Heat

Disclaimer: This is your lucky day! You have just reached a story written by J. K. Rowling herself! She's decided to take a permanent hiatus from the seventh book to write fanfiction for the rest of her days. . . . . . OF COURSE I'M NOT ROWLING! OF COURSE I DON'T OWN THIS!

Heat

The Hogwarts grounds were expansive, full of courtyards and hills and small nooks and crannies. All manner of creatures, from common insects and rats to the bowtruckles of the Forbidden Forest and the plimpies from the lake, filled this natural habitat. No student could fully explore these grounds in a short seven years at school.

Which made the place perfect for Crookshanks. This ginger-furred feline was born with an inquisitive nature and a bow-legged grace. For the first full month of his stay at the castle, he scampered back and forth between the castle's labyrinth of an interior and its sweeping exterior. He caught poor, helpless creatures, such as rats and birds, and ate them for supper. He sneaked into the Slytherin dorm rooms and stole socks and underwear from unsuspecting victims. And when he really wanted to amuse himself, he chased after Ron's pet rat, Scabbers, or upset the potions in Snape's dungeon.

But most importantly of all, he made friends. Hermione, of course, was his first true companion--she, after all, had been the first person in years to look past his squashed face and bowed legs and see his heart of gold inside. She really is a perfect girl, that one, Crookshanks thought lazily. She treats me like I am actually worth something--which, of course, I am!

He had also met a gigantic black dog. At least, he looks like a dog. I don't think he really is, though. The only question is: what is he? He seems friendly enough--much more so than Ron, at least. Though it's natural for that carrot-top to loath me. I do chase after his rat, after all.

But friends weren't enough for Crookshanks anymore, for it was that time of year. . .

Crookshanks was in heat.

But no ordinary cat will do! Crookshanks thought in frustration. Not only does she have to look right, she has to feel right. We have to be soul mates, or else I refuse to be with her.

He had first met with Millicent Bulstrode's cat, Mindy. The sleek black feline was breathtakingly sexy; Her pointed white teeth and fur glinted in both the moonlight and the sunlight. Such a beauty with a body! Crookshanks sighed. Perfectly equipped--enough to make any tomcat go crazy with lust. But she has such a disgusting attitude! She acts like I'm a dumpster full of rotting garbage! I don't need to go making love to that sort of trash.

Then he moved on to Hannah Abbot's furball called Petite. She was a small, round cat with long whiskers and wide eyes. But she's dreadfully shy, Crookshanks lamented. When I try to communicate with her, she takes one look at me and hides behind the nearest piece of furniture and stares out at me with only her eyes and blue-furred nose showing. I want someone that's bold--like me! I'd probably be too big for her anyway, he added as an afterthought. I wouldn't want to tear her apart, after all. . .

The ginger-furred feline paced lazily through the autumn leaves that carpeted the courtyard in which he stood. Passing over to the fountain in the middle, he began batting idly at passing fish while going over the long list of cats he had met.

He had rendezvoused with Malcolm Baddock's lynx Harrower. The two of them had gone fishing in the lake and had gotten even as far as cuddling when Harrower had suddenly decided she was more interested in burrowing after a mole. Crookshanks had stalked off in a huff.

Katie Bell's Siamese, Terry Boot's housecat, even Zacharias Smith's puma, and dozen of others. . . the list was endless. Hogwarts was running out of cats, and Crookshanks was beginning to get worried. He sure wasn't going to turn to that massive black dog for sexual comfort!

I haven't met my soul mate, Crookshanks realized as the pad of his paw slapped at a guppy, sending it spinning dizzily into the side of the fountain. But I won't give up hope yet. I don't know who that perfect cat is, but when I meet her, I'll know. I haven't met Mrs. Norris yet. She's a half-kneazle like me--maybe she's the feline I'm looking for.

With this comforting thought, he thrust his paws into the rippling water and ensnared an unlucky goldfish between his front paws.

Crackle. The leaves shifted behind him, and Crookshanks slowly revolved on the balls of his feet. Mrs. Norris left his mind is an instant, and the goldfish slipped from his fingers and swam away in relief. All that Crookshanks saw was the cat that stood before him. Mindy, Petite, Harrower, and all the other cats were flashes from the past, mere wisps of meaningless vapor compared to the goddess that stood before him.

