Author's disclaimer – I'm not the one who created any of the worlds in this story. The Potterverse is obviously the work of the great J.K. Rowling. And the Old Kingdom (and surrounding lands) are the work of Garth Nix. All of the characters that follow (except for a few O.C.s) are the brainchildren of one of these worthy authors. I'm not making any gain from them. In fact, the only thing I have done is probably something I shouldn't have – introduced them to each other. They say that different types of magic shouldn't mix. Oops. But what the hey – sometimes, you have to tempt fate and give it a go. Which I have started to do here. Rated T for some fairly dark themes (the Old Kingdom is certainly a place that knows this, and don't even get me started on the river!). Canon compliance is go for everything except the epilogue of DH. Look for me to upload about once a week, if all goes well. That's the intention, even if life gets in the way. Reviews = longer chapters! ...and many thanks to colorfulraincloud aka ThatOneQueerFangirl for beta-ing!
Ronald Weasley was cold and miserable.
This was not the first time, he reflected. Diving into freezing ponds, guarding a tent in the cold,…, no, Ronald Weasley was quite familiar with being cold and miserable. Being out in this late October rain was nothing new. It still wasn't good.
But it was still better than disappointing Hermione. He had done that before, and the results were less than pleasant. Funny, that. In the past, he would have run away from the cold, hidden from the work, and looked for a warm fireplace and a nice game of chess. Being with Hermione all those years meant learning what it meant to work. He never really understood how his father dealt with his mother until he had been married for a few years himself.
Telling his father THAT was an education in its own right.
Still, he had a job to do, and it wasn't just to please Hermione. He had Rose to think of as well. The girl was just as heartbroken as her mother when Crookshanks finally died. They were both inconsolable for days. The house was still somber, three months later. Funny thing – third year, Ron had thought Crookshanks a monster. Now he was looking for his successor. He remembered the conversation the family earlier that night.
"Are you sure you're ready for another pet?
"Daddy." Hands on hips, and that stare. Rose had a way of looking at him that made Ron feel weak, no matter how right he felt.
"Hermione! Help!"
"Ronald, we already talked about this. You know what I expect."
"'Mione!"
"Maybe you should go right now, if you don't want to disappoint your daughter."
"It's dark outside. It's raining! You know the Magical Menagerie isn't open!"
"Which is why you SHOULD have taken care of this today BEFORE you came home from work. This is the third day in a row you forgot. Go. Get out! NOW!" Her voice was starting to become hysterical – a dangerous tone that Ron knew all too well.
"Go where? To a muggle pet shop?"
"No. Rose wanted a magical cat. Find a magical cat. Find a stray in the alley, or such. Bring it back. Is that simple enough for you?" At this point, the glare on Hermione's face was rapidly approaching the danger mark. Ron was made of sterner stuff, but when Hermione glared at him like that, hands on hips, she bore a remarkable resemblance to his own mother on a tirade. This was never a good thing. Having learned that joking and teasing only inflamed her further, Ron tried one last argument, sounding weak even to himself.
"All right then. How are we going to keep this new cat indoors? Won't it just escape?"
"We can use Crookshank's kit from when he was old to get him used to us. Now go. The sooner you find a cat, the sooner you can come home."
"What if I don't find a magical cat?"
"The menagerie opens in the morning."
And so he was out here in the dark and the drizzle. A jar of bluebell flames would be nice. A warming charm would help. But he had to find a magical cat, and the menagerie was closed. Nothing to do for it except keep looking. Even a revelio wouldn't work in this case – it wouldn't work reliably on any magical non-human creature, and it might just scare away any creature that might do.
At least he wasn't likely to be picked up by the aurors. Ron had chosen a spot behind Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, which meant that he was known. There had been more than a few occasions when experiments after dark had required the staff to leave the building. Ron chuckled to himself – last time, George and Angelina had to remain outside the store for three full days.
Maybe his need would draw the animal to him. Although, he thought ruefully, if it were truly that way, it should have been Rose outside, not him. The need would begin the binding, and he would have to get the cat home and hope that Rose needed the cat more than he did. And if the emotions were wrong, they'd make an enemy, one no doubt with claws and teeth. What was 'Mione thinking, putting them in this position?
There! A flash of white fur! One of the local alley cats was pouncing on a mouse, only 20 feet away.
Ron knew what to do. If he just tried to sneak up on the cat, it would escape. It might even turn and scratch him. Instead, he'd have to apparate, grab by the scruff, and immediate apparate again. One, two,….
Three! A bang, and he was on the cat. Grab and yell "HOME!"
And a sly voice belonging to that white cat, with eyes greener than pickled toad, said, "Which home?" Ron felt a hook pull him by the navel, and everything went dark.