Harry was seated on a woefully uncomfortable moving box, surrounded by many more as he had just moved into his first flat to live by himself. Hermione regarded herself as a proud parent at this moment, for she had finally convinced Harry to move out of the Borrow. But of course, no one would tell that. Especially Harry, because even though risking your life year after pubescent year seems to the general public like you may or may not have a death wish, Harry really did enjoy living! For the most part of course.
"Touche brain. Touche."
"Are you talking to yourself there, mate?"
"..."
"That's what I bloody thought. Get yourself a cat or something, at least make the craziness into a tangible warning sign."
"Although I could do without the sass, that's a bloody brilliant idea! Huh. I never noticed how Ron-like my train of thought seems to be. Well, up and at'em!"
Harry stood up and stretched, lengthening his arms just so his fingertips brushed the ceiling, courtesy of his 6'1 and quite lanky frame. Harry patted his muggle jeans, searching for his wand and found it stuck in his back pocket. He could practically hear Moody now, from beyond the grave. Grabbing his traveling cloak and the bottomless pouch Hermione had gotten him a couple weeks after he had vanquished Ol' Voldy, he strode out of his flat, securing the flat's wards with a couple of handy spells and off he went.
Harry's flat was on the second floor, right above Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor but he still managed a good view of Weasley Wizard's Wheezes due to well placed windows and his structurally questionable balcony. But much the the Burrow, it does what its supposed to, due to..? Magic. Harry wasn't quite thinking about the magic theory behind what's making his balcony not crumble beneath him in the mornings, but just crunching the leaves under his feet and smelling the crisp, Autumn air.
A short walk to the Magical Mengerie and there he was, basking in the sweet scent of- "Bloody hell, I'm going to puke! I see I'm not one for the sight and smell of a rat getting digested by a particularly poisonous snake in the morning. Still, cats, cats, cats. Eye on the prize now, Potter."
Harry walked over to an orange cat, similar to Crookshanks and tried to pet the vengeful kitty and came back to square 1 with another battle scar to add to the mix. Looking around, a little discouraged at this point, he made eye contact with a black cat with the most peculiar emerald green eyes, shockingly like his own. A smile and a couple pats n' purrs later, Harry James Potter found himself as a newly minted cat owner.
And ladies and gentlemen, until next time, I bid you adieu.