Chapter 47: The New Ginger

I spotted Harry running up the cobbled street toward us, his glasses slightly askew, a streak of sweat on his brow.

"Harry! HARRY!" I called, waving my arm to catch his attention.

"Finally!" Ron said, grinning as Harry sat down at our table. "We were at the Leaky Cauldron, but they said you'd left, and we went to Flourish and Blotts, and Madam Malkin's, and—"

"I got all my school stuff last week," Harry interrupted, sounding slightly breathless. "And how come you knew I'm staying at the Leaky Cauldron?"

"Dad," Ron said simply, with a shrug.

"Ah," Harry said, leaning back in his chair.

I couldn't keep it in any longer. "Did you really blow up your aunt, Harry?" I asked, my tone as serious as possible.

Ron burst out laughing, but I didn't find it funny in the least.

"I didn't mean to," Harry said defensively. "I just… lost control."

"It's not funny, Ron," I said sharply, cutting his laughter short with a glare. "Honestly, I'm amazed Harry wasn't expelled."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, clearly embarrassed. "So am I. Forget expelled, I thought I was going to be arrested.

"It's funny as hell, Hermione," Ron quipped, but he stopped grinning when I shot him another look that clearly said, Not another word.

"Your dad doesn't know why Fudge let me off, does he?" Harry asked Ron.

Ron shrugged, his grin returning. "Probably 'cause it's you, isn't it? Famous Harry Potter and all that. I'd hate to see what the Ministry would do to me if I blew up an aunt. Mind you, they'd have to dig me up first, because Mum would've killed me. Anyway, you can ask Dad yourself this evening. We're staying at the Leaky Cauldron tonight too! So you can come to King's Cross with us tomorrow! Hermione's there as well!"

I beamed at him. "Mum and Dad dropped me off this morning with all my Hogwarts things."

"Excellent!" said Harry, his mood visibly lifting. "So, have you got all your new books and stuff?"

"Look at this!" Ron said proudly, pulling out his wand box and flipping it open. "Brand new wand. Fourteen inches, willow, containing one unicorn tail-hair. And we've got all our books. What about those Monster Books, eh? The assistant nearly cried when we said we wanted two."

Harry chuckled. "What's all that, Hermione?" he asked, pointing at the bulging bags on the chair beside me.

"Well, I'm taking more new subjects than you, aren't I?" I said casually. "Those are my books for Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, the Study of Ancient Runes, Muggle Studies—"

Ron rolled his eyes. "What are you doing Muggle Studies for? You're Muggle-born! Your mum and dad are Muggles! You already know all about Muggles!"

"But it'll be fascinating to study them from the wizarding point of view," I said, shrugging.

Harry grinned, but his tone was teasing. "Are you planning to eat or sleep at all this year, Hermione?"

Ron snorted. "Yeah, sounds like you'll be buried in books."

I ignored them both, focusing instead on my ice cream, the delightful flavor of the firecracker punch soothing my nerves. "I've still got ten Galleons," I said, checking my purse. "It's my birthday in September, and Mum and Dad gave me some money to get myself an early birthday present."

"How about a nice book?" Ron suggested, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"No, I don't think so," I said, sticking my tongue out at him. "I really want an owl. I mean, Harry's got Hedwig and you've got Errol."

"I haven't. Errol's a family owl. All I've got is Scabbers." Ron pulled the rat from his pocket, looking down at him with a frown. "And I want to get him checked over. I don't think Egypt agreed with him."

I couldn't disagree. Scabbers looked worse for wear—thinner, balder, and overall quite pitiful.

"There's a magical creature shop just over there," Harry said, pointing down the road. "You could see if they've got anything for Scabbers, and Hermione can get her owl."

"Brilliant!" I said, standing and grabbing my bags. Ron followed, tossing our empty ice cream cups in the bin, and the three of us headed off down the lively street, my heart already fluttering with the excitement of choosing my very first owl.

The smell hit me first as we stepped into the shop—a mixture of fur, feathers, and something slightly sour, like old straw. The noise followed immediately after: squeaks, squawks, hisses, and an odd sort of jabbering that I couldn't quite place. Every inch of the walls was crammed with cages, all filled with animals of every possible size and shape. The shop felt cramped, warm, and alive in a way that was both overwhelming and oddly comforting.

The witch behind the counter was busy with another customer, so we had time to look around. I wandered through the maze of creatures, utterly fascinated. Two enormous purple toads gulped noisily, their jaws snapping on dead blowflies. A jewel-encrusted tortoise glittered under the light from the window. Orange snails with a slimy, poisonous sheen oozed slowly up the sides of their tank. A fat white rabbit was turning itself into a top hat and back again with a loud pop! It made me laugh despite myself.

Cats in every color lounged on perches, gazing down at us with imperious stares. I drifted toward them instinctively, feeling a familiar pang of longing. I'd always wanted a cat—a proper companion to keep me company when I was buried in my books. Maybe my beautiful white Persian was here, waiting for me.

I knelt by the kitten cages. There were so many lovely ones: soft gray tabbies, elegant Siamese, and a sleek black kitten with a little white nose. They were adorable, but none of them felt quite right. They seemed distant, aloof, as if they already had somewhere else to be.

And then I saw him.

A massive ball of ginger fur was perched on a low shelf, his eyes fixed on me with a look so piercing it was almost unsettling. He wasn't a traditionally handsome cat—his face was squashed, and his whiskers stuck out in every direction—but there was something about him. He seemed... self-assured. As if he already knew I would be his.

Tentatively, I held out my hand. He sniffed it once, then rubbed his broad head against my fingers, purring like an engine. I couldn't help but smile as I scratched behind his ears. His fur was thick and soft, and the sound of his purring filled me with a strange, quiet happiness. He was perfect.

"Hello there," I murmured, stroking his head. "Aren't you—"

And then, just like that, he stopped. His ears flattened, and he turned sharply toward the counter. He let out an angry hiss and bolted.

"Wait!" I cried, scrambling to my feet, but he was already halfway across the shop.

"OUCH!" Ron's yell echoed through the room, and I spun around just in time to see the cat launch itself at his head. His claws lashed wildly, scratching at Ron's hair as if he were trying to dig something out.

"No, Crookshanks, no!" the witch behind the counter cried, hurrying over to pull him off. At the same moment, a tiny, scruffy blur shot out from Ron's hands. It was Scabbers.

"SCABBERS!" Ron shouted, clutching his head as the rat landed on the floor and bolted for the door. Without a second thought, Ron took off after him, Harry hot on his heels.

"Ron! Harry! Wait!" I called, but they were already gone.

I turned back to Crookshanks, who had been scooped up by the witch. He looked entirely unrepentant, his squashed face smug and his tail flicking lazily. For a moment, I didn't know whether to laugh or scold him.

The shopkeeper noticed me looking. "This is Crookshanks," she said, a note of pity in her voice. "He's been here for ages. No one wants him."

"No one?" I asked, my heart twisting at the thought. How could anyone not want him?

"He's a bit… unusual," the woman said carefully, glancing at the cat, who was now staring directly at me with bright, intelligent eyes. "Most people prefer younger, prettier ones."

I turned back to Crookshanks, who had leapt gracefully down from the shelf. He trotted toward me, his thick tail swishing, and rubbed against my legs with a deep purr. My breath caught. It was as if he'd chosen me. I knelt down to stroke him, and he immediately butted his head against my hand, purring louder.

"He's perfect," I whispered, running my fingers through his fur. I didn't care that he wasn't a kitten or that his face looked slightly squashed. There was something about him. Something wise and kind that made me feel an instant bond.

"You really want him?" the shopkeeper asked, raising an eyebrow as if she couldn't believe it.

"Yes," I said firmly, straightening up. "I'll take him." Crookshanks meowed softly, as if he understood, and I couldn't help but smile. "And I'll need the rat tonic as well," I added, glancing at the counter where Ron had left it before storming out in search of Scabbers.

The shopkeeper rang up my purchases, muttering something about finally finding a match for "that old cat." I barely heard her, too busy watching Crookshanks, who had already hopped into the basket I'd brought with me and was curling up comfortably. He looked at me with such contentment that I felt a swell of pride. I was giving him the home he deserved.

