For the Love of Crookshanks

As always, thanks to my beta Meucci Warlock.

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Chapter 4

If you need 2700 pages of pretentious instructions from a nagging blowhard on how to raise what is essentially a damn cat, do wizarding society a favour, and remove yourself from the gene pool. Immediately.

--Rita Skeeter, reporter for our very own Daily Prophet

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The cleaning and grooming of Kneazles is a pleasant task. Kneazles are most fastidious in keeping themselves clean, but enjoy being groomed and bathed. Some Kneazles are known to be very vain creatures. Some owners prefer to take their Kneazles to a professional groomer, and while I would suggest you do this for the first few times, I do recommend that you learn to do it yourself quite early in your relationship with your Kneazle. Grooming and bathing your Kneazle will bring you much closer and create a bond that cannot be broken. A Kneazle should be brushed several times a week, preferably every day. Bathing need not be done on such a frequent schedule. Most Kneazles can get by with two baths a year, but some will need them more often. I find that my Kneazles have always enjoyed a warm bath at least once a month. If I am lax in administering their baths, I will find them waiting in the kitchen sink for me! Before purchasing any soap, make sure that you are aware of your Kneazle's skin and fur conditions. Discuss this with your Magizoologist as some Kneazles are allergic to some washes made specifically for Kneazles. A more detailed account of Kneazle skin conditions can be found in Appendix B8. My personal recommendations for grooming products can be found in Appendix M. (excerpt from For the Love of Kneazles by Beneficent Bast, pg 1216)

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Some sounds break hearts and mutilate souls beyond recognition. Some sounds rip through bodies, shatter bones and melt brains.

There are some sounds only the damned have heard; some sounds only those who have slid into the inner circles of hell have heard. Some sounds are so inhuman, so horrible, so frightening that even the most devoted atheist will cry out to any convenient god to save him from the physical and spiritual horror of the sound.

Hermione had now joined their ranks.

Surely only supremely tortured hell-sent demons intent on destroying all living beings could make the sounds Crookshanks was making upon receiving a bath. His howls were nothing short of ungodly. Silently, Hermione offered up a short prayer to the Egyptian God of Cats. Although she did not even know if there was an Egyptian God of Cats (it seemed reasonable, but it was all conjecture on her part at this point), and she did not believe in such a god in any case, she imagined it certainly couldn't make things any worse.

Hermione ran a soapy hand across her forehead in a futile attempt to get her hair out of her sweaty, grimy face. Her other hand had a vice-like grip around Crookshanks's squirming middle. It took most of her strength to keep him in the sink. It just didn't seem right that Crookshanks should almost match Hermione in brute strength. All around, it was a rather humbling experience to know that her familiar, who weighed about a stone, could probably kick her arse if he wanted to, especially if he caught her in a surprise attack.

Hermione tried to be patient. She tried to speak in calming, soothing tones, but something about having an unstable, fiery animal clawing at her arms and howling like a madman methodically destroyed her patience. Being a rational person, Hermione could only squelch the inner voice that told her to stun the little monster and finish his bath in peace for so long.

"Crookshanks dear, it will just be a little longer. The nice lady at the Magical Menagerie said we had to-"

Hermione was interrupted by her own yelp of pain as Crookshanks had somehow managed to sink four sets of sharp little claws into her while he tried to scramble away, but by some miracle, she did not release him.

The poor animal's eyes were positively wild, his growls low and loud, his howls high and strangled, his hisses long and deep. It was enough to bring the most seasoned lion tamer to his knees, but Hermione was determined. The woman at the Magical Menagerie had insisted that an animal of Crookshanks's age really needed a special shampoo to keep his skin and fur nice and healthy. Hermione was nothing if not a very conscientious pet owner. Hermione had a feeling that the woman at the Magical Menagerie was some kind of sadist and was secretly cackling at all the poor bastards who had believed her through the years. She made a mental note to patronize other pet stores from now on.

"Now Dearest, don't be like that," Hermione pleaded, trying to untangle some of his wild fur.

Crookshanks answered Hermione's entreaty with a yowl that clearly said he would be any way he damn well wanted to be. "This will make your skin feel better. See what the bottle says, Gertrude Nivelle's Ever So Nice Kitty Wash for Sensitive Skin. See how happy the kitty on the bottle looks?" Hermione asked rather pathetically, gesturing with her head toward the picture of the stupid smiling cat on the bottle while she awkwardly pinned Crookshanks in the corner of the sink. The happy kitty on the bottle did little to placate Crookshanks. If Hermione made it through this encounter alive, she had plans to write a very angry letter to one Gertrude Nivelle about her Ever So Horrid Kitty Wash.

"Hermione!" a frightened voice called from the front room. "Are you alright?" Catching her by surprise, Hermione momentarily loosened her grip on Crookshanks. He made a desperate attempt at freedom, effectively sloshing half the contents of the sink onto Hermione's front. Hermione coughed and sputtered against all the soapy water. With one last discontented howl, Crookshanks streaked through the kitchen and out the door.

Ron burst into the kitchen with his wand drawn, looking as though he was ready to do battle with the Dark Lord himself. "Are you okay?" he asked breathlessly, unable to locate any threat. "I heard the worst noise in here."

Hermione shook the water off her arms and wiped her face on her sleeve. "Yeah, I'm fine. I was just trying to give Crookshanks a bath." Sputtering, Hermione realized she could taste the kitty shampoo. The vileness of the stuