. We've got to come up with some way to defend ourselves."

Harry knew pictures of his family were running through his mind as he said this.

"Look, you're right. We're not going to be amazing animagi on our first try, and we shouldn't be expecting that if we don't want to discourage ourselves. But no matter what happens, we are going to do this, ok? And I know your family will pull through this. You can't have darkness this thick without good times close by."

"You sound like Dumbledore."

Harry grinned. "Well, with all of our meetings across the years, I can't say I'm surprised."

"Hello, boys," chimed in a sing-song voice, accompanied by a blonde pigtailed head.

"Oh, hey, Lavender," the boys said automatically.

She twirled a piece of her hair between her fingers before speaking. "Madam Pince is busy with a first year now, but she's threatening to come back here and kick you both out if you don't stop it with the crashing and such."

"Oh…" Harry hastily shut the book and tucked it inside his pack. "Right. Thanks, Lavender."

Lavender nodded, but she wasn't looking in his direction. Her eyes were trained on Ron, sizing him up like a Hippogriff would a roasted ferret. Ron didn't seem to notice as he bent down to tie his shoe.

Harry cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable.

Lavender jumped back into reality, looking crestfallen. "Yes… well… it was nice to see you, Harry."

Meaningful pause. "And you, too, Ron."

Ron's head snapped up from the ground, smacking soundly on the desk. Though Harry could hear the stars soaring through Ron's vision, he recognized the stunned look was due more to the fact that a girl besides Hermione had spoken to him, rather than the fact that he'd killed the last twelve of his brain cells.

"Er..blehgrshk…" Ron babbled stupidly, his eyes fastened on the girl in front of him.

She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle the resulting giggles before retreating merrily in the other direction, her mission accomplished.

"So…" Harry helped Ron to his feet. "Fancy her, then?"

Ron stared at Harry with the same intensity as he had Lavender before focus slid back into his eyes. "What? Erm… no. Lavender? She's a right sight prettier than a lot of the Gryffindor girls, but… I say, mate, did she really just talk to me?"

The high pitches his voice found were as good as a flat confession. A confession of what, Harry wasn't entirely sure, but a confession nonetheless.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, mate, I think we best call it a night. I can't have you drooling all over the place and not accomplishing anything."

Ron's face screwed in determination. "No, no, I'm fine, I just need to…"

A loud gurgle erupted from Ron's stomach as end to his statement.

Harry felt his own stomach churn with hunger. "The Great Hall?"

Ron looked relieved. "Cheers."

"'Right, so, concentrate on the animal you most desire to become.'"

Ron could feel veins popping across his forehead as he pinched his face deep into thought.

Jack Russel Terrier…Jack Russel Terrier…Jack Russel Terrier…

His feet tingled a bit as he leapt forward in earnest, crashing down to the ground in a spectacular display of overgrown extremities. He groaned, rubbing his elbow and praising the Heavens for the complete absence of any students in the Common Room. Otherwise he'd be a goner for sure by now.

"Just got to try again," he reasoned, moping the sheen of sweat off his face. He felt a great swell of pity for those who had gone before him.

Jack Russel Terrier…Jack Russ—

"ARGH!" Ron cursed as a set of nails dug into the flesh of his shoe, scratching at his toes underneath. "Geroff, Crookshanks, you mangy little demon—"

He swung his foot about the room, doing a bit of an impromptu dance as he tried to wrestle the crazed feline from his body. He did an experimental little hop in hopes that the cat's claws would lose their strength a couple inches off the ground.

But instead of toppling to the ground as he expected (Crookshanks still attached, of course), he landed gracefully on all four…

Wait, his mind soared into overdrive. Since when do I have four…paws…?

He looked down, hoping to see two large feet, but instead he saw ginger fur spread out all over his body, parts of it spiky and matted.

What the he—

"You there, human," a voice called from his right. At first, the sound came as hisses and meows to his ears, but he quickly realized that he could understand every word.

"Crookshanks…?" he asked, turning around the face the cat. He had apparently become fluent in a new language, because the words streaming from his mouth were anything but English.

The cat smirked, and Ron felt an involuntary hiss reverberate against his throat. Crookshanks did not react, only circled around him with his tail in the air, wagging triumphantly.

"What have you done, little human?" his voice sounded more like a purr now.

"I don't know," Ron admitted, staring down at his paws. He could feel panic rising in the form of shudders rolling up and down his curved spine.

"I heard you muttering about some dog," his voice dripped with disdain, "but what happened? You don't look anything like a dog."

"I kind of figured that out myself, thanks," if cats could roll their eyes, he tried.

"Do you know what this means?"

Ron shook his head, looking into the ugly yellow eyes before him for answers. He didn't want to be stuck as a cat for the rest of his life.

"You're an animagus," he began, his voice surprised enough to make Ron hiss again. "And you take on the form of the animal you most love."

Ron choked. "But there's no way, I mean, no offense or anything, but I, well, you know as well as I do—"

"I hate you just as much," Crookshanks snarled, still pleased with himself. "But it's not me you care about, it's my human. You were thinking about her."

Hermione? Was I really thinking about Hermione? No, he was sure that his mind was wholly focused on the task at hand, and her bushy brown head was no one where near his thought of a Jack Russel Terrier. But then again, he was always thinking about Hermione. Wondering what book she had her nose in now, wondering what she thought of all the other blokes she passed by every day, worried that one day someone would try to hurt her, and she'd be all alone without her wand to protect her…

Crookshank's voice broke through his line of thoughts. "Can you change back?"

Ron hadn't thought of that—it shouldn't be too difficult, right? After all, he'd transformed only a moment ago. He hadn't read much of the changing back section in the textbook, but it had to be along the same lines.

Okay, Ron, concentrate. It was easier now to think hard about his long legs, red hair, and millions of freckles. Come on, come on, come on…

Nothing was happening.

"I've just got to keep trying," Ron insisted, though the tone of his voice belied his misery. "It took me a couple go's before, too."

"Save your breath, human," Crookshanks leaped up from where he was standing to the window sill. "I don't give a rat's arse about you turning back. In fact, I'd prefer you this way, more on my level. But for now, I best be going. Hermione doesn't have to worry about me now that you're here, right? I think I'll go for a late night hunt around the forest. Cheers, mate."

"Now wait just a minute—!" Ron sputtered angrily, but it was too late. Swift as a lightning bolt, ginger fur streaked out the window and into the darkness.

Ron had a half a mind to follow him and chase him down, but he didn't want to get lost nor turn back into human in the middle of the Forbidden Forrest. Not that Crookshanks would be of much help now, anyway. When he turned back into human, he was going to kill that cat.

"Crookshanks…?" a voice called out from the staircase, soft with sleep. "Crookshanks, where are you? Gin, can you help me find him?"

Ron froze. He knew exactly who that voice belonged to. Terrified, he ran behind the nearest couch and hid, trying to make his fat body as inconspicuous as possible.

"Yeah, sure," said an irritable voice from behind Hermione. "Hermione, don't you think he's off hunting somewhere? Cats do that at night. He's fine, probably just wants a bite to eat."

"But that's the thing!" her footsteps were muffled now by the red carpet in the Common Room. "He's been looking so skinny as of late, I wonder if there's something wrong with him. And besides, I need him to be home. I worry about him if he's not in bed with me at this hour."

"You mean, you want to talk to him and share all your secrets?"

Ron could imagine the blush spreading across her face.

"Yes, well, he's been a very good friend to me as of late. It's easier to talk to him than say, Harry."

Ginny laughed, but Ron could tell she was about to get sulky. "You could talk to me, you know. I'm no bloke."

"Like you don't put your ear up to the curtains and listen anyways."

Ginny sputtered in mock-hurt, but she'd given herself away before she could even attempt her usual tactics. "Oh, here he is, Hermione."

Ron spotted Ginny's face looming ominously above him moments too late. One minute, he was planted on the ground, hidden, and then the next, he was contained in unrelenting arms to be transferred to her—

He didn't think about scratching her. He knew he needed to escape, knew he needed to defend himself somehow, but he hadn't counted on ferocious beast claws ripping from his paws and into her flesh.

