Diabolical Cat Portal

Put that Quick Quotes Quill away before I tear it and your notebook to shreds and use the latter as a very inadequate litter box.

Shall we start, then? I really have some things I need to do.

I could move more silently, but I want to be heard.

There is something almost devilishly rewarding in appearing in the midst of a group of students, seeing their startled faces, scenting their sudden access of nervous sweat, freezing them with my best baleful stare, that it is a wonder that I ever allow myself to be heard. All right, it is devilishly rewarding. But every so often, like today, it's just a day for sending yowls coursing down corridors to wrap fear around scheming students, for padding loudly past secret meeting rooms I knew about before they were born, for being resoundingly nonchalant in the courtyard just when a pack of fools tries to sneak off to the Forest.

Even cats want a holiday.

Don't tell me they're just being harmless kids; all students are always up to no good, even the ones who don't know it yet. Stare at anyone the way I can long enough and they'll recall all sorts of things.

What do you mean, "What big eyes you have, grandmother?" I do have big eyes, but I'm certainly not your grandmot-- oh, that was a quote. Of course. Well. My tail might have found the Brothers Grimm interesting; I do not. Let us continue.

I'm not a Dark cat, but I could be. I just don't need to put in the extra effort that would entail, though I hope I'm not being overly immodest by stating it wouldn't take all that much extra effort for one such as me. Besides, Filch, for all his inborn crustiness that I coached to malice (and you can quote me on that), just doesn't have the necessary wizarding talent to follow me into that realm. And I'd like to keep him for awhile; he suits me better as a companion than anyone else so far.

Crookshanks? That ginger ball of excrescence that the equally mop-haired Granger lugged in? That hairball as a companion? His name is no more Crookshanks than mine is - no, no; better that you don't know. No, I quite insist.

Yes, I do have big ears, and no, they're not twitching that way for any particular reason...just ignore them.

I will say that it should prove quite amusing to watch Mop-Haired's reaction when she discovers how much more - or less - than a cat Crookshanks really is. That is the only reason I still allow him to exist, really...he's not quite my type.

But back to me.

Filch promises me that what we have here is nothing short of dominion, even though we are not the heads of the school in name. We don't need to be, he assures me, every time he senses my disapproval of our lowly status (a disapproval that he doesn't notice half often enough). By lurking in the background, working as a team with my senses and cunning, his stature and voice, we will always have the edge of being unexpected when we appear, and dreaded until we do.

He mothers me, and I let him. He thinks he rescued me from the Forest, a frightened kitten tangled in the above-ground roots of a gnarled willow. He thinks I'm only on my first life.

A cat must have some secrets, after all.

Oh, you want to know one? Pretty please, you say? Hmmm...let me see...the greatest secret I let him share was the secret of the cat portals.

Cat portals exist within the lines of the building, in the framework of the doors, in the foundation stones. They cross hallways in the air, they lead through magic mirrors; they also work as silent observatories, Ms. Unauthorized Animagus. Diabolical, you say? Pardon me while I lick myself.

A cat portal exists for ease of close jaunts or far journeys; any time an instantaneous appearance is requested by circumstances. And any time it is not. A portal channels sound, light, and air, which is how, if I may modestly say, I always arrive with superb timing to upset an arranged mischief.

No, I don't know how portals came to be in existence and I wouldn't tell you if I did; I just know they are always there when a cat needs them.

To be honest, I can't be all that sanguine about portal technology; a flash of lightning, for example, through the area when a cat portal is in use will illuminate the crossing. And one mustn't have that. Imagine my horror when that sniveling abscess, Creevey, showed up with his flashbulb camera. Filch could not find a suitable reason to confiscate it, especially after it had proved to save Creevey's miserable life after the Chamber was opened. Then he was lauded as a hero! A real trouper! Pfft!

No, I don't wish to talk about my own experience with the basilisk; no, I do not. I would, however, change the subject if I were you. Yes, I do have sharp teeth. Just call it my own special brand of smiling. Cats don't laugh...or so they say.

Going, are you? Was it something I said? Oh, just something you've got to do? I see.

The door seems to be locked from the other side? Interesting. Why aren't I more concerned?

Yes, I did say that I had things to do today, but I never said what things, now, did I. Goodness me, the doorknob is melting, all over the keyhole. I certainly don't see any other way out of the room for one so large, no.

Turning into a beetle, I see. Just like a student, always doing the wrong thing at the wrong time. Oh, allow me, since you can't say it yourself anymore: yes, what big claws I have. I'm afraid it's just a reflex to pounce; I do hope I didn't hurt you. It's been a fabulously self-indulgent day and I just couldn't go back to being responsible just yet.

Now we'll go through a cat portal to a very special place for a long evening of toying with one's prey...you didn't really think I'd let you write about portals, did you?