Puss in B(onkers, Simply Bonkers)oots

It had been a deceptively calm, mild autumn day. While the Horcrux hunt was still fruitless and their bellies were far less full than they would have liked, at least nothing dreadful had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Their campsite on the far edge of a sheep pasture was actually quite picturesque, and if Harry closed his eyes and imagined hard, he could almost pretend they were on holiday. Almost, but not quite.

"I never thought I'd say it, but I miss Fred and George's explosions," Ron said as he tossed the Deluminator towards the ceiling, catching it with his left hand. "Aside from the sheep, it's too quiet out here by a long ways. It's making me nervous."

"Yes, well, I suppose we should be glad we're not somewhere that's blowing up," Hermione said, straightening up from her latest perusal of Beedle. "Still, I miss some of the little things I took for granted at Hogwarts."

"Like Monday always being pear tart day," Ron said, leaning back and looking up wistfully at the lamp overhead.

"And how the First Years get lost well into February just going from the common room to the Great Hall," Harry said with a laugh.

"I miss the smell of the library, all musty and soft," Hermione said.

"How'd I know you were going to miss the library most," Ron said, chucking her gently on the shoulder. "Of course, I miss the smell of the Quidditch pitch right after it's mowed, so I'm not much better."

"I almost wish I could see Professor McGonagall shaking her head in total disbelief at something we've done that's broken fifty school rules," Hermione said.

"Yeah," Harry said, "and the way that Peeves always comes whizzing out of nowhere when you least expected him and causes total mayhem."

"Mmm," Ron said in agreement. "I miss that badly dressed blighter. At this point I'm almost nostalgic for Filch and that wretched Mrs. Norris of his."

"I miss Crookshanks," Hermione said with a sigh. "I hope your mother doesn't mind him staying at the Burrow. I keep thinking that maybe I should have brought him with us."

"That mangy fleabag?" Ron said, sitting up. "What good would he be out here?"

Mentally, Harry pleaded with Ron to shut it. He knew Ron had never liked Hermione's cat, even if he hadn't eaten Scabbers, although it turned out that maybe it would have been better if he had. But Hermione obviously loved the ugly thing, and he didn't even have to glance over at her to know that she was probably vibrating with rage.

"I'll have you know that Crookshanks happens to be a highly intelligent cat," Hermione said in a tightly controlled voice that boded all sorts of danger. "He's half Kneazle, you know."

"So what?" Ron said. "He's still not exactly the prettiest thing I've ever seen."

"There's more to someone than just looks, you know," Hermione said, obviously getting even more upset.

"Fine, but name one useful thing that freak of nature could do out here in the middle of nowhere," Ron said with a nastier tone than Harry thought the situation warranted.

"He's good at picking out people who can't be trusted," Hermione said, snapping her book closed, "so maybe he could tell when Death Eaters are about."

"Doubtful," Ron said. "He'd just be another mouth to feed. Though I suppose if things got too bad we could eat him. There's usefulness for you"

That was it, Harry thought. They were now all going to die from being in such close proximity to Hermione's head as it exploded, though perhaps it might manage to take out the Horcrux in the explosion. That was one option that hadn't explored yet. Harry braced himself for the inevitable angry tirade, only to be met with the last sound he expected: Hermione giggling uncontrollably.

"What?" Ron asked, completely confused.

"Yeah, that's what I'd like to know," Harry said, almost feeling cheated.

"No, it's just he sounds exactly like the miller's youngest son in 'Puss in Boots,'" Hermione said. "He underestimated a cat too."

"Is that another fairy tale?" Harry asked, deeply relieved that Ron had accidentally said something funny.

"Yes," Hermione said.

"Well, what are you waiting for," Ron said, leaning back against the sofa cushion. "On with it."

Hermione glared at him.

"Ehm, please," Ron added, looking a bit embarrassed.

Hermione gave him a little nod, then sat cross-legged on her chair in the pose Harry was beginning to associate with her storytelling.

"Once…"

"…upon a time," Harry finished.

The other two stared at him.

"Isn't that usually my line?" Ron said, pretending to be affronted.

"What, I can't play audience participation too?" Harry said, trying to look innocent.

"Wonderful," Hermione muttered. "Now there are two of them. Anyway, yes, once upon a time, a long time ago, there lived a widowed miller who had three sons."

"So far, so good," Ron said. "Then what?"

"The miller died," Hermione said, giving him another glare for interrupting again so soon.

"Oh. Well, that was fast," Ron said. "Is there a wicked step-mum involved in this one?"

"No," Hermione said. "For once, there isn't a pseudo-maternal figure who connives against the next generation."

"Bully for Captain Picard," Harry said automatically.

"Who?" Ron asked.

"Sorry, you wouldn't get it. There's a Muggle television program about a spaceship captain, well, actually, two of them," Harry said.

"Two captains? That's bound to cause trouble," Ron said.

"No, two programs, one from the 1960s and another one later on. The second one was called The Next Generation," Harry said. "I got to see it once in a while over Dudley's shoulder since there wasn't any magic in it."

"Although it's arguable that much of the technology on the Enterprise is actually Muggle wish fulfillment on a par with the use of magic, such as the use of the replicator to conjure up any food of the person's choice or the holodeck standing in as a replacement for a variety of enchantments by permitting the character to create or recreate an environment of his or her choosing within the parameters of the computer program," Hermione said thoughtfully. "There's really a remarkable amount of crossover between science fiction and traditional fantasy tropes when you examine them closely."

Ron blinked at her.

"Huh?" he asked intelligently.

"Plus Klingons' voices do sound remarkably like Merpeople's," Hermione said as though she hadn't heard him.

"Right," Ron said, shooting Harry a completely baffled look. For once, though, Harry had actually managed to follow part of that.

"Kirk or Picard?" he asked her with a grin.

"Neither," she said dismissively. "It's really all about Spock, isn't it? Anyway, where were we?"

"The miller's dead," Ron said, sounding like he was desperately grasping at straws. "That much I know."

"Yes, right, and the three sons divided up the miller's worldly possessions among themselves. The oldest son got the mill itself," Hermione said.

"Why did the oldest one get it?" Ron asked. "Shouldn't they have flipped a coin or something?"

"I suppose that would have been fairer," Hermione said, "but at the time of the story, the rule was that the oldest son got pretty much everything, sort of like with Muggle royalty where the king's oldest son gets to be the next king and any other sons get lesser titles and things."

"What do the girls get?" Ron asked.

Harry silently counted to two hundred while Hermione explained once again that females were treated as property by their parents and were used to arrange peace agreements, but that they very rarely inherited anything on their own. This included a brief history lesson on Queen Elizabeth I and Queen Victoria, as well as a nod to the current monarch as notable exceptions to the rule.

"Well, wouldn't matter much in our family anyway," Ron said with a shrug. "Girl or not, if they were going by age by the time they got down to Ginny, about all that'd be left is Dad's collection of electric plugs."

"At any rate, the oldest son got the mill, so things actually went pretty well for him. The middle son got the family donkey," Hermione said.

"Wait, a donkey?" Ron asked. "Of all the possessions they've got, he gets a donkey?"

"Remember, the miller didn't have much, so it's not like the son picked it over a set of rubies or something. Besides, a donkey would be quite useful and worth a fair bit. Normally it would have been used to turn the wheel in the mill so they could grind wheat into flour, so it was really quite important," Hermione explained.

"So what's the first son going to do? Pull the wheel himself?" Ron asked.

"I suppose he could," Hermione said. "It would make much more sense for the two older brothers to work together so the mill could keep functioning as intended. Perhaps they did. The story doesn't really say, only that the middle son got the donkey."

"Okay, fine, so we've gone downhill from a mill to a donkey. What's the youngest son get?" Harry asked.

"The family cat," Hermione says. "Then they threw him out the door."

