Originally Posted on AO3 September 2023
One-Shot
Based on the premise 'Harry imprints on the first people that are nice to him'. 'People' in this case is a talking cat.
Excerpt from Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them:
Despite popular belief, Lewis Carroll did not, in fact, invent the Cheshire Cat. Throughout history, there have been many accounts of grinning Cheshire Cats that predate the 1865 book Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. It is worth noting, however, that Lewis Carroll did give a mostly accurate account of the Cheshire Cat's characteristics.
Harry was seven when he first met the cat. He was supposed to trim the hedges in the Dursleys' garden and had just picked up the heavy toolbox with the garden shears, when a voice made him drop it in surprise.
"You should be careful with those, kid."
Harry looked around. There had been an unusually high number of snakes in the garden lately and he did not wish to step on one again. Or drop the toolbox on one of them. He peered down.
"Up here," the voice said and Harry looked up to see a cat lazing on a branch in the only tree the Dursley's allowed to grow in their garden.
The cat was on the larger side – though Harry only had Mrs Figg's cats for comparison – light grey and white with dark stripes, it's fur so long one might mistake the cat for being chubby. Its eyes were a vivid green.
Harry blinked, before blurting out, "Cats can talk, too?"
He had thought snakes were the only animals that could talk. No cat had ever spoken to Harry.
(Harry did not know the cat had put the snakes there for him to talk to on purpose.)
The cat grinned, mouth stretching wide, exposing two rows of pointed teeth. Harry hadn't known cats could grin like that. "Of course, they can. All animals are capable of speech. You humans are simply not intelligent enough to understand them. But I'm not a cat. I'm a Cheshire Cat."
"What's the difference?"
"It's like comparing centaurs to horses," the cat replied. "I'm sure the centaurs would take offense at that."
"Centaurs exist?"
The grin vanished. "Did no one ever tell you about magical creatures?"
Harry shook his head.
The cat leaned forward, its expression suddenly serious. "Did no one ever tell you about magic at all?"
Here, Harry hesitated. No one had ever told him about magic, but the word wasn't completely unfamiliar. His aunt had –
"Oh, dear," the cat said and then it jumped down from the tree branch – only, it never reached the ground. Somewhere between the tree branch and the ground, the cat vanished.
"We will have to rectify that," came the cat's voice from behind him. And there it was – sitting on top of the closed toolbox, as if it had always been there, as if the toolbox hadn't been open mere moments ago.
"I never actually asked for you name, sorry."
"Don't have one."
Harry blinked. "What?"
The cat shrugged. Harry didn't know cats could do that. Maybe they couldn't. Maybe it was a Cheshire Cat thing.
"I don't see much use in having a name," the cat said.
"But –" Harry didn't even know where to begin. "I mean –" How do you explain the importance of having a name to someone? "It feels weird to keep calling you 'the cat' in my mind."
"I don't mind."
"I do."
The cat sighed and then simply vanished.
"So I got grounded and couldn't leave my cupboard for a week."
The cat stared at him. "Why didn't you just lie?"
"That's never worked before."
The cat gave him a look – it was a look that made him feel very stupid all of a sudden, although he didn't know why.
"Then you need to get better at lying."
"I've written a list," Harry said, clutching the paper to his chest.
The cat did not roll its eyes – could cats do that? – didn't even bother opening them, but it muttered something that sounded like 'Merlin save me' under its breath.
"Alright," Harry said, feeling awkward for some reason. "So, er, what do you think of 'Chess'?"
"Sure. Let's go with that."
Harry was about to read the next name, when the cat's words fully registered. He looked up to where it was lying on a tree branch, not having moved an inch, not even to open its eyes. "What? But you haven't even heard any of the other names I came up with!"
"Do I look like I care?"
The cat did open its eyes, then, to give Harry the most unimpressed stare he had ever seen, even for a cat. Cats were good at that.
"Do you think Mrs Figg's cats can do what you do?" Harry asked the cat, watching it float above the hedges as he trimmed them.
