Disclaimer: I am not the genius behind the world of Harry Potter.
Crookshanks creeped stealthily around the corner of the dungeon staircase. It was hard to be discreet when your coat was the colour of a blazing bonfire but it was generally accepted that, for his size, he could be very quiet. Having said that, he was of a considerable size. If you were unkind you would call him fat, or as Hermione's youngest cousin had exclaimed, "a walking tub of lard".
To be fair, it was hardly Shank's fault, he couldn't help being a former prince with exquisite taste in food and a healthy appetite, any more than he could help that Hermione was a generous girl who pandered to all his food cravings. Nor could it be helped that he was trapped in an enchanted castle where he didn't wander about very much. Note I say didn't rather than couldn't. It has to be conceded that the curious part of his cat brain really hadn't put in much of an appearance yet. He tended to spend most of his days stretched out lazily in front of the fire in the Lion's den or curled up on his mistress' bed receiving rather nice back rubs from whichever girl was present in the dorm at the time. Thus it was that he was an obscenely large mop of orange fuzziness that you couldn't miss unless you were blind or deaf. But still, he did try.
Hanging into the shadows he approached the entrance to the Potion master's apartment. Not many people knew where it was. In fact, Shank's original plan had been to wander around in the dungeon until Snape appeared and then trail him until he revealed his hideaway. It was not the most cunning plan and he had been thankful when he had bumped into Mrs. Norris and sweet-talked her into divulging the entrance's location. Shanks smirked to himself; he may not be the thinnest or most agile cat in the castle, but he was certainly the sweetest talker. Oh yes, he still had it when it came to the ladies, albeit that he was currently limited to those of the feline persuasion, but even so…
He butted his nose against the portal. It didn't move. He let out yowl of frustration. The barrier vanished. He went to move in then froze. Snape was leaning casually against a desk, wand pointed straight between Crookshanks' eyes. Shanks didn't break eye contact with the man and deliberately walked forward. Snape kept his wand trained on him the whole time as the tabby came to a rest and sat calmly on his haunches less than a metre from the Professor.
Man and cat regarded each other, neither blinking, making no sound, faces serious. Unhurriedly Snape lowered his hand and regarded the creature in front of him.
Shanks turned his back on the Potions Master and sauntered over to the door, pausing there to give the man a meaningful look. Snape raised an eyebrow then appeared to decide that it was far too late in the evening to be indulging a cat. He drew himself to his full height, looked haughtily at the fuzzy form in his doorway, turned, and stalked into his quarters. It was his first big mistake of the evening.
Crookshanks prided himself on having a good idea of how the world worked. It was quite simple really; he wanted something, he got it. By extension if he told someone to do something, they would do it. Snape was about to learn this the hard way.
a/n: Wow, well, it seems a number of people were paying attention and have confirmed that the mortar is indeed the dish. In answer to a qn that I got sent, no this is not a response to a WIKTT challenge, although methinks I should go check it out and see who else has fallen in love with Crookshanks as a character.
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