Two fwoosh sounds, telltale signs that somebody had used her Floo, rang from her living room in quick succession. When Hermione entered through her kitchen with a "Hello?", anticipating unannounced visitors, she saw nobody. Well, technically not nobody, just no actual person. Instead, she found a beautiful white angora cat, sitting on a Slytherin green satin pillow, meowing in greeting.
"Oh, hello there." Slowly, she walked closer, her eyes still searching for the owner of the cat within her small living room. For cats, it was, after all, impossible to navigate the Floo Network on their own; cat sounds not being included within the catalogue of the twenty-seven languages the Floo could be operated in. It also had to be a friend of hers, her fireplace not accessible without being included in her protection wards. Hermione even went as far as to check within her fireplace again, in case somebody had gotten stuck, but there was no trace of any person, just the cat observing her with its big silver eyes from where it sat perched on its pillow.
A quick analytical spell revealed there to have been two Floo activities in the last couple of minutes. Theodore Nott and guest - unfortunately, only people Hermione had put into her wards would register - had Floo'd into her flat, just for Theo to leave immediately afterwards. Sighing, Hermione finished her inspection of her fireplace and turned back to her guest .
"I guess, we'll have to wait for him to come back." Hermione shrugged and knelt down in front of the cat, offering her hand for sniffs. Hesitating only for the blink of an eye, the cat smelled her hand, rubbing its soft cheek against her fingers.
For half an hour, Hermione petted and played with her sudden intruder, waiting for Theo's return. Purring deeply when she stroked his soft fur and swiping quickly for her hair whenever that one particular unruly curl loosened from behind her ear, he was a cuddly and playful fellow.
All fun aside, Hermione started to get worried about Theo. He tended to involve her in some of his more… strange projects, trusting her to keep a secret, but just dropping a cat off at her flat was out of the ordinary, even for him. Only when her guest walked off his pillow and onto her lap, did she notice the edge of an envelope protruding from under it. The midnight blue wax seal was adorned with capital letters 'T' and 'N'.
Inside was a brief note from her friend that read:
Dear Hermione,
I will be out on official Ministry business for the foreseeable future and cannot take care of my feline friend. Therefore, I ask you to take him in until my return. Although this is very short notice, I hope you understand.
Sadly, he can be a rather pampered and feisty one. For any inconvenience or damages, I will compensate you accordingly as soon as I come back.
Otherwise, I am sure he will be a good boy.
Like always, please remember that this is restricted information.
Your friend,
Theo
P.S. if he causes you any trouble,put the leash on his collar to ascertain obedience.
"Ascertain obedience?" Hermione repeated the last words, tilting her head to the side, looking down she found the tomcat snuggled into her lap.
"I think we'll get along just fine. What do you say?" In response to her question the cat meowed, bumping his head against Hermione's hand. His fur felt like silk beneath her fingers, soft and smooth. Hidden underneath his fur was the aforementioned collar. Its mint green was the only touch of colour in a sea of white. An ornate D was embossed into the round silver name tag.
"Typical Theo! He doesn't even bother to tell me your name," she said, sighing, and rolled her eyes in annoyance. Sheltering a cat with no name would not do though. She could hardly call him 'cat' during his stay with her.
"Hm… let me think." Her eyes wandered over the book spines on her shelf, scanning them for inspiration. Absent-mindedly, she scratched behind his ears, eliciting a steady purr from the cat. Just like Crookshanks, her new feline friend loved that spot especially.
Her books, however, were largely written by female authors, not helpful in her quest for a name for Theo's cat. She halted on some romance books, her guilty pleasure, the name of one of the love interests popping into her head.
"Dominic?" An unimpressed yowl. The name did not feel right anyway, the fictional character being a dark haired, blue-eyed brute.
"Daniel, maybe?" A long howl. Still, wrong. Daniel had been blond, but very shy to the touch, so there were no similarities with the snuggly feline in her lap.
Any authors or fictional characters she could think of off the top of her head clearly did not fit.
"Something more magical? How about Dumbledore?" At that he hissed, beating at her hand. Hermione raised her hands in a sign of surrender.
"Okay! Okay! You really are a feisty one, huh?" Somehow the tomcat stuck his head up in the air in a huff, slid off her lap and sauntered past her. Quite the attitude for a cat. For now, she would postpone the search for a proper name for him. It was clear he was dissatisfied with her suggestions, so far.
