A Cat's Tale

It was a quiet night at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Too quiet.

Normally Crookshanks would have been on high alert for suspicious happenings when it was this quiet, but he was just so grateful for the silence that he thought he'd take a little nap. His mistress had fallen asleep nearly an hour ago with (as usual) Crookshanks held tight in her arms. However, no sooner than the girl called Hermione Granger had begun to snore softly, did Crookshanks pull away from her and began to pace the floor of the old, dusty bedroom. Most days he would have gone straightaway to the door, and batted it with his paw until it opened...thus enabling him to step out into the hallway and begin his nightly prowl. The House Elf called Kreacher had been set free weeks earlier, so his mistress no longer had to lock her doors nightly, as she had the previous summer.

Right now, though, Crookshanks just wanted a couple of hours of sleep. He could always go exploring later. He stopped his pacing and lowered himself onto a dingy (albeit practically clean) rug. He adjusted himself, searching for the most comfortable position. By nature, cats are particular creatures, and any old sleeping position just will not do. After several minutes of shifting and sniffing, Crookshanks found the ideal part of the rug. He gave a satisfied purr and closed his eyes. Ah, sleep....what a glorious thing.

THUMP!

Crookshanks awoke with a start. He had no idea how long he had been asleep, but it didn't feel like a long time. He stood up and gave a dignified shake, to get the circulation going in his legs again. He then looked around the room wondering what could have made that noise.

THUMP!

He heard it again. However this time cat logic enlightened him to the fact that the sound was coming from the room next door, where his Mistress' two male friends were sleeping. He gave a determined purr, and with nerves of iron, Crookshanks headed out into the hallway.

As always, he was a little disoriented when he first stepped into the hallway. It was much darker out here than it was in his bedroom, seeing as only one of the wall torches was lit and it was at the far end of the hall. Crookshanks stood in the doorway for a few seconds and gave his feline eyes time to adjust to the poor lighting situation. Once he got his bearing, the ginger cat began an energetic trot to the next room, where the ones called Harry and Ron slept. As he looked, he could see that the door was slightly ajar. He walked up and gave the door a light pat, causing it to swing open.

At first, Crookshanks heard nothing. That is, nothing except for the rumbling snores coming out of the boy called Ron. However, this was nothing new. Warily, the cat walked slowly around Ron's bed and cast a searching eye over the room's contents. Nothing! Then what was making that accursed noi-

THUMP!

Crookshanks heard it again, this time it was coming from much closer. The other side of the boy called Harry's bed, as a matter of fact. Sensing danger, he lowered himself to the ground and began to slowly crawl forward. Crookshanks was taking no chances. There was a very good chance that whatever was moving around over there wasn't friendly, and he, Crookshanks, would have to either use his claws and teeth or run for his life. Either way, he didn't want to underestimate his opponent. Slowly...slyly...the brush-tailed cat slithered forward, almost like a puff adder. He came around the side of Harry's bed...

...and that was when he heard it.

A soft growl suddenly came from directly ahead of him. Crookshanks froze dead in his tracks. Squinting his eyes a little, he could just make out something lying there on the floor. A something that was very much alive. He looked at it. From what he could tell it was about his size, if a little wider. He sniffed cautiously. No doubt whatsoever now, it was definitely a living creature of some sort. He took one slight step forward, and the thing, whatever it was, growled again. Crookshanks halted midstep, and backed up slowly...taking another sniff as he did so. Wait, he thought. That's odd. It's alive, but it kind of smells like paper.

Paper?

What kind of living thing smelled like that? It's just not-

He didn't have time to complete the thought as the weird-smelling thing charged forward with a challenging growl. Crookshanks emitted a rather undignified squawk and leapt backwards, away from the mad creature. Turning, he bolted toward the open door, wanting to put as much distance as he possibly could between himself and the horrible growling thing. However, curiosity has always been a factor in cat personality, and as Crookshanks reached the door, he turned and looked back to see just what it was. As it did so, the shock of just what he was seeing set in, and Crookshanks gave a confused meow.

It was a book. Or to be more specific, a book with glowing eyes and large fangs...

Harry Potter's "Monster Book of Monsters" had escaped from Harry's school trunk.

