Grim Spectre

Grim Spectre 08

Before we proceed with this chapter:

Harry has met his "Grim Defeat", and the Nimbus 2000 has met its demise with the Whomping Willow. Malfoy and his cronies are giving Harry no end of ribbing about Dementors, especially since Malfoy is still stinging over having to clean Fang's kennel four times before Hagrid would release him. Fred and George give Harry the Marauder's Map and Harry is sneaking into Hogsmeade. Lupin has agreed to teach Harry how to repel Dementors, but he is at the stage where he "needs to rest."

This chapter begins while Lupin "needs to rest":

*~*~*

"That bloody cat! He ate my Scabbers! He ate my Scabbers! I'm gonna kill him!"

Ron was waving a blood-stained sheet in front of Hermione as if it were a black cap he was about to don and condemn her to death. Hermione stood her ground, glaring defensively at Ron.

"Now, Ron, you've no proof that Crookshanks ate Scabbers. He might just be lost somewhere!"

"Yeah, well how do you explain those ginger cat hairs on the floor? Not to mention the blood all over my sheet?!?"

Ron was really shrieking now as he stabbed his finger at the incriminating evidence. Hermione glowered even more fiercely, clutching Crookshanks as if she were the only thing standing between him and the gallows.

"That blood could be anyone's, and those cat hairs could have been left over from anywhere!"

This was a most valiant defence indeed, but hardly one to hold sway with the jury.

"Yeah, like when he ate my Scabbers in one gulp!"

Ron wailed as he flung the sheet at Hermione. Crookshanks almost roared as he hissed in indignation. He leapt right out of Hermione's arms and galloped off into the boys' toilet. Ron ran after him, flourishing his wand.

"I'm going to turn him into a tea-cosy, that's what I'm gonna do!"

"Expelliarmus!"

Ron screamed in fury as the wand shot out of his hand and appeared in Hermione's. A terrible row ensued as Ron screamed about that murderous rat-eating moggy and how Hermione had been too soft on him, while Hermione shrieked that Ron should take better care of his pets, that he'd always had it in for Crookshanks and that he should go looking for Scabbers before he made wild accusations like that...

In the corner, Harry was all on Ron's side. It certainly looked like Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers. He was about to burst in on the argument when the corner of his eye spotted Crookshanks' rear disappearing into the toilet. Harry turned on his heel and marched off after Crookshanks.

Inside the toilet, Harry found Crookshanks skulking under the U-Bend of the toilet. As Harry neared, Crookshanks growled and flashed what seemed to be a reproachful stare at Harry. That startled Harry and sent a stab of unease through his stomach. How could a mere cat know what he was thinking? Harry felt almost queasy as he knelt and waved his hand hopefully, to entice Crookshanks out for Hermione.

No, Crookshanks wasn't having any of that. He hissed indignantly at Harry and squeezed himself ever more tightly under the U-Bend. Only the tip of his tail would show, and that seemed to flounce indignantly at Harry. Harry sighed, almost in relief, for Crookshanks was really making him feel uneasy now. Deep from the recesses of the toilet Crookshanks eyed the feet and shadow of the Potter boy slip out of the toilet. He twitched indignantly and quietly growled with rage. Stupid "Potter boy". Stupid "Weasley." They had both been taken in by that man-disguised-as-rat. And a most unsavoury man, too, as Crookshanks's Kneazle instincts spelled out instinctively.

Crookshanks buried his squashed-up face ever more deeply in his paws, but he couldn't stop his ears twitching as that dreadful row rolled down and echoed against the toilet walls. Had Crookshanks the capability, he might have burst into tears. His dear Hermione was most shrill now as she tried to override Ron's anguished shouts of rage at that "bloody cat".

Well, it wasn't the "bloody cat". Crookshanks certainly hadn't eaten that man-disguised-as-rat. He had hidden himself, and made it look like Crookshanks had eaten him. And all to get away from Crookshanks...no, wait, Crookshanks growled abruptly as his instinct gave him a sharp jolt. It wasn't him - or at least, not just him. It was something else that made the man-disguised-as-rat conceal himself. The same thing, Crookshanks' instincts told him, was the same thing that made the man-disguised-as-rat so sick. From the beginning, Crookshanks could smell what made the man-disguised-as-rat so sick Fear. He absolutely reeked of fear. So afraid that he had run away, and Crookshanks was taking the blame for it.

The shouting, screaming and crying had pounded in Crookshanks' ears that he had not taken much notice of a strange sloshing echoing in the plumbing, which clearly had nothing to do with the natural eddies of toilet water...

The shouts and screams were brought to an abrupt end when the loud, stern voice of Professor McGonagall intoned for them to cease their quarrelling immediately... "Go and look for your rat, Mr. Weasley and make quite certain of your pet. Miss Granger, Potter, leave immediately."

The portrait door slammed shut, to be followed by loud, heart-rending sobs as Ron collapsed, wailing for his rat: "Scabbers, oh Scabbers! Lousy, stinking cat! Lousy, stinking Hermione, buying that monster..."

"Lousy, stinking Wormtail, more like!" a voice suddenly hissed in the toilet bowl.

Crookshanks' ears pricked up.

"He's done it again! Just like he did in that Muggle street!"

"You mean, when he cut off his finger and made it look like he was dead?" a thin, melancholy female voice asked.

"Yes! Now he's done it again and framed the cat! The way he framed me!"

The first voice seemed to curl with insanity as well as rage.

Crookshanks crawled out from beneath the U-Bend, his ears straining to hear these voices coming from the toilet bowl. The male voice was hissing with fury while the female voice seemed to be on the verge of a whimper.

Curiosity overtook the cat. Crookshanks crouched down and leapt onto the toilet seat. He instantly froze and his fur spiked as he came face-to-face with what should be the faces of a human girl and a human man...but they weren't properly human. They were ice-cold and the consistency of translucent clouds when they should have been flesh and blood and warm to the touch - or cuddle.

The faces stopped dead and stared back at Crookshanks. The girl stared as if she were embarrassed, and the man with the horrified look of having been found out...

It was hard to say who could make the first move now. Crookshanks sat rigid, his fur heckling, his tail swollen to the size of a bath-brush, at the sight of these strange human faces in the toilet. He could not know what to make of them. If he tried to sniff, his snout met a bite of cold. There was no scent, nothing for his nose to determine if they smelt decently, or reeked like the man-disguised-as-rat.

But as he continued to sniff, his nose detected a note of familiarity. He had felt the bite of such cold somewhere before...

Yes, it was the time when he had tried to sniff Nearly Headless Nick. He mewed and scuttled off in surprise and terror when his nose turned to ice instead of sensing the warm scent of a human. He dived into the girls' toilet and it took considerable cajoling from Hermione before he would finally come out. Hermione had to explain extremely hard that Nearly-Headless-Nick was a "ghost"...

Crookshanks realised that "ghosts" were what these strange humans must be. As comprehension set in, his bath-brush tail began to recede a little. Unfortunately Crookshanks had never really understood what a "ghost" was, so he still eyed these faces in the toilet with deep suspicion. If it wasn't for his instincts somehow managing to get it through that these strange characters were not unsavoury, Crookshanks probably would not have known which way to turn.

Sirius had no idea either. He just stared dumbly back at the feline.

You might say that it was Moaning Myrtle who broke the ice, although rather in spite of herself.

"Well, you don't need me anymore," she sniffed sulkily. Her eyes brimming in tears, she seemed to be on the verge of diving back down into the toilet.

Sirius snapped around, thoroughly taken aback. "What do you mean, you don't need me anymore?!?" He demanded.

"Well, you're two of a kind, aren't you?" There was a definite hue of envy in Myrtle's voice now. "The Rat's made it look like you both killed him, so you can work together, can't you? So where does that leave poor, miserable, Moaning Myrtle? Out in the cold! Three's a crowd, so there's no room for Moaning Myrtle!"

Myrtle gave out a high-pitched wail that would have sent Ron running if he hadn't been too busy with his own sobs, before plunging down into the toilet bowl.

Well, Sirius wasn't having any of that. Quick as a lightning streak, he flashed into Padfoot and dived down the toilet straight after Myrtle. Seconds later, the toilet turned into a momental geyser as Padfoot yanked a most indignant Moaning Myrtle out of the toilet. The torrent of of cascading water sent Crookshanks scuttling and taking refuge in the furthest corner of the bathroom. He huddled, hissed and heckled his fur as water drops danced and splattered on the toilet floor.

Padfoot sailed over and laid Moaning Myrtle gently on the floor, lest an undignified thump should send her crying again. He sat down beside her and waited in silence...long, long silence...and he could not suppress his reproach.

After a while, Crookshanks gingerly crawled out of his refuge and slidled up to join Padfoot. He eyed up Moaning Myrtle and sniffed as if it might draw out everything there was to know about her...

Myrtle had been staring glumly, numbly, back at Padfoot...but now that Crookshanks had joined in the game, it did give the impression that she was being ganged up on. Her mouth began to wobble, her eyes brimmed with tears...but she remained silent, unmoving.

It was not difficult for Crookshanks to size up this "ghost" human. He was by nature a rather cynical cat, so he sensed a kind of empathy with this glum little human...

He sniffed and sniffed. Yes, she was a cynic like himself, he could sense that...only she wasn't using it in a way that he liked. His problem was that he was too smart for the likes of the world, so the world for the most part did not understand him. This human's problem was that she wasted herself on seeking sympathy and flying into self-indulgent sulking when she didn't get any.

He approached the sulking ghost. He settled into a firm stance. If he were human, he would be saying: "I will be your friend, but I know your game, so don't try it with me."

Padfoot inched slightly away from Moaning Myrtle and sat side-by-side with Crookshanks. Yes, Moaning Myrtle was right. They were two of a kind. They would understand eachother. They already understood Moaning Myrtle...

*~*~*

Dusk was now falling on the boys' dormitory, adding a further hue of gloom to a room already despondent from Ron's long, anguished grieving and the tinge of the Dismal Duo from Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Ron had finally slouched dutifully off to supper so the dormitory was alone. Crookshanks and Padfoot crouched suspiciously around the blood-stained sheet. Above them, a rather chastened Moaning Myrtle hovered in wait.

Padfoot snarled as his ghostly nose was filled with the repugnant smell of the Rat. Yes, that was his blood. Padfoot snarled even further as his mind filled with the thought of Wormtail taking a knife to his hand and let a few drops of blood spatter on the sheet.

He and Crookshanks sniffed further. Smell of the Rat on the floor, leading out through the portrait hole. The Fat Lady snapped with annoyance as the ghosts filtered right through her.

"Don't you ghosts have any manners?!? Now this cat knows them!" She was referring to Crookshanks' mewing to get out.

It was Crookshanks who had to take the lead on the sniffing out. The sight of the Grim and Moaning Myrtle outside her bathroom would have been far too suspicious. Eventually Padfoot and Myrtle had to return to the bathroom and let Crookshanks do the sniffing. Now it was Sirius' turn to sulk on the toilet seat if he wasn't pacing restlessly in circles. Since her usual position was occupied, Myrtle busied herself with looking at the etching Sirius was making in the toilet cubicle. The tally marks certainly had increased. Myrtle couldn't quite see the point. To her, one gloomy day was much like another. Slogans like "get the Rat" and "I am innocent" looked more interesting. Maybe she should try something like that. "I am miserable, moping Moaning Myrtle", "Get Olive Hornby" and "Nobody makes fun of my glasses" and other etchings to leave people in no doubt that they should not make fun of Moaning Myrtle...

Eventually, a very disappointed Crookshanks reported to the bathroom. Myrtle took great perverse pleasure at the sight that the cat was looking as glum as she was.

Sirius roared. He pounded on the toilet door, banged his head on the toilet seat - or would have banged it, if he wasn't a ghost. The Rat had made a clean getaway. He could be anywhere...

No, he wasn't anywhere. He was somewhere around, in hiding. Waiting for the time when it was safe to come back and strike at Harry.

Sirius stopped banging and snarling and let rip with a long, ghostly wail.

Crookshanks yowled with commiseration.

Myrtle sat on her usual toilet seat. For once, though, she wasn't looking glum. It must have been thinking about all those etching she could put around the toilet. They had got her thinking instead of moping, and an idea was now beginning to form...