From where she kneeled, Hermione observed him wandering through the room as if appraising her decor and furniture. It dawned upon her that this cat really was quite something, but then again so had Crookshanks.
Resting her hands on her hips, Hermione smiled in amusement. "Does everything meet your standards, my lord ?" she challenged him, not seriously expecting an answer. Apparently however, the tomcat found fault with her decor, for he jumped onto the side table and knocked her picture frame over. Satisfied with his work, he took a big leap onto her couch and made himself comfortable. Hermione huffed and returned the frame to its proper upright position. It was her favourite picture of Harry, Ron and her: summer before fourth year, clad in red and green, excited for the Quidditch World Cup.
"Nuh-uh. You will have to put up with this photo. They are my best friends." Her chastisement lost all credibility when she petted him immediately afterwards, his fur irresistibly soft to the touch.
With her temporary flat mate settled in so far, Hermione busied herself with her usual Saturday chores: laundry, vacuuming, dusting. All of which she continued to do by hand, persistent on keeping at least some Muggle traditions. As it turned out, the tomcat was immensely clingy and curious, following her wherever she went, constantly demanding her attention. His intelligent bright grey eyes never let her out of his sight, closely observing her every move. Thus distracted, she did not manage to finish her chores by two pm like she usually did. As a result of her guest being so affectionate, all purring and cuddling, she could not even be mad about it.
Despite the delay, she managed to bake her Saturday cake in time for her favourite show. Armed with an oven-fresh piece of chocolate cake and a cup of tea, she snuggled down on her couch, her furry companion settling in her lap. She quickly finished her slice of chocolate cake, having to fend the tomcat off otherwise. To appease him, she summoned a piece of cheese from the fridge which he ate neatly. Her mannered little friend.
Just how well-mannered he was, she found out a couple of hours later, when she heard the toilet flush from the living room. The fact that he was capable of operating the toilet put an end to her wondering whether she had any cat litter left. Theo must have trained him exceptionally well. Maybe, the tomcat himself was yet another of Theo's projects.
SundayOn Sundays, Hermione liked to keep entirely to herself. She needed the time to decompress from the stress of her work, to focus on her own needs. Throughout the week, so much of her time was occupied with worrying about and fighting for creature's rights that she had to take a step back.
When starting her job at the ministry she had only known work, work, work but it soon caught up to her and she had grown more irritable and snappy, the longer she went without taking a day off. Hermione had learned her lesson, so, she took care of herself.
If her inner rhythm allowed it , she slept in, taking full advantage of her soft mattress and heavy blankets that she had invested a lot of Galleons into. After a late start to the day, she liked to enjoy an elaborate breakfast: fruits, cupcakes, hot chocolate, fresh bread etc. Sharing what she could with her feline friend, considering cats could not eat all kinds of human food, her guest dined like a king, thankful for every piece of fruit she hand-fed him.
After going all out on the most important meal of the day, resting on her couch was inevitable. Unlike the rest of the week, Hermione liked to mindlessly zap through the TV channels until she found something she liked, mostly baking shows. Nothing relaxed her strained brain more than watching master bakers work their magic, pulling delicacies out of the oven. Her tomcat lay curled up at her side, indulging in all the bellyrubs he could get, purrs constantly emanating from him.
At around tea time she turned off the telly and picked a book to read. No work file, no research paper, but a Muggle romance novel, sappy love confessions to be found on every other page. First her feline friend did not seem all that impressed with her choice, but in the end he sat in her lap, his eyes systematically scanning the pages.
As the day slowly drew to a close, Hermione obliged in his need to follow her wherever she went inside her flat, leaving the bathroom door open, accepting that he would accompany her during her bath.
Merlin knew she had learned her lesson the night before. He had howled so heart-rendingly outside her bedroom door until she had eventually let him in. "Oh, come here you," she had said and picked him up, wrapping him in her arms as she slept. Crookshanks had never let her do such a thing.
On a tray across the bathtub, she had arranged wine and cheese, her small luxuries for her weekly soak. During the week she was always in such a hurry that she liked to treat herself on Sundays. Her book of the day rounded off her wellness program.
It took him some time to enter her bathroom, the tomcat lurking in the doorway, hesitating to join her. As he watched her continue reading without him, though, he quickly made up his mind. Apparently, he loved reading just as much as she did. With one big leap, he jumped onto her laundry box and now sat enthroned on its lid, reading along with her, trilling whenever she turned the page over too quickly. Well, at least that was what she figured he was complaining about.