***

Crookshanks stood there in the doorway, somehow simultaneously confused, intrigued and terrified by the strange hybrid of beast and book that lay there, slobbering and growling softly, in the center of the room. Less than ten feet away, the red-haired boy called Ron began to mutter softly in his sleep. Crookshanks paid no mind. Ron often talked in his sleep and whatever he was saying couldn't be more important than keeping a cautious eye on the leather-bound creature that was now beginning to inch its way towards him.

The hair on Crookshanks' back began to stand up. He took a half step backwards and gave a soft hiss at the slowly approaching Monster Book. The book stopped for a second, appraised the wary cat with a single, bloodshot eye and began to come forward again. If it were possible for a cat to curse, Crookshanks would have done so at that moment. It didn't take a genius to see that the foaming, growling Monster Book of Monsters had nothing but bad intentions where the ginger-furred cat was concerned. It opened its jaws and gave them a hearty snap. If Crookshanks didn't know better, he'd swear the book was laughing at him.

The cat sat stock still for a moment, weighing his options.

On one hand, he could stay and fight. No doubt the Monster Book would bite at least one of his legs off, but at least he would die a noble death. On the other, he could turn and flee, disappear into the midnight depths of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place and hide safely until the next morning, at which point someone would discover and apprehend the vile thing.

That's a coward's way out, the cat thought solemnly.

The Monster Book of Monsters growled and snapped its jaws again.

What was it that Muggle said on the television that time? Crookshanks thought back to a night several weeks ago when he had been sitting on the rug at the Grangers' house watching some program or other with Hermione's mother. The fellow said something like, "Better a live worm than a dead duck."

Crookshanks thought that pretty much summed up the situation.

He turned and fled back into the hall, moving as fast as his four legs would carry him. He could hear the surprised grunt from the Monster Book as he fled. Clearly it had expected him to stay and fight.

I may be brave, Crookshanks mused, but I'm no fool. He knew that he stood very little chance against the beastly school book. It outweighed Crookshanks by at least ten pounds and with those powerful jaws and razor sharp teeth, so very much like those of a tiger, it wouldn't have that much difficulty reducing a sixteen pound cat to paste.

So, deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, the bandy-legged cat began a brisk trot down the hallway. He had the idea that maybe someone was downstairs in the kitchen, getting a snack or discussing top secret things. Perhaps the twins were downstairs, he thought. Although Fred and George Weasley had their own apartment in Diagon Alley now, they still stopped by now and again to nick food from the cupboards or to attend Order meetings. Their mother had FINALLY relented and allowed them to join, thanks in part to some strong convincing from Mr. Weasley. Or maybe, Tonks would be down there. Crookshanks brightened. He really liked Tonks. Not only did she have an interesting smell, but her ability to shapeshift was fascinating to him....that, and she always gave him a good scratch.

THUMP!

Crookshanks jumped a good foot off the floor. Whirling, he noticed, to his horror, that the Monster Book of Monsters had followed him out into the hall! Slowly, but surely, it was coming down the hall after him. Hissing, Crookshanks started down the stairs. Down and down he went until finally, he emerged in the kitchen. A quick look around showed that no one was in the room. A lone candle on the table was lit, giving off a little light that Crookshanks suddenly was very grateful for. He scanned the room, looking for something that he could possibly use to fight the Monster Book with. The cat had a nagging idea that the book would not be deterred by stairs.

And he was right.

Seconds later came a loud THUMP, followed quickly by another. Crookshanks knew exactly what this meant. The book was descending the stairs. He looked around frantically, looking for something...anything that could be of use...

He didn't have to look far.

A goblet sat on the edge of the table, proof to Crookshanks that someone had been down here since Molly Weasley had cleaned the dishes. He prayed (If a cat can pray) that there was something, ANYTHING, in the cup. Pumpkin juice, firewhisky, milk, even plain old water! So long as it was a liquid, Crookshanks found that he didn't care very much what exactly it was. With a purr of hope, the cat leapt, first onto a chair, and from there up onto the table. He moved fast, trotting over to the goblet and giving it an exploratory sniff. Yes! It was half full of a liquid that Crookshanks quickly identified as plain, ordinary red wine. That meant that the late night kitchen dweller was probably Elphias Doge. Crookshanks knew that the old wizard often drank red wine for his heart. It helped-

THUMP!