"What?" Ron said. "Oh, I would have like to hear that conversation. 'Oy, I'm oldest, so I get the mill, and you get the donkey, but you, little brother, I never did forgive you for that time you got mud on my new broomstick when you were six, so here, have a cat and get out!'"

"Who knows? Maybe it was something like that. Families hold all sorts of strange grudges," Harry said. "Aunt Marge has a brother she hasn't talked to in forty years because they disagreed over a china pattern when he got married. Lucky fellow."

"Yeah," Ron said, "and there's Mum's second cousin, the accountant. They never did forgive him."

"For what?" Hermione asked.

"For being an accountant," Ron said, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "I mean, really. An accountant?"

"What's so horrid about being an accountant?" Hermione asked, frowning. "Is he dishonest or something?"

"No, he's just an accountant. That's more than enough," Ron said with a shrug.

Hermione opened her mouth as though to argue the point, but she just shook her head, obviously choosing to pick her battles, and thundered ahead.

"In any case, the youngest son…," she began.

"Does he have a name?" Ron cut in.

"Not yet," Hermione said.

Ron also opened his mouth as though to protest, but shrugged.

"Okay, you let the accountant slip by. I may as well give you a pass on this," he said magnanimously.

"Thank you," Hermione said with a sigh. "The youngest son took the cat, who was a very large ginger, quite a bit like Crookshanks, put him in a bag over his shoulder, and went off down the road to seek his fortune."

"Bit sad that, really," Ron said. "Loses his father, his home, his job, and his donkey."

"But he did have the cat," Hermione said.

"Yeah, that's a comfort. Knowing cats, the thing probably wanted him to stop off and get cream and salmon, and if it was served on the wrong color plate or something similarly daft, he probably got a set of scratch marks for his trouble," Ron said.

Hermione screwed up her face in a disgusted expression that Harry thought probably warranted extreme caution. On the other hand, he couldn't help silently agreeing with Ron since almost exactly that scenario had happened at the Weasleys' home that last summer. Harry still had the scratch marks on his arm to prove it.

"The youngest son had just decided to make camp for the night and was feeling very hungry," she said, sounding rather edgy. "He said, 'I have no food in my bag, but I do have a cat. I suppose I must kill and eat him. At least I shall have a supper, but then I will have nothing left at all.'"

"Okay, I admit I was joking about eating Crookshanks," Ron said, looking a bit sick. "The kid's actually going to eat the cat?"

"He seriously considered it," Hermione said, "but then he heard another voice say, 'O Master, if you spare me, I think you will be well pleased with the outcome.'"

"The cat talks," Ron said wearily. "Of course. Why not? This was the first story that's been reasonably logical up to this point, but why spoil the record for being barking mad?"

"If you want me to tell you more realistic stories, I can read you some of Jane Austen's works or the Bronte sisters or maybe some Dickens, but I doubt you'd find those as fun to pick apart," Hermione said.

"Eh, Dickens only works at Christmas for me," Harry said.

Hermione gave him a surprised look, but shrugged.

"At any rate, the boy was stunned by the talking cat, and he opened the bag. He asked the cat why it had never spoken before, and it replied, 'I never needed to,'" Hermione said.

"Actually, that does sound like a cat," Ron said. "So what's it going to do?"

"Well, first the cat asked to have the bag for himself, along with the boy's boots, which were really rather magnificent, and a suit of clothes," Hermione explained.

"Uh… huh," Ron said. "The bag, boots, and clothes. Because all cats need those."

"Well, he did let the cat out of the bag, so it's really the boy's fault," Harry said.

Ron and Hermione simultaneously rolled their eyes at the pun.

"No, really, the cat asked for those three things, and the boy thought it over, decided he had nothing to lose, and gave the cat the bag, the clothes, and his boots. Hence the name of the story, 'Puss in Boots,'" Hermione said.

"Okay, so the bag is obvious. It's sitting right there. I'm guessing the boy was wearing the boots and now has to walk about barefoot, though technically the cat would still be half-barefoot anyway since the boy would only have two feet," Ron said.

"The cat walked upright on his back legs," Hermione said. "Usually in illustrations the cat's boots are rather too big for him."

"Yeah, but what about the clothes?" Ron asked. "The cat and the boy are the same size?"

"No, of course not," Hermione said. "The boy went to a tailor and had him make the cat a suit of clothes."

"He… hired a tailor… to make his cat… a suit…," Ron said slowly. "Where did he get the money?"

"He must have had a little bit saved aside," Hermione said.

"Right. So he's so poor he's considering eating a cat, but hey, he's carrying about enough money for a hand-tailored suit for his kitty. I'll just assume he spends all the money he has on the dress robes for the cat, who of course is nameless too," Ron said.

"Yes, to both parts," Hermione said. "He does indeed spend his last bit of money on the clothes, and yes, the cat has no name."

"Rather pointless giving a cat a name anyway," Harry said. "They don't come when you call. Mrs. Figg's cats only answered to the can opener."

"Maybe their names were actually Whirrrrr-Clink," Ron said, trying to do a passable imitation of a can opener and succeeding quite admirably, Harry thought.

"Do you want me to continue with the story or not?" Hermione asked icily.

"Oh, yeah!" Ron said. "This one's good fun."

Hermione rubbed her head as though she felt an approaching migraine and continued.

"Each day, the cat would go out with the bag and stand in the middle of the reeds on the bank of the river, and when a fine fat duck or goose or partridge came by, he popped the bag over its head and killed it," Hermione said.

"Does he really need the bag for that?" Ron said. "I mean, don't cats generally just kill things?"

"Yes, Ron, but it's part of the story," Hermione said.

"Fine, okay, he used the bag to catch and kill game," Ron said. "At least that's useful. He takes it back to the boy, right?"

"Not exactly. He lets the boy have enough to eat, but most of it he presents to the king," Hermione said.

"Huh?" Ron asked intelligently.

"Yes, you see the cat had a plan," Hermione said. "Each day, the cat went to the castle of the king, bringing the bag with him and whatever he'd killed that day, and he would say 'A gift to his majesty the king with the compliments of the Marquis of Carabas!'"

"There are so many things wrong in that paragraph that I'm not sure where to start," Ron said, "but for starters I'd say the king really needs to tighten his security."

"Well, he is a cat," Hermione said. "Not many of them are assassins."

"No, but not many of them talk, wear clothes, walk on their back paws, demand boots, or present gifts of recent killed carcasses to the king either," Ron said. "Somebody ought to get sacked."

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it again.

"When you put it that way, you really are right," Hermione said with a shrug. "Aside from that, I'm supposing you want to know what the cat is actually up to."

"And who the bloody hell the Marquis of Carabas is," Ron added conversationally, "if you don't mind."

"The cat was trying to get on the king's good side by giving him presents," Hermione said.

"So the cat wanted to ditch the kid and trade up to the palace," Ron said. "Not stupid, is he."

"No!" Hermione said. "He was trying to make the king like his master!"

"The kid from the mill is the Marquis of Carabas?" Harry asked.

"Well, yes and no. The cat made up the title, but at least the boy has a name now. Sort of," Hermione said, smiling as if this made everything crystal clear.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, and an entire conversation passed without either of them speaking a word. In those seconds, they agreed that neither one of them had any idea what was happening and that it was completely idiotic to expect otherwise.

"Okay," Ron said, "so the Marquis of Kumquats…"

"Carabas," Hermione corrected him.

"Right," Ron said, "is presenting gifts of fresh game to the king. So why does the cat have to wear clothes to do this?"

"He didn't want to feel underdressed," Hermione said, though she didn't actually sound very sure herself.

"Why don't we all just agree that the cat has the same love of fashion as Lockhart and leave it at that," Harry said.

"Great," Ron said, "now I'm picturing that smarmy git's voice coming out of the cat's mouth. I think I'm going to be sick."

"Honestly!" Hermione said. "Fine, I admit there are some plot holes and issues with characterization and nonsensical decisions and even serious problems with the national defense strategy of the non-existent country in which this takes place, but aside from that it's a very good story!"

"Let me guess," Ron said. "The book you read it in when you were a kid had absolutely adorable illustrations of the ickle pussycat and his ickle booties."

Hermione glared at him before saying, "What of it?"

"Fine," Harry said, "let's just get back to the cat's plan, shall we?"

Hermione looked at Ron, who was trying (and failing) to look angelic, but she collected herself once more and began again.

"This continued for several weeks with the cat arriving and presenting the king with the complements of the Marquis of Carabas along with fowls, the occasional fish, and even a brace of deer," Hermione said.

"Deer?!" Ron said, coming completely unwound. "The cat brought down a pair of deer?! How is that supposed to be possible? What's it going to bring next, a bear? The freakish talking wolf who eats grannies in one bite? Crikey, why not just kill a Basilisk or two while he's at it?"

"It's a magic bag, all right!" Hermione yelled back. "He uses a magic bag!"

"Not unlike you," Harry said, trying to get a little calm back.

"Huh?" Hermione and Ron said in tandem.

"You've got a magic bag," Harry pointed out. "The bag the cat has apparently is big enough to carry a whole pair of deer in it, so obviously it's got an extension charm on it, and for a cat to carry it, there would need to be a spell for lightening the load as well, wouldn't there? Kind of like your beaded evening bag."

"I thought we decided she got that idea from the magical box in 'Hotty McHotterson and the Weird Waterbuffalo of Love' or whatever it's called," Ron said.

Hermione snorted loudly.

"Let's just say it's an object that shows up in several stories and leave it at that," Hermione said. "In any case, the king was very pleased with the generosity of this neighboring marquis that he had never yet met, and the meat was so excellent that he couldn't help becoming very impressed."

"Yeah, I wouldn't mind a bit of venison and some quail on a regular basis either," Harry said. "Still, not sure I'd be accepting food from a stranger, even if I was really hungry."

"At this point, I'd take a bit of bangers and mash even if it had a gift tag saying, 'With love from the Malfoy family,'" Ron said.

Hermione thought about it for second, and then said, "I'm not quite that hungry. Yet. But it's a near thing. At any rate, the cat's plan was progressing well, and at last one day he saw the perfect opportunity present itself."

"For what?" Ron asked.

"That's just what the boy asked. You see, the cat had realized the king's coach was driving along the road that led into the forest where they were living and would pass by them in few minutes time. There was a lake nearby, and the cat told the miller's son to take off all his clothes and jump in the lake," Hermione said.

"The cat literally told him to go jump in a lake?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Hermione said as though this were the most normal thing in all the world.

"Fine. Let's assume the apparent Marquis of Casabas decides to jump starkers into a lake because his cat said it's a spiffing idea," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "Then what?"

"It's Carabas, not Casabas," Hermione said, "and the cat hid the boy's clothes."

"Nice. That'll make an impression," Ron said.

"Actually, that's precisely what it did. The cat stood by the side of the road yelling 'Thieves! Thieves! My master the Marquis of Carabas was stopping to bathe in this lake, and a pair of thieves have stolen his royal raiment!'" Hermione said, though Harry noted her version of the cat's voice was starting to resemble Mr. Humphries' voice from Are You Being Served.

"Because that will accomplish what exactly?" Ron said, looking completely confused.

"Well, the king was delighted to meet the marquis who had been sending him such lovely food, and he was happy he could do him a favor by helping him out of the predicament he was in," Hermione said, "so the king gave him his cloak."

"The king, even though he's a bit of an idiot, is also a fairly decent sort of fellow if he's willing to help a friend out like that," Ron said. "Okay, I like him."

"I'm glad he meets with your approval. The cat was very happy to see his plan was working, but he cautioned the boy to say nothing. The cat said, "Oh, my poor Marquis of Carabas! He is so stunned by this horrible assault! My lord the king, would you be so kind as to have your coachman drive him back to his home?"

"What, the mill?" Ron asked.

"No, his castle," Hermione said. "The king said he would indeed, and he helped him into his carriage where he sat next to his daughter the princess."

"I take it back. This king's an imbecile," Ron said, his face screwing up in disgust. "He's letting some naked fellow he's never met before sit next to his daughter? Bonkers."

"I admit that there are a dozen ways this might not have ended well," Hermione admitted. "In any case, the cat, wearing his boots, took off at top speed down the road until he met a group of farmers out tilling their fields."

"The cat outran the horses?" Ron said in disbelief.

"They're magic boots," Hermione replied.

"Right, because a miller's son would have a pair of those hanging about along with a magic bag," Ron said.

"Look, I didn't make up the story. Just go with it, will you? It's already got the talking cat. Is a pair of magic boots so difficult to believe?" Hermione said, folding her arms stoutly.

"Yes," Ron said. "Yes, actually they are. But for the sake of finding out what's up with puss, I'll bite my tongue."

"That ought to last three seconds," Harry said quietly, but he grinned.

"In any case, the cat told the farmers that if anyone asked them who those fields belonged to, they were to reply 'The Marquis of Carabas owns them,'" Hermione said.

"Whom," Ron said.

"The Marquis of Carabas," Hermione repeated. "You know, the miller's son."

"No, I mean it should be 'whom those fields belonged to,'" Ron said.

Hermione blinked in surprise, then drew some invisible lines in the air with her finger, apparently drawing arrows back and forth from one word in the sentence to the others. When she was through, her face fell.

"You're right," she said, sounding remarkably like a child who'd just been told there is no Father Christmas. "Fields would be the subject of the subordinate clause, and it should be whom not as that would be the objective case pronoun. To whom do those fields belong – it's so obvious! How could I have made such a ridiculously horrible grammatical blunder!"

Harry was actually afraid for a moment that she was about to start crying, and apparently Ron scented danger as well.

"It's probably the stress and hunger," Ron said, patting her shoulder affectionately. "Doesn't the brain start to have trouble when there's a shortage of food?"

"That's true," Hermione said slowly, then with increasing panic in her voice. "It could be that the lack of nutrients is starting to have an effect on my reasoning abilities. Oh, Merlin, am I going to turn into a doddering nitwit if I don't get a decent meal soon?"

"Or maybe I just misheard you!" Ron said, backing away from her as though he was afraid she might explode. "Or I could be wrong, or maybe there is no such word as whom, or, or… Harry, a bit of help please!"

"Hermione, relax," Harry said. "It's not that big a deal."

"Ron just correctly corrected my grammar! I am massacring the English language like an addle pated baboon or a drunken Cockney cabbie or an American or something!" Hermione said.

"Hermione, did you manage to figure out what you did wrong?" Harry said carefully.

"Yes," Hermione said in a small voice.

"All right then. You simply misspoke. It happens to everyone now and again. It's fine. The universe has not come unstuck," Harry said. "Now why don't you go on with the story?"

"Yeah, before you have a complete meltdown, I want to know what happens to the naked man and the talking cat," Ron said, sounding perfectly serious.

"Sorry, just… I put a bit of pressure on myself sometimes," Hermione said, clearing her throat. "Where was I?"

"The cat told the people to say the land belonged to the Marquis of Carabas," Ron said promptly. "Oh, and none of them bothered to notice that a talking cat was giving them orders to lie."

"Yes, right," Hermione said. "In some versions of the story, the cat says the people will have a great reward if they say the lands are his, and in others he says he'll chop them into mincemeat or scratch their eyes out if they don't do what he says."

"Nice little kittycat," Harry said with a laugh.

"Okay, so now that we've learned the ginger cat isn't one to mess with unless you want to go blind in your sleep, what happens?" Ron said.

"Exactly what you might think," Hermione said. "The king's carriage comes past the fields, and he asks for the name of the owner, only to have everyone reply that they belong to the Marquis of Carabas. The cat does this over and over: through a forest, in a small town, in a vineyard, in a hayfield, and everyone responds that they belong to the Marquis of Carabas."

"Let me guess. The king was impressed by how wealthy his nude guest was?" Harry said.

"Precisely. The cat also got the king to take the most round about way, while he went straight to a big castle," Hermione said. "It belonged to the real owner of the surrounding countryside."

"And that would be?" Ron asked.

"An ogre. A particularly wicked one, too, and all of the people who lived on his lands hated him for his cruelty," Hermione said. "This particular ogre did have one unusual quality, though. He was a shape shifter."

"Like an animagus?" Ron asked.

"Not quite, it was more than that. He could turn himself into any form he wanted to, or so the cat had been told," Hermione said.

"Sounds like the Muggles got an ogre confused with a Boggart," Ron said.

"Hmm," Hermione said. "You know, that's quite an interesting possibility. I suppose that many Muggles would be frightened of ogres, and a Boggart might well change into one if the right person saw it. All that would need to happen is for another Muggle to come along and the supposed ogre to change into something else for them to get the idea that ogres really could change into other forms, never realizing the ogre itself was never really an ogre."

"Like Lupin's class," Harry said.

"Yes," Hermione said. "Well, in any case, the cat went up to the ogre, who immediately threatened to eat him."

"This cat gets that a lot," Ron said. "He must look tasty."

"But the cat was very clever, as most cats are," Hermione said. "The cat said to the ogre, 'Oh great ogre, I came to see you because I could not believe the tales people told that you can turn into any creature you wish. Is that so?' The ogre laughed and said, 'Indeed it is. I can become any animal I want.'"

"Nice that the ogre speaks English, but then again so does the cat," Ron said.

"'I cannot quite believe that,' said the cat. 'Could you change yourself into something so I could see?'" Hermione continued. "In a blink of an eye, the ogre had become a horrible fire-breathing dragon, so enormous that the room could barely contain him."

"Hagrid would love that," Harry said. "He'd probably want to adopt him."

"Yeah, Norbert could have a friend, you know, if they don't kill one another first," Ron said.

"Actually most dragons ignore one another's presence outside of mating season or immediately after their young hatch as precautionary measures for the continuance of the species and to provide the best defense against possible predators," Hermione said.

"You actually read Men Who Love Dragons Too Much, didn't you," Ron said.

"I thought it might be useful," Hermione said. "You never know if we might run into another one again."

"I am done with dragons," Harry said vehemently. "You can bank on that."

"Well, at any rate, the cat was really quite frightened, but he managed to stammer out, 'Oh marvelous sorcerer! What a truly amazing person you are! And yet, I must admit, I am curious still.' 'About what?' asked the ogre who was now a dragon. 'Well, obviously you can turn into a large creature, but you could turn into something quite small? Say, a mouse, perhaps?'"

"I think I see where this is going," Ron said.

"You probably do, but the ogre didn't. Just to prove that he could change into anything he liked, he transformed into a little grey field mouse. The cat immediately caught it and killed," Hermione said.

"And stuffed it in his magic bag to give the king?" Ron asked.

Hermione sighed once more.

"No, Ronald, he ate it himself," she said, rubbing her hand over her forehead.

"Oh. Well, Crookshanks made a present of a dead mouse to me over the summer. Left it on my pillow. Lovely surprise," Ron said.

"Yes, he does do that on occasion," Hermione said, looking at him curiously, "but usually only with people he especially likes."

"Exactly how do I get him to hate me?" Ron asked.

"In any case, the ogre was now dead," Hermione said, choosing to ignore him

"You know, he took an awful risk that the mouse would turn back into an ogre in his stomach," Ron said thoughtfully. "That would be very uncomfortable."

"Usually wizards do remain in animagus form if they are killed while they look like an animal, so it would probably still apply here. Of course, there are some exceptions. Werewolves, for example, take on a human appearance again if they're killed even during a full moon," Hermione said thoughtfully. "I suppose since the ogre isn't really either an animagus or under a curse, it was a gamble on the cat's part."

"I'll assume he didn't explode?" Ron said.

"No, he didn't. Instead, he went around the castle, putting things in order since the ogre had been a horrible housekeeper, and then stood to wait at the front door for the king's carriage to arrive," Hermione said. "When at last it did, he bowed low and said in a loud voice, 'Welcome home, Marquis of Carabas!'"

"And the miller's son just went along with it?" Harry asked.

"Yes. Of course, he'd never laid eyes on the castle and all its riches before, so he was very surprised, but he managed to try to act as though this were normal," Hermione said.

"Okay, so the cat commits murder and theft after getting dozens of people to lie, and the miller's son takes the castle?" Ron said.

"Pretty much, yes," Hermione said. "The cat presented him with the castle and the lands, thereby making him the Marquis of Carabas. None of the tenants on the land objected since the ogre had been so terrible to them."

"It's a good thing this king didn't get around to visiting his neighbors often," Harry said.

"The cat ushered the king, his daughter, and the miller's son into the dining room, where the ogre had been planning on having a large supper, and they ate a wonderful meal on golden plates," Hermione said.

"Like Hogwarts," Ron said.

"Precisely like Hogwarts," Hermione agreed, "though I don't think he had House-elves but just regular servants. The king's daughter was extremely taken with the miller's son, for he was quite handsome…"

"…and also apparently still naked except for her dad's cloak," Ron said. "Guess she liked what she saw."

"Ehm, I assume he changed into some clothes once he arrived at the castle, but yes, well, that could have been a factor I suppose. In any case the king proposed that the miller's son marry his daughter, and since the princess was also quite pretty, he agreed," Hermione said.

"No pressure or anything," Ron said. "Just marry my daughter who you met an hour ago."

"It is a ridiculously fast courtship, but the father had already seen that the Marquis of Carabas was very wealthy and would be a good ally for his kingdom, and among the nobility wealth and power were usually the real causes of marriage, not love," Hermione said.

"Eh, I think I'd rather be poor then," Ron said. "I'd rather not be married off to Pansy Parkinson just because she's rich or something."

"Say, do you think that's why Draco took up with her?" Harry said.

"I'm pretty sure it wasn't her sparkling conversation that garnered his attentions," Hermione said. "So the miller who had been so poor he owned only a cat, a bag, and the clothes on his back wound up with a beautiful castle filled with riches, lots of property, and a princess for a wife, and all through a bit of kindness to his cat."

"What happened to the cat?" Ron asked.

"Oh, well, there are two endings. In one, the cat lives forever with the miller's son, who's terribly grateful for all the cat has done for him, and the cat wears the boots for the rest of his days and is waited on hand and foot, hunting only for pleasure," Hermione said.

"And the other ending?" Harry asked.

"The miller's son throws him out a window so no one knows who he used to be," Hermione said, wincing.

"Wow, that's one ungrateful brat," Ron said. "I think I'll go with the first ending, which is probably what Crookshanks is doing at the Burrow right now."

"You really think so?" asked Hermione.

"Sure," Ron said. "Mum likes cats, and I don't think she ever really did get used to spending the days alone after all of us went off to school. He's probably grown to twice his size off her cooking."

"Oh, I do hope so," Hermione said, looking a bit teary. "I miss him."

"He's fine," Ron reassured her, putting an arm around her again, and in that moment Harry was certain Ron wouldn't mind putting up with Crookshanks forever under the right living circumstances. "No boots, thought. That would be taking it a bit too far. I suppose Mum might knit him one of her jumpers, though, with a big C on it."

Hermione laughed at that, and Harry was glad to see that she was feeling a bit better. They were all homesick, he supposed. Ron missed his family and his home, Hermione missed her parents and her cat, and Harry… well, he had no home to go back to, no family left. Even Hedwig was gone now. He supposed what he really missed was Hogwarts, and he wondered if they might go back there again someday. For now, his real family was right in this tent with him, and he supposed that made the cat-smelling, drafty old place home. In that moment it seemed like enough.