The cat was merely a small tabby with tawny coat. But it held itself upright, its haughty gaze fixed straight ahead. It kept itself perfectly groomed, and Crookshanks immediately felt mangy in comparison.

The tabby glanced over at the ginger-furred half-kneazle. She gave him a small smile and a quick nod before padding over to the fountain. She leaned over at a spot ten feet from Crookshanks and began batting her paws at passing fish in an imitation of Crookshanks's previous action.

The ginger cat's heart thumped within his chest as he took a step towards that angel in cat's form. There was something different about that tabby that set her apart from all other cats. Crookshanks wanted to find out exactly what that was. He wanted to know this cat as he'd known no other before. He had never felt this way in his entire life.

He reached the tabby. She looked up at him again, then returned to her fishing. Crookshanks stood beside her, their bodies so close that he could feel her body heat. He could see her heart as it beat quietly in her soft chest. A wave of passion passed through him.

The half-kneazle dipped his orange paws into the fountain's cool water. A fish darted towards him. With a splash and a meow of triumph, Crookshanks had caught an angel fish on his claw. The poor critter squirmed around in its death throes, prey to the ginger cat's sport. He extended the fish, still on his claw, towards the tabby.

The cat smiled, then pulled her paws out of the water so as to lean forward and bite off the angel fish's head. She chewed the delicate morsel, then swallowed, her eyes glowing warmly with appreciation. Crookshanks's heart jolted in nervousness, and he was suddenly shy.

The tabby took one last bite, then let Crookshanks eat the rest of the fish. His stomach shifted nervously as he chewed on the fish's tail. This cat is the cat, he knew. She is my soul mate. But does she realize this?

Suddenly daring, he put forth his ginger paw and placed it on her tawny shoulder. The tabby let out a giggling sort of purr and jumped down from the fountain and rolled on her stomach expectantly. Crookshanks, eagerly reading between the lines, jumped down to join her. He began scratching her stomach as she purred in ecstasy. Her back arched in the crackling leaves, and Crookshanks's blood rushed to his waist. He wanted this cat. He needed her!

A gust of warm air suddenly blew through the courtyard, touching each corner with its warm, reassuring breath.

Heat.

Crookshanks took this as a sign. His passion suddenly overwhelming him, he jumped on top of the tabby, his meows escaping him in longing moans. Never had he felt so out of control, and so alive! He and his soul mate were fulfilling the terms of their bond; they were together at last! He pressed his body against hers, knowing his passion would soon find release.

It was not to be. The tabby let out a sharp mewl of shock, and immediately began to change before Crookshanks's eyes. Her tawny fur darkened and billowed out around her. Her narrow eyes rounded out, and her nose became longer and less round. The fur on the back of her head lengthened, then turned gray and drew together into a bun. And her whole body shot out rapidly, expanding until the tabby was four times Crookshanks's size.

Except that Crookshanks was no longer straddling a tabby, but a full-grown witch. This witch stood up hastily, smoothing her rumpled robes, and the deeply aroused ginger cat fell from her, his heart in his throat.

"I'm sorry, Crookshanks," Minerva said sincerely, staring nervously down at the half-kneazle at her feet. "I didn't realize I was leading you on. But we cannot share such a relationship. I hope you'll understand."

And she turned around and left. The warm breeze passed, and Crookshanks growled sharply, but the professor didn't turn around.

She disappeared from view. Crookshanks spat bitterly on the ground.

THE END

A/N: What do you think? I guess it can be called a tragedy, even though I'd classify it as humor. Bet you've never seen a Crookshanks/Professor McGonagall fanfic before! Now that you've read it, please take half-a-minute to review, and I'll answer your criticisms/compliments. Expect another story within the next one or two months. Thank you very much!

Author's Postscript: By the way, this story was rejected at HarryPotterFanFiction (dot) com for beastiality. Darn it! McGonagall and Crookshanks didn't even do it (this story was only T-rated, after all)! But to make it acceptable for their site would have meant making the story totally pointless, so. . . sigh. . . no point in arguing with them--it was in their terms, after all. Life is miserable :)