"Such a smart boy, you are," she praised him, stroking under his chin. As if to say, "Of course I am," he meowed and pressed his head into her hand, demanding more caresses.
Under the watchful gaze of her new flat mate, Hermione had to refrain from another of her standard wellness treatments. Had she been alone, the book would have lain long forgotten on the tray, her hands otherwise occupied. Fingering herself was usually quite literally the climax of her Sunday. She would have to make good on it the next day, during her morning shower.
When the bubbles slowly dissipated in the bathwater, he grew restless and ran out of the room, only attaching himself to her hip again after she had dressed herself, almost as if he was shy.
MondayThe next day, Hermione was greeted by her new companion first thing in the morning, as she found him watching her, his head resting on her arm, waiting for her to wake up. He proceeded to rub his head against her wrist, meowing happily. Taken by his affection, Hermione drew him closer and hugged him to her chest.
"Good morning," she cooed and pressed a kiss to his head. "You can never get enough cuddles, huh?" His corresponding purr was so deep that she could feel its vibration against her breast. She kept caressing him, peppering his head with feather light kisses, his body humming with purrs, until her alarm insisted she had to get up. So, she put on her dressing gown and cradled her tomcat in her arms, carrying him like a baby.
Arriving in her kitchen, she set him down on the floor and put a kettle on the stove before fetching milk and cereal from the fridge and cabinet. When she sat down to eat, he began yowling incessantly. The high-pitched sound grating on her nerves.
"Ah! I completely forgot about you. I'm sorry." Quickly, she prepared some dry cat food, which he had only touched reluctantly the previous days, but it would have to do for now. Although she placed the bowl down for him, he did not budge. Instead, he pawed one of the other three vacant chairs at her table. Curious as to what he wanted to convey by doing that, Hermione watched him. He pawed the chair again and again, until Hermione drew it out from under the table. Immediately, he hopped up onto it and meowed his "thanks". Having figured out that he merely wanted to sit with her at the table, Hermione had her breakfast under the watchful silver eyes of her new friend. Not once did he beg for food, he simply kept her company.
After breakfast, he followed her around, demanding pats and snuggles. Hermione wanted to be upset about it, but he was just so sweet, quite the opposite of how Crookshanks had been. When she moved to her fireplace, he complained loudly, even tried to block her from stepping into the hearth. It was truly heartbreaking how he wanted to hinder her from leaving.
"Sorry, bud. I'll do my best to come home on time. Promise." Pushing him gently out of her way, Hermione grabbed a handful of Floo powder and called out her destination: the Ministry of Magic.
After work, her foot had not even fully stepped out of her fireplace when he was already upon her, trilling in delight at her return. He put his paws onto her knees and begged her to pick him up. As she complied, he pressed up against her, rubbing his head into the crook of her neck. And purred, purred, purred.
During dinner he sat on the chair opposite her once more and listened to her recap her day: what projects she worked on, who she had met that day, her thoughts on antiquated ministry policies and so on. From time to time, he supplied a meow or howl, keeping the conversation flowing. Molly's motherly concern about Hermione ending up as some reclusive spinster, read crazy cat lady , came to mind. The memory merely managed to make her smile weakly, though. As it was, Hermione was quite content with her feline friend, him being one of a few who truly showed a real interest in her work.
TuesdaySadly, her feline guest proved to be a picky eater, not keen on eating the cat food she had gotten for him. For days, he had only eaten it as some kind of last resort. If cats could do such a thing as turn up their nose, her new companion certainly did so perfectly. Performing all kinds of dramatics to indicate that he would rather starve than eat whatever she had presented him with thus far, he did anything within his power to convince her that she needed to step up her cat food game. This evening he chose a quivering nose and slow horrified steps backwards, away from the bowl. The diversity in which he could display his disgust was so broad, she could not suppress a giggle at his antics.
"Oh, excuse me, my lord ," she said, curtsying before continuing, "but my humble abode does not hold such delicacies as would suit your refined tastes." Having already anticipated that Theodore Nott's cat would be a total snob, Hermione had only bought a small number of tins of cat food, when she had gone to the shop on Saturday. Since then, she had offered him a variety of brands and a wide choice of meat.