"Crookshanks!" she cried, her voice hurt. His heart sank as he watched her cradle her bleeding arm and stare down at him with sorrowful brown eyes.

"Bloody git," Ginny cursed, aiming a kick at him. He took his punishment without so much as a meow; he knew he deserved it.

"Oh, don't hurt him, Gin," Hermione chided, picking him up again, though with a noticeable drop in enthusiasm and a teaspoon of fear. "He just overreacted, that's all."

Ginny shook her head. "Ron's right. You will defend that deranged furball against anyone, no matter what his offense."

Hermione, however, wasn't paying attention. "Gin…" she began, her voice distracted as she held Ron above her head and closer to the light streaming from the ceiling.

Ron was suddenly terrified, but there was nothing he could do. Scratching was out of the question if he never wanted to see that sad expression again. But could she know? Could she somehow see it was him? Ron never wanted to look like Crookshanks more in his life.

"What is it?" Ginny's gaze aligned with hers. "Is there something wrong with him?"

"N-no, I don't think so…" she trailed off, studying his face with that insatiable curiosity. "It's just that…this is going to sound so… so odd to you, but it's eyes. They're usually yellow…. I don't know if it's the light or what, but they look blue for some reason. What if he's someone else's cat…?"

"Eye color changing isn't so strange, you know," Ginny informed her. "I was born with sky blue eyes and now look at them—they're almost as dark as yours!"

"Well, yes, of course," Hermione replied impatiently, her eyes never leaving his face. "But he's a cat, for Merlin's sake! What if I'm stealing someone's cat or someone hexed him or…"

"Hermione, no cat looks like Crookshanks. He's too ghastly looking."

Ron wanted to swipe at his younger sister, but he dare not risk it, not when Hermione was still holding him so close to her face.

"But what about that first year girl's cat—Penny, I think her name was? She has a tabby, and he's just the same color."

"She," Ginny corrected. "Her mum hates male animals—she told me. Besides, it's just a kitten. It's not all fat like him. She's petite and pretty, with a very feminine face."

"Should we check?"

She shrugged. "Might as well, just in case…"

Ron's stomach plummeted as they lifted him higher and sifted through his lower parts.

This is awful, he thought miserably. He couldn't think of any worse people to inspect his private parts besides his younger sister and the girl of his dreams. Fred and George, maybe?

"Yep."

"Definitely a male," Hermione finished.

If cats could blush, Ron was positively scarlet by now.

"Well, he answered to his name, didn't he?" Ginny rationalized. "Must be him."

"You're right, I suppose. Besides, I can't let him stay out here by himself. Poor little guy needs somewhere to sleep for the night."

Ginny's eyes rolled skyward. "Hermione, has anyone ever told you you're obsessed?"

Ron had fantasized about sneaking into the girls' dormitories since his first year. You could call him a pervert, but from the ages of eleven through thirteen, he was innocent, at least; his brothers all swore that the room contained the greatest of all magical secrets, and if he failed to enter through its enchantments by the end of his fourth year, he'd never make it through puberty. He'd be stuck as an adolescent, permanently. Of course, he eventually figured out that his teenage years were meant to last for some time, and by the time he was fourteen, the appeal was, of course, lots of naked girls. And in his fantasies, they were all at his bidding.

Instead, however, he was stuck as a metamorphosed cat, lying on the bed of the girl he'd fancied for at least three years now.

"Crookshanks," she mumbled, her voice heavy with sleepiness. "Normally I'd talk to you, but I can't be sure I can trust your identity. So whoever you are, good night."

She put her face next to his and turned out the light. Not even a minute passed before light exhales were seeping from her throat.

Ron couldn't move; he couldn't breathe. Hermione Granger was asleep, next to him.

What happens when I change back?

Like it? Needed something more? Curious?

Please review, and I will oblige you!

(Please, do it for Ron. He doesn't want to be stuck as Hermione's cat forever, you know).