"Can't say I ever met them," said the cat and then it vanished, only to reappear again before Harry had even lowered his eyes to return to the task at hand.
"Did you say pig or fig?"
"Mrs Figg. She lives across the street."
"I thought so," said the cat, grinning, and vanished again. It left its grin hanging in the air for quite a while longer than its body.
Harry stared at it and wondered what other people would have thought, had they seen this. He looked around, but couldn't see any of the usual noisy neighbours failing to hide behind their curtains. He supposed it didn't matter, as long as no one told his relatives he had been talking to a floating cat.
Harry opened the door to Mrs Figg's kitchen, hoping to get a snack, but stopped short when he heard the raised voices of Mrs Figg and the cat.
"No. How many times do I have to tell you? I am not going to breed with one of your Kneazles, Arabella!"
Harry closed the door again. He never did get his snack.
"I'm lost," Harry said to nothing and no one at all. He had been wandering around the neighbourhood, his aunt believing he was at school, serving detention. (The cat had been right. Lying did help him a great deal to get away with all sorts of things.) It had taken him too long to realise he had wandered off too far and now he couldn't find his way back.
"I can see that," said a disembodied voice, making Harry jump in surprise.
The grin appeared first, then the eyes, the rest of the head followed and, finally, its entire body, floating in the air somewhere above Harry's head. It was rather uncomfortable to have to crane his head, so Harry took a few steps back to better look at it.
(Harry did not know that the cat had watched him be lost for quite a while, now.)
"Can you help me?"
"Now, why would I do that?"
"I thought we were friends."
"If that is what you think."
"Would you tell me, please, which way I need to go?"
"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the cat, its grin widening. "After all, you're sure to get somewhere, if you only walk long enough."
Harry did his best to give it a pleading look. "I need to be back in time to make dinner or aunt Petunia will lock me in the cupboard again. Chess, please, help me out here."
The cat raised one of its paws and pointed.
"Thank you," Harry said.
The direction the cat had pointed out did turn out to be correct. He ended up getting locked in his cupboard, anyway.
"Chess!" Harry whispered excitedly as he hurried outside, trying not to be too loud or his relatives would hear him. "Chess! It's here! My letter is here!"
The cat was sleeping on top of the greenhouse.
"Chess!"
"I heard you the first time," it grumbled, lazily opening an eye to glance at him. "What does it say, then?"
"It's addressed to the Cupboard under the Stairs, like you said it would be."
The cat closed its eye again. "Good. Make sure not to lose the envelope. It is the most important piece of evidence for the first step of our plan."
"I know, I know. How do I reply?"
"You write a letter."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Obviously. But it says here I should send my reply via owl. I don't have an owl."
The cat sighed. "Just give it to me and I can bring it to Arabella."
Harry nodded to himself. Ever since Chess had told him about magic and taught him how to pretend not to like something, his visits to Mrs Figg's house had become indefinitely more enjoyable. Although her house still smelled horribly of cabbages and Harry had seen enough cat photos for a lifetime, Mrs Figg never made him do chores or beat him up or chased him around. Sometimes, she told him about the magical world – though her knowledge was limited, because she couldn't cast magic, herself. Mrs Figg even cooked him proper meals whenever he came over! Her chocolate cake, when freshly baked, actually tasted quite good.
"What should I write?"
The cat opened its eyes just to give him that look that always made him feel stupid.
Right.
It took him a few tries, but Harry eventually thought he had put everything down quite nicely – that he wasn't sure whether this was real or a prank, he hoped it was real, but he didn't know where to get the supplies listed, nor did he have any money and could the deputy headmistress please explain this some more?
He still felt nervous when he presented his letter to Chess, but Chess merely glanced at it, before taking it between its teeth and vanishing on the spot.
(Harry did not know the cat hadn't dictated the letter for him on purpose.)
"Well," Chess whispered in his ear, "at least he's good for something."