In the end, he settled for green apples of all things. Such a peculiar choice! Still, since he could not live on green apples alone, Hermione chose to pay the butcher a visit on Tuesday to buy some beef for her gourmet cat. No store bought cat food had met his standards so far, inexpensive and luxury brands alike. While she prepared his dinner for him that evening, he rubbed against her leg, purring, as if to reward her for her good choice. Unlike the previous times, he proceeded to eat right away. Although it had been an expensive purchase, Hermione was relieved that he ate well. She had begun to worry about him.
"You're lucky that Theo will cover the costs, mister ," she reprimanded, but was glad to have finally appeased him.
Water, as it turned out, was not to his liking either. With his lavish palette, he preferred goat milk, no, heavy goat cream, actually. It had been a mispurchase on her side, but he loved it, licking his nose to savour every last drop of it. She would have to put it on her shopping list along with the beef he was finally content with.
Sated with both food and drink, he thanked her in his own way for the delicious dinner, being especially affectionate with her that night. Multiple times he licked her neck and cheeks, while they cuddled on the couch. Although he had only been her guest for a couple of days and despite his far in between antics, Hermione grew fonder of him by the minute.
WednesdayIt was only on Wednesday, coming home packed with heavy goat cream and beef, that she noticed something amiss in her living room. Most of her photo frames lay flipped over. While putting them back in their proper positions, she recognised a pattern to this phenomenon. Every turned over photograph had either Harry of Ron in them, sometimes even both.
First, she thought it must be a coincidence, but the more of them that she put straight again, the more she believed it had been done on purpose. Her feline guest had gotten to every last one of them. Even the hard to reach ones. How he had managed to flip over the memento of their Hogsmeade trip in their third year, she would never know. It stood on one of her bookshelves in the living room, surrounded by other memorabilia, all of which remained untouched.
It was this blatant dislike of Harry and Ron combined with his white fur and bright grey eyes that let her pitch a new name idea to her tomcat.
"You know who you remind me of?" she asked him, placing another of her picture frames upright again. He tilted his pretty little head to the side and trilled, as though saying, "No, who?"
"Malfoy. Should I call you Draco, perhaps?" It was weird saying the name out loud, after only ever referring to the Slytherin by his last name. Her furry guest liked it though, meowing cheerfully while kicking a carefully rectified picture frame off of her side table. The more she called him by that name throughout the day, the more she got used to it. Any strange taste that clung to the name was soon replaced with images of Draco's cute reactions to hearing her say the name, growing accustomed to it.
ThursdayEvery first Thursday of the month, the former members of Dumbledore's Army meet up in the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade. They drink and catch up with each other: health, family, career. When they first started this tradition after the war, they used to talk a lot about the past and all kinds of what-ifs as if anything could be undone.
As the years went by, their wounds healed as did their broken souls and their focus shifted towards the future. At the end of those evenings, when the conversations inevitably drifted to Quidditch, Hermione always grasped that opportunity to excuse herself and go home early. This time it was different. Right when they brought up Quidditch, Ginny had thrown in that Blaise Zabini had acquired the Holyhead Harpies.
Their former Slytherin school mate had been long forgotten by most. Many Slytherin purebloods had left the country after the Battle of Hogwarts and everyone had been certain that Zabini had moved to Italy. From what Ginny had gathered, he had recently returned. Their lack of knowledge about what Blaise Zabini had been up to, brought them to their general ignorance as to what any other of their Slytherin classmates did.
Surprisingly, it was Luna who filled them in about most of them: Marcus Flint was Quidditch correspondent for an American newspaper, Millicent Bullstrode had married the son of the Magical Menagerie owner and worked in the shop, Gregory Goyle Jr had been disowned after marrying a Muggle-born witch, the Greengrass sisters had taken over their father's business, Theodore Nott worked for the ministry and Pansy Parkinson pulled the strings in Wizarding fashion.
Everyone was accounted for except for Draco Malfoy. Speculations ranged from simply living off his wealth to all kinds of nefarious undertakings. The last anyone had seen of him was at his mother's funeral. He had gone on a grand apology tour right after the war, but it was truly Narcissa Malfoy who had single-handedly restored the Malfoy name with her countless charity galas. In the end, the side-effects of being exposed to dark magic for far too long had taken its toll on her and her health deteriorated quickly. Within the span of several months, she had succumbed to the disease. No amount of gold thrown at St. Mungo's by Draco Malfoy had been enough to save her.