As I walked out of the shop with Crookshanks purring softly in my arms, I couldn't help but feel elated. He was mine now,

I emerged from the shop, cradling my new pet close to me, my heart bursting with joy. Crookshanks was perfect, though I knew not everyone would agree.

As I spotted Harry and Ron, I hurried over to them, Crookshanks nestled securely in my arms. Ron's reaction was immediate—his jaw dropped, and his eyes widened in utter disbelief.

"You bought that monster?" he blurted, staring at Crookshanks like he was a creature straight out of a nightmare.

"He's gorgeous, isn't he?" I said, beaming. My heart swelled with pride as I looked down at the "monster" Ron was so horrified by.

"Bloody hell, Hermione, why did you buy that demon cat? I thought you were getting a bloody owl!" Ron exclaimed, his voice tinged with exasperation.

"But Ron," I began, trying to reason with him, "the lady said nobody wanted him—"

"I CAN SEE BLOODY WELL WHY!" he interrupted, throwing his hands in the air.

"—and he was just so cute I had to buy him," I finished, ignoring his dramatic response.

"Hermione, that thing nearly scalped me earlier!" Ron pointed accusingly at Crookshanks, his face filled with a mix of fear and annoyance.

"He didn't mean to, did you, Crookshanks?" I cooed, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of my new pet's head. His fur was soft, and he purred in response, only solidifying my belief that he was the sweetest creature alive.

Ron, however, was unconvinced. "And what about Scabbers?" he said, clutching the lump in his chest pocket as if the rat could sense Crookshanks' presence. "He needs rest and relaxation! How's he going to get that with that thing around?"

"Oh, that reminds me," I said, reaching into my bag and pulling out a small red bottle. "You forgot your rat tonic." I slapped it into his hand, ignoring his scowl. "And stop worrying. Crookshanks will be sleeping in my dormitory, and Scabbers in yours. What's the problem? Poor Crookshanks! The witch said he'd been in there for ages; no one wanted him."

"Wonder why," Ron muttered sarcastically, narrowing his eyes at Crookshanks as we walked back toward the Leaky Cauldron.

When we got back, we sat on a long bench to wait for the others. I placed Crookshanks gently beside me, hoping Ron might warm up to him. I wasn't expecting miracles, but a girl could hope.

"Hermione, keep that weed wacker away from me!" Ron snapped, inching away from Crookshanks like he was some sort of ticking time bomb.

"Look, Ron, he likes you!" I said, smiling as Crookshanks stretched out one paw toward Ron, who flinched as if he'd been struck.

"I'm warning you, Hermione. Keep that bloody thing away from Scabbers, or I'll turn it into a tea cozy!"

"You'll do no such thing!" I said, scooping Crookshanks into my arms and stroking his fur protectively. "It's okay, Crookshanks, you pretty kitty. Just ignore the mean little boy."

Ron glared at Crookshanks, muttering under his breath. "I'm onto you, cat. The only ginger coming out of this fight alive is going to be me."

Crookshanks, as if completely bored with Ron's dramatics, looked up at him lazily and let out the longest, most uninterested yawn I'd ever seen. I couldn't help but giggle.

"It's on," Ron said ominously, jabbing a finger at Crookshanks.

I had a sinking feeling that this rivalry was just beginning, but for now, I was amused.

Mr. Weasley had just joined us, folding up his newspaper with a grim expression. The front page bore the sneering face of Sirius Black, the escaped convict. The moving photograph felt unnervingly alive, Black's cold eyes darting as if he could see us through the pages.

"They still haven't caught him, then?" asked Harry, his voice steady but curious.

"No," said Mr. Weasley gravely. "They've pulled us all off our regular jobs at the Ministry to try and find him, but no luck so far."

Ron, always the pragmatist—or perhaps the opportunist—chimed in. "Would we get a reward if we caught him? It'd be good to get some more money."

I gave him a pointed look, suppressing a laugh at the absurdity of the question. But Mr. Weasley didn't find it funny at all.

"Don't be ridiculous, Ron," he said sternly. "Black's not going to be caught by a thirteen-year-old wizard. It's the Azkaban guards who'll get him back, you mark my words."

