A/N: Two updates in one day. Don't say I never spoil you.

That said this will probably be the last Romione thing I write for a little while. I'm still going to be writing but Ron and Hermione are being given a rest. After that they will be back with bells on top so don't panic. Possibly icing as well. It will be a very weird fic. In the meantime, have a sad Sunday, written for Ollivander's Challenge on tumblr.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter created J.K Rowling.

Hermione had been curled up in bed for most of the evening. She had tried sleeping, pacing and thinking and none of it had helped. It had been two hours now and nothing was dulling the ache in her chest. Even listening to the muffled sounds of Ron putting little Rosie to bed hadn't been enough to raise a smile. Normally that was all it took was seeing her husband with her daughter to wipe everything else from her mind.

But today was different. Today was the day that Crookshanks had died.

The brilliant part of her mind kept telling her that she knew this was coming, that he was years past his best and he wasn't going to last much longer. It had been years since he had darted around the house, choosing instead to amble from one comfortable sleeping spot to another and he had barely been able to muster the energy to annoy Ron for the past few weeks. That's when she had known it was serious. Ron had even started being extra nice to him after that. With all this forethought and mental preparation Hermione had thought she would have been okay once the day came. A little sad perhaps, but overall, she would have been fine. Worse things had happened to her, after all.

Pulling the duvet tightly around her, Hermione realised that nothing could have prepared her for this day. Not really.

That morning in the kitchen she knew she had to do something with the body and yet she couldn't move. It wasn't a body. It was her beloved pet and she wasn't ready to say goodbye. It wasn't until Ron found a box and kindly offered to do the job for her while she gave Rosie her morning feed that Hermione had insisted she do it. She had raised Crookshanks, cared for him and loved him. It was only right that she did this, too.

So while Ron had played with the baby, Hermione had used her wand to dig a hole in back garden's flowerbed and lowered the cardboard box into it. She could feel Ron's eyes on her as she said goodbye and filled in the hole, but she didn't turn around. If he had known she was crying he would only worry.

Of course it hadn't stopped him from worrying. All day he had been fetching her tea and making Rosie giggle to cheer her up. He had even told George he wouldn't be in on Monday, just in case. She had told him he was being silly and that she was fine, really, she was. He had just smiled, his eyes, as ever, telling her what he really thought. At least he had known better than to suggest getting a new cat, she thought. He knew her better than to think another pet would help.

Hermione had very nearly made it all day being fine, or at least fine enough to carry on as almost normal. It wasn't until after dinner, when Rosie had crawled into the worn cat bed in the corner, waiting for her friend to join her, that Hermione had excused herself.

Just picturing her little girl's face, already so intelligent for her age, screwing itself up in confusion when Crookshanks didn't totter over to her was all it took for another wave of tears to fall. The nightly routine wasn't complete without Rosie having a cuddle with the cat. She refused to go to bed without it. Now she would be forced to and she was far too young for Hermione to explain it to her.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the mattress dipped and an arm snaked around Hermione's waist. She chastised herself for not keeping an ear out for her over-concerned husband.

"I'm fine," she sniffed.

"No, you're not."

"I am." She could hear how petulant she sounded with her tight voice and unwelcoming body language. This conversation wasn't going her way.

"Okay, you're fine," sighed Ron. "I'll just ignore the fetal position and the crying and the weird mood all day and just get some sleep, shall I?"

Hermione elbowed him in the ribs. Rather than retaliate, Ron simply held her and she couldn't decide if she loved or hated him for it.

"He was just a cat," she finally said aloud after a few minutes of silence. "Cats die every day."

"He was Crookshanks," Ron murmured. "He was more than a cat. He was a menace."

Hermione threw his arm off her and shuffled away from him. If he was going to try and settle some stupid score with her pet now she was going to kick him out of the bed so hard he'd hit the wall opposite.

"What?" Ron chuckled from behind her. "He was! But he was your menace," he finished seriously.

"I'm trying to sleep, Ron," she said coldly. His sympathy was one thing, but not even waiting a full twenty-four hours after his death to insult Crookshanks was too far.