Hermione still remembered the photograph of Draco Malfoy kneeling in front of the head Healer, clutching at Healer Jenkin's robes, begging her to save his mother. It had been the front page of the Daily Prophet. At that time she could not believe that the boy, who had made her Hogwarts years a living hell, who had apologized in such an honest and heart-felt way to her for any wrong he had ever done to her, deserved further hardships. Malfoy had changed so much in such a short time, she had immediately realized it when Harry and her had spoken on his behalf at his trial.
Draco Malfoy had been a victim of his circumstances, the Dark Lord's plaything. The few times she had seen him in the ministry - Malfoy's sentence included monthly check-ins the first couple of years - he had lost his arrogant air. Instead of looking like someone who believed himself better than everyone else, he had looked like a beaten dog, his head ducked low. On the occasional run-in in the lift, he had greeted her civilly with a simple nod of the head.
Reminiscing about their classmates kept Hermione in her seat, listening intently, longer than she had originally planned. Only Luna's "Draco must be so lonely" reminded Hermione that she should get going, otherwise her Draco would get lonely.
And he had, judging from how he rushed towards the fireplace, wailing at her until she picked him up.
"I'm sorry, Draco. I should have come home earlier. You must have been so lonely." As if to confirm it, he pressed himself to her, nuzzling her neck.
He was even needier than usual, and would cry out if she even attempted to set him down. Clinging to her, he purred deeply. Only when she was cleaning herself up before bed, did he let her go. In the end, Hermione took pity on him and continued to rub his belly until he fell asleep curled up next to her in bed.
FridayAlthough Hermione had not overdone it the night before at the Three Broomsticks, she had drunk more than she had planned on and got the receipt in the form of a hammering headache. The pulsing pain at her temple however was not a good enough reason to call in sick. How could Hermione slack off when countless magical beings suffered oppression and exploitation every day. A headache was nothing compared to the hardships of beings deemed less by Wizarding society.
With a groan, she deactivated her alarm and sat up in bed. Awoken by her groans and shifting of position in bed, Draco yawned and stretched. Having mercy on her sorry state, he behaved most pleasantly that morning, tuning his meowing down in volume and refraining from stalling her.
Thus, Hermione arrived early at work, before the bustle of ministry life started, leaving her some much needed silent minutes to arrange her things. Even with the potion she had taken at work and her headache subsiding noticeably, her day was still rough. Problems she had considered dealt with long ago decided to rear their ugly head once more and her colleagues constantly needed some kind of input from her. All in all, Hermione felt like she was being torn in two between all her work and needing to help her colleagues, thus not getting anything done. Her frustration hit its peak when Frank from the Centaur Rights Division asked for her opinion just when she was about to leave. She should have called it a day the moment she hit a dead end with the necessary budget cuts, but no, she had to invest some more time into alternative funding options that ultimately could not make up for the amount her budget had been cut down by; those did not even come close. Frank's, "Could I have your opinion on this?" delayed her yet another hour.
Physically and mentally drained, Hermione stumbled out of her fireplace more than she stepped out of it. Draco did not even have the time to come running as she had already collapsed face first onto her couch with a loud huff. A pitiful, concerned meow sounded beside her a moment later, and soft fur brushed along her hand.
Opening her tired eyes, she smiled at her feline friend. "Oh, Draco, if only the ministry cared as much about sufficient budgeting as you care about me, huh?" she lamented and turned onto her back, scooping Draco up with one hand to set him on her stomach.
He gazed at her with those silver eyes that said, "Tell me all your troubles".
"I doubt you have a couple hundred Galleons to spare." She laughed at the ridiculousness of her conversation with the cat, but it was nice voicing her thoughts nonetheless. In response, Draco tilted his head to the side as if encouraging her to elaborate.
"Never mind. I don't want to think about it any more today. Let's just enjoy some silence." With slow, lazy strokes, Hermione petted his head, giving the spot behind his ear that he loved some special attention. Only his low purr penetrated the quiet, lulling her into a state between waking and dreaming.
"Such a good boy," she whispered. Draco loved praise, especially, "good boy". Whenever she called him that endearment, he responded immediately, turning onto his back and offering his soft, warm belly to her. In the cycle of purrs, "good boy" and belly rubs, Hermione's eyelids grew heavier until sleep eventually claimed her.