The tension was broken by the arrival of Mrs. Weasley, her arms full of shopping bags, trailed by the rest of the family. She gave Harry a quick, shy greeting, her face tinged pink, before turning her attention to me.

"Hermione!" she said warmly, but before I could respond, Ginny rushed over, and we both squealed in delight, throwing our arms around each other and jumping up and down. I'd seen Lavender and Parvati do this so many times, and now I understood the appeal. My heart felt so light—seeing Ginny was like a burst of sunshine on a cloudy day.

"Oh, Ginny, you look gorgeous!" I exclaimed, pulling back to admire her.

"Not me, it's you, Hermione!" she replied, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

"Never!" I said, tapping the beret on her head with a grin. "Oh my goodness, the beret suits you! I knew it would!"

Ginny beamed. "It does, doesn't it? And what's more, I haven't seen anyone else with one. It's so cool to have something at school no one else has!"

As we admired Crookshanks together—Ginny fussing over his fur while I beamed with pride—I caught snippets of the boys' conversation. Percy, looking as pompous as ever, had approached Harry.

"Harry. How nice to see you," Percy said in his most official tone, shaking Harry's hand as if they were at a Ministry function.

"Hello, Percy," said Harry, barely suppressing a grin.

"I hope you're well?" Percy continued, his voice dripping with self-importance.

"Very well, thanks."

Fred and George, never ones to miss an opportunity, swooped in. Fred elbowed Percy out of the way and bowed dramatically to Harry. "Harry! Simply splendid to see you, old boy!"

"Marvelous!" George added, pushing Fred aside and seizing Harry's hand. "Absolutely spiffing."

Percy glared, but the rest of us couldn't help laughing. Even I let out a little giggle—it was impossible not to.

"That's enough, now," Mrs. Weasley said, her tone sharp but affectionate.

Fred turned to her with mock surprise. "Mum!" he said, grabbing her hand with exaggerated delight. "How really corking to see you!"

"I said, that's enough!" she snapped, though her eyes twinkled slightly. She turned to Harry. "Hello, Harry, dear. I suppose you've heard our exciting news?" She gestured proudly to Percy, who was practically glowing as he displayed the silver badge on his chest. "Second Head Boy in the family!"

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. I mean, good for Percy, but his self-importance was insufferable.

"And last," Fred muttered under his breath.

Mrs. Weasley's sharp look could have cut glass. "I don't doubt that. I notice they haven't made you two prefects."

"What do we want to be prefects for?" George asked, looking thoroughly disgusted. "It'd take all the fun out of life."

Ginny and Ron burst out laughing, and I couldn't help smiling too.

"You want to set a better example for your sister!" snapped Mrs. Weasley, her tone now more scolding than playful.

"Ginny's got other brothers to set her an example, Mother," Percy said loftily, his nose in the air. "I'm going up to change for dinner."

As Percy disappeared, George sighed dramatically. "We tried to shut him in a pyramid, but Mum spotted us."

Dinner that night felt like a celebration. Tom the innkeeper pushed three tables together in the cozy parlor, and I sat with Harry and the Weasleys, eating more than I thought I could possibly fit. The food was absolutely brilliant—five hearty courses, each more delicious than the last. The warm, flickering firelight and the hum of chatter made everything feel comforting and cheerful, a rare reprieve from the looming unease of the year.

"How're we getting to King's Cross tomorrow, Dad?" asked Fred, his mouth half-full as he dug into his chocolate pudding.

"The Ministry's providing a couple of cars," said Mr. Weasley.

All of us looked up, startled by this unexpected news. I paused mid-sip of my pumpkin juice, as surprised as anyone else.

"Why?" Percy asked, his tone puzzled but slightly pompous, as usual.

"It's because of you, Perce," said George with a perfectly straight face. "And there'll be little flags on the hoods, with HB on them—"

"—for Humongous Bighead," Fred finished, grinning.

I couldn't stop myself from laughing, and Harry snorted into his drink. Even Ron looked like he was about to choke on his pudding. Fred and George's antics never failed to lighten the mood. But, predictably, Percy's face turned scarlet, and Mrs. Weasley's stern expression cut through the laughter.