Time passed slowly as Hermione tried to ignore Ron lying behind her. She needed time on her own to put all of this into perspective. Then it would make sense, she would see the bigger picture and be able to move on. Already she had thought of something to say in front of the freshly dug earth tomorrow morning. She couldn't remember what she had said there this morning and it was no doubt terrible. There was no way she could forgive herself if she didn't try again. Crookshanks deserved better.

"Remember that time he broke that vase?" Ron asked.

"The one with the blue pattern?"

"Yeah?"

"That was you."

"Oh." Hermione could almost feel Ron frowning behind her. "Well, I tried to blame it on Crookshanks."

"Yes, and he slept on your face for a week until you apologised to him," she reminded him.

Ron snorted. "Bloody cat." Somehow he managed to dodge the kick she sent his way. "Look," he said softly, "I know you're trying to be strong, but I know you and I know how much Crookshanks meant to you."

"He was my cat," Hermione replied shortly, trying not to focus on the word 'was'. "It isn't the end of the world."

"Fine." There was rustling sound as Ron dragged his long limbs under the covers, jostling Hermione slightly as he moved. "'Night." She heard him fumbling on the table as he snatched up his Deluminator and the room was plunged into darkness. Every night he did this rather than get out of bed. At first she thought it was out of laziness, but then came the night when the Deluminator hadn't been in there and Ron hadn't been able to go to sleep until he had found it. Despite being the least sentimental person she knew Ron couldn't sleep without it near him. The one time she had asked him why, he had replied, "You know" and she had.

"Remember our first big fight?" Hermione asked the darkness. She knew Ron would still be awake. They both knew better than to think the discussion had finished just because the lights were out.

"Erm… That one after Australia?" Ron answered uncertainly.

"No, not as a couple. As friends."

"Dirt on my nose?"

"No, that was before we were friends."

"That joke I made about Lockhart?"

"That wasn't a big fight."

"Lavender?"

"Not that big."

"Something about Harry?"

Hermione rolled over and could just make out Ron's thoughtful expression. "We've had too many fights to keep track of."

"Yep," nodded Ron. "Why did we get married again?"

Hermione shrugged. "You need someone to get rid of spiders."

"Very true." Ron grinned and kissed her forehead. Hermione didn't have the heart to still be annoyed with him, especially not when his face was lit up like that. He took the opportunity to push a stray curl off her face. "So what was our first big - but not huge - fight as friends?"

"You thought Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers and-"

"Of course," Ron groaned. "And I behaved like any reasonable and mature friend and didn't speak to you for weeks," he added, his expression slipping into one of guilt.

"And I was completely insensitive and focused more on my schoolwork than your feelings," Hermione added with a sad smile.

"I'll say it again - why are we married?"

"Crookshanks used to sleep at the end of my bed - you know how he hates being fussed over while he's trying to sleep," she added, ignoring Ron's comment. "But during that whole - unpleasant time - he let me hug him as I slept," Hermione explained, her eyes burning again. "Like he knew."

As her voice broke on the last word, Ron pulled Hermione to him and held her against his chest as she started crying harder than she could remember in a long time. All day she had told herself that he was a pet and nothing more, but it just wasn't true. Crookshanks was the friend she had when there was no one else, when she had driven the others away. He was there when she had her heartbroken. He was there when she had sent her parents to the other side of the globe. He had been there after the funerals of friends who were as good as family. He had been there the afternoon she left Hogwarts, the night before her wedding, the morning of her first day as a mother and every mundane moment in between.

Never speaking and never needing to, he knew her better than most of the humans in her life did. And now he would never infuriate Ron, or watch Rosie grow up or be there for her again.

Because Crookshanks wasn't just a cat. Crookshanks was Crookshanks and now he was gone forever.

"Thank you," Hermione croaked when she could talk once more. "For today, I mean."

Ron kissed her cheek, still red and wet from crying, and buried his face in her hair. "Don't mention it."

Hermione squeezed him slightly, a few stray tears still falling, knowing exactly why she had got married.

A/N2: If anyone is wondering how a cat purchased fully grown with a chip on its shoulder in '93 was still alive in '07 - I'm playing the half-kneazle card. If the kneazle is super smart it has probably worked out a way to live longer as well. Either way, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.