Chapter 11
Lost
Ron scuffed his feet on the ground, his hands shoved into his pockets. I blame all this on stupid Tom. Ron curled his lip at the thought of the muggle, having the urge to hit something . . . again.
"It's not my fault he provoked me. It's none of his business how I feel about Hermione," he said aloud, sighing as he did so. "And now Ginny's taking his side, too. My own flesh and blood is turning her back on me! And Harry is probably going to kill me when I get home. Damn it! This really couldn't get any worse."
And then, as if the deity of corny clichés had decided to pay Ron a visit, the clouds that hadn't been noticeable before let out a harsh downpour of rain. Ron narrowed his eyes but pressed on, though he wasn't sure where he was going.
"AND HOW DID SHE KNOW I WAS CRYING? IT DOESN'T MAKE ANY SENSE! I WOULD HAVE NOTICED HER IF SHE HAD BEEN IN THE HALL!" Ron cried over the din of the storm. The torrent of precipitation died down to a whispering shower within seconds. "I hope you're happy, muggle!" he shouted into the distance, shaking in his soaked clothing as he walked.
"Mew!" a sound from nearby called.
Ron paused. He shrugged and continued his trek when he heard nothing.
"Meeeeooow."
Ron stopped again. What on Earth was that noise?
Suddenly, a black blur came out from under a bush to Ron's right and latched onto his pant leg.
"AH!" Ron hollered in shock.
"Merow!" the black ball attached to Ron screeched.
Did Ron dare touch it? Well, if I don't, it's going to stay attached to my leg. Ron reasoned with himself. Judging on that fact, he disgustedly reached down, grabbed the thing by the bulk of its body, and lifted it to where he could see it properly.
"I hate cats," he grumbled, looking into the wide, yellow eyes of the sopping kitten in his hands.
"Meow!" the cat snapped, trying to wriggle free of Ron's grasp.
Ron dropped it willingly and turned around, intent on heading back home to either cower in his room or face Harry's wrath head on.
He had taken one step before he halted again due to the feeling of claws dug into the back of his leg. "OUCH!" he bellowed, bending down and pulling the little, black fiend from his pants once again. "What is your PROBLEM?" he yelled.
"Meow," the cat replied.
Ron scowled and leaned over to manually place the cat on the ground. "Stay!" he snapped, turning back toward Grimmauld Place again.
A feeling of relief swept over him when he had walked a ways without a disturbance from the frustrating feline. He made the mistake of taking a fleeting glimpse of what was behind him and spotted the cat trotting down the pavement. Once the black mess caught his eye, it hurried forward until it was walking directly alongside him.
Ron stopped moving and glared down at the tiny beast. "Go home!" he exclaimed, more than irritated that this . . . thing was trying to trail him back. "I don't need anymore bad luck right now, so scat!" He stepped forward menacingly, and the cat hopped to the side, apparently thinking Ron's anger was a fun game.
"Mew?" it queried, and Ron could almost see its smirk.
"Fine. Follow me for all I care, but don't think I'm letting you inside," Ron muttered, walking toward the house again. He glanced back after a while and was annoyed to see that the kitten had taken him up on his offer and was tagging along. "Great."
It wasn't long before both Ron and the kitten had reached Grimmauld Place, and Ron pivoted on the doorstep, looking back at the cat, which was staring up at him through the drizzling rain. "Good bye," Ron said wryly as he opened the door, stepped inside the house, and closed the door. He paused, listening for anyone who might be approaching him at that moment to tell him off or worse. Nothing.
In that case, I might as well check and see if the bloody creature is gone. Ron was preparing himself to say, "Good riddance to bad rubbish.", but he didn't get the chance because when he peeked through the curtain in the door-side window, a certain onyx feline was still outside the house, its head cocked questioningly as it allowed itself to be further sodden with the rain.
Ron stared at it in confusion. Why didn't it just leave? It wasn't as if he wanted a cat. In fact, he would never even like cats. But its miniscule, black body, shaking slightly from the cold wasn't something he could just ignore. He didn't dislike cats that much.
I'm not doing this because I want to. I'm doing it because it's what Hermione would want me to do. Yea, keep telling yourself that. And it's not because I feel sorry for that thing. I just wouldn't want a dead animal rotting in front of the house. And, you know, there's always the fact that it's lost, just like you. Ron shook his head to keep himself from arguing with his subconscious any more than necessary. He would have to let the cat in . . . for the time being. He would send it back out again as soon as the rain cleared up.
Yea . . . Sure.
"Argh!" Ron pulled the door open and stood in the doorway. "Here, kitty, kitty!" The black cat sprinted up to the door and was about to go inside of its own accord, but Ron scooped it up and held it at arm's length. "My rules, cat," he growled, though he couldn't shove the feeling that he was getting attached to this annoying kitten even though he had only known it for less than an hour.