"That's enough!" Mrs. Weasley said sharply, glaring at the twins. "It's not funny."

Percy, clearly miffed, straightened his back and turned to Mr. Weasley. "Why are the Ministry providing cars, Father?" he asked again, in a tone that suggested he was above all the silliness around him.

"Well, as we haven't got one anymore," said Mr. Weasley, glancing at Harry and Ron. "And as I work there, they're doing me a favor."

"Good thing, too," said Mrs. Weasley briskly. "Do you realize how much luggage you've all got between you? A nice sight you'd be on the Muggle Underground. You are all packed, aren't you?"

"Ron hasn't put all his new things in his trunk yet," Percy said, clearly unable to resist the chance to tattle. "He's dumped them on my bed."

I watched Ron shoot Percy a look of pure annoyance. For a moment, I was torn between feeling sorry for him and stifling a laugh at his expense.

"You'd better go and pack properly, Ron," said Mrs. Weasley firmly, pointing her fork at him. "Because we won't have much time in the morning."

Ron scowled but didn't argue, his irritation with Percy written all over his face. I smirked quietly into my glass of water as I shared an amused look with Ginny.

After dinner, with our stomachs full from the Leaky's excellent cooking, we all trudged upstairs to our rooms, sleepy and ready to turn in for the night. The inn was quiet except for the creaking of the stairs and the faint murmurs of conversation from the twins down the hall. Ginny and I were sharing a room, and as soon as we got inside, she flopped onto her bed, sighing dramatically.

I smiled as I set Crookshanks down on my bed. He immediately padded to the foot of it, curling up into a neat orange ball and purring softly. We brushed our teeth, changed into our pajamas, and climbed under our covers. The room was dimly lit by the moonlight streaming through the window, casting a silvery glow over everything.

"Excited for tomorrow, Ginny?" I asked, tucking my legs under the blanket. I could feel a nervous sort of anticipation bubbling in me. Tomorrow, we'd be heading back to Hogwarts, and I couldn't wait to dive into classes and see what the year had in store.

Ginny hesitated, fiddling with the hem of her blanket. "I don't know," she admitted softly. "I mean... what if people treat me differently because of what happened last year? What if they think I'm... I don't know, weird or something?"

Her voice was small, and it tugged at my heart. Ginny had been through so much with the Chamber of Secrets, and I knew the weight of it still lingered for her.

"That's nonsense, Ginny," I said firmly, sitting up a little. "You were a victim, not the cause. And anyone who says otherwise is a complete idiot." I leaned forward, lowering my voice conspiratorially. "And if they do say something, you've got six older brothers who'd love to set them straight. Not to mention me."

Ginny gave a small laugh at that, but her face was still troubled. "But what about Harry? What if he—what if he is still upset about that Valentine? He doesn't really speak to me, you know. It's even more so now. What if I say the wrong thing to him?"

Ah. So that's what was really worrying her. I bit back a smile, trying not to tease her. "Just talk to him like you would to anyone else. Don't treat him like he's some amazing, untouchable hero. He's just Harry."

Ginny looked skeptical, pulling her knees to her chest. "Just Harry," she repeated. "That's easy for you to say. You don't—well, you don't feel like I do about him."

I couldn't help but laugh a little at how flustered she was. "Ginny, you'll be fine. Just be yourself. Harry likes you just as you are, Valentine and all."

She threw a pillow at me, grinning despite her nerves. "You're hopeless, Hermione."

"Hopelessly right," I shot back, tossing it back to her. We both giggled, and for a moment, the weight on her shoulders seemed to lift.

As the laughter faded, we settled back into our beds. Ginny yawned, her eyelids drooping, and I reached down to scratch Crookshanks behind his ears. My thoughts wandered to Hogwarts—the smell of parchment and ink, the buzz of the Great Hall, the thrill of unraveling magical mysteries. Despite the challenges last year had brought, I was eager to be back.

"Goodnight, Ginny," I said softly.

"Goodnight, Hermione," she murmured, her voice sleepy but lighter than before.

With a smile on my face, I closed my eyes, letting dreams of spellwork and adventures fill my mind as I drifted off.