Harry glanced at the big man walking next to him. 'Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts' had, quite effectively, made short process of his aunt's and uncle's protests against Harry being taken to shop for his magical school supplies. The man's sheer enormity in size had played no small part.
"Not what you were hoping for, then?" Harry muttered.
He couldn't see the cat's expression from where it was lying across his shoulders – or pretending to, anyway, because Harry barely felt its weight. He could imagine it from the dryness in its tone alone, though.
"Ask him about the school and headmaster."
And Harry did. Hagrid told him all sorts of things about the school, some of which Harry had already heard about from either Chess or Mrs Figg, some of which were news to him. It was nice. They made it all the way to the train station until the conversation turned to the headmaster.
"Great man, Dumbledore," Hagrid said and then proceeded to sing the praises of the very man who had left Harry on the doorsteps of the Dursley's house as a baby. The man who had told Mrs Figg not to tell him about his parents and the magical world. The man who, according to Mrs Figg, knew how the Dursleys were treating him, yet had done nothing about it.
"Albus Dumbledore is a man of great influence," Chess had told Harry once. "If he wants things to remain as they are with your relatives, then it will be hard to go against him. That's why we need to find someone trustworthy to help us. We can't go against him on our own."
Chess had taught Harry not to take anything at face value – including the cat's own words – and always try to form an opinion for himself based on different accounts and evidence. Chess had made it sound so easy.
But Mrs Figg had told Harry that she had sent letters to Professor Dumbledore, describing her observations of his treatment at home. She had told Harry about the replies she had received.
Harry did not dislike Hagrid. He actually felt comfortable around the man. But Hagrid had also brought Harry to the Dursleys on Dumbledore's orders, as the man himself told Harry, and never questioned whether that was the right decision despite clearly being aware what kind of people the Dursleys were. Hagrid was also not fond of cats.
"Ask him about the Houses," Chess murmured.
"There's four of 'em. Gryffindor is fer the brave. Been one meself," Hagrid said proudly. "Then there's Ravenclaw – tha's for the clever. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o' duffers," he continued and Harry's heart sunk, "but better Hufflepuff than Slytherin. There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-know-who was one."
"How would he know?" Chess hissed in his ear. "No one knows the Dark Lord's true identity."
People were biased about the houses. Chess had told him so. Harry knew that Chess disliked Gryffindor above all, but the cat had tried to give him neutral explanations when asked.
"Gryffindor is for the brave and chivalrous. Many will tell you it is a good house," Chess had told him the first time, in a tone that suggested it very much disagreed. "Hufflepuff is for the hard-working and the loyal. People will tell you it is a useless house, meant for the leftovers, but it is not. If you ever offend a Hufflepuff, you can expect to be punched in the face by their Gryffindor friend or stabbed in your sleep by their Slytherin friend. Metaphorically. In the sense that your reputation will be completely ruined overnight. I do not know what their Ravenclaw friend would do. Ravenclaws are hard to pin down. The first thought that comes to most is 'nerd' or 'know-it-all', but wit and creativity can be expressed in many different ways that do not necessarily have to be associated with excelling at schoolwork."
"And Slytherin?" Harry had asked.
"Slytherin is for the cunning and the ambitious. Said to be the evil house, but if that were true, it should have been abolished a long time ago. People who would do anything to achieve their goals, who make the best out of any given situation, are best suited for this house. Then again," and here Chess had paused, looking at Harry with a thoughtful expression, "the House you end up in is not necessarily the one your current personality fits best, but rather the one that will benefit you best for your future."
Between Chess, who he had known for four years and who always tried to give him unbiased explanations, and Hagrid, who he had met just a few hours ago and who was clearly biased and not inclined to do anything about it, Harry knew who he would trust more.
(Harry did not know the cat had given him explanations that were 'neutral despite being biased' on purpose.)
He would have to keep an open mind. As long as he found friends, Harry did not care which House he ended up in. He did think, though, that Gryffindor and Slytherin attracted an awful lot of attention.
(Harry did not see the cat hiding a grin in his shoulder.)