The Monster Book of Monsters was at the foot of the stairs. It sat stock still, making little snuffling noises as it tried to look for Crookshanks in the dim light.

Crookshanks decided to help him out.

With determination, the cat looked over the edge of the table and gave a solitary meow.

The book gave a loud snarl, coming alive in one sudden moment. It turned its jaws upward toward Crookshanks and began to snap them wildly. The book obviously couldn't jump, as he had, so Crookshanks was basically safe. Safe, but irritated. He didn't like being bullied by the dimwitted Monster Book of Monsters. So with a howl that was almost a laugh, Crookshanks bumped the goblet, spilling the remaining contents directly onto the raging Monster Book.

What happened next made the cat's day.

A sound somewhere between a scream and a howl emerged from the Monster Book of Monsters. It began to writhe in torment as it attempted to dry itself off. Crookshanks watched with bright eyes as the book's howls turned to whimpers as it attempted to clean itself off. Justice was his! He had beaten the vile book at his own game. Ha! Ha!

Every candle in the kitchen simultaneously ignited.

Crookshanks gave a mild start. He looked around just in time to see Severus Snape emerge from the room where the Order of the Phoenix often held their meetings. As always, he had a sour look on his face and did not look pleased at the commotion. His dark onyx eyes immediately perused the situation. They flickered from the gloating cat perched on the table to the mewling wine-soaked Monster Book of Monsters thrashing about on the floor.

The Potions Master moved fast.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

The addled Monster Book began to float into the air. At a height of about six feet from the ground, it stopped and hovered aimlessly. Snape walked over to the floating Monster Book and withdrew a small corked vial from his robes. He withdrew the stopper and reached toward the Monster Book of Monsters. As expected, it reacted violently. It snarled and foamed and snapped, apparently relishing the idea of having Snape's hand for a snack. But, it never got the chance. Raising his hand slightly out of he book's reach, he poured four drops of the potion into the foaming jaws of the Monster Book. At first nothing happened, but as a few seconds passed, the enraged book began to grow weary. Its struggles slowed, then ceased altogether. Snape had a strange look on his face.

"If you had told me, I'd have to give a sleeping draft to a Monster Book Of Monsters before this day was through, I'd have called you a damn liar," Snape said to no one in particular. He removed the Floating Charm from the now unconscious Monster Book and sat it gently on the table. Pointing his wand carefully at the book, Snape muttered, "Scourgify!"

Almost immediately, the dark red wine stains began to vanish from the Monster Book. As Snape cleaned off the wayward tome, he snuck looks at Hermione Granger's cat, which stood on the table next to the fallen book, meowing softly. "Gloating over a conquered foe?" he asked the cat silkily.

Crookshanks' only answer was an innocent purr.

***

When Harry Potter awoke from a strangely dreamless sleep six hours later, he gave a slight start at the sight of his old Monster Book of Monsters lying motionless on top of his school trunk. However, what was more startling was the solitary piece of parchment lying next to it. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, Harry gave a slight yawn and picked it up. What was written on it drove all thoughts of sleep from his mind and woke him up more efficiently than any coffee on the face of the Earth.

Potter,

Your Monster Book of Monsters was involved in some sort of a brawl with Miss Granger's cat in the kitchen late last night. In the future, please try to keep your school books (especially those with a sentient brain) on a short leash.

Professor S. Snape

Harry blinked, stared hard at the parchment and then blinked again. He read the note twice more, to make absolutely sure that he wasn't hallucinating and then wadded the paper into a ball and threw it on a nearby cupboard. He turned his attention to his third year Care Of Magical Creatures textbook, lying motionless on his trunk. He was giving it a long stare when Ron awoke behind him. Ron gave a hearty yawn and sat up in bed.

"Morning mate," Ron said.

Harry didn't answer.

"Harry, what's wrong?"

After a second, Harry turned to face Ron, his eyes dancing strangely.

"Ron, something tells me it's going to be one of those days," The Boy Who Lived said with a grin.

Ron sighed. When Harry got that look on his face, he was usually right on the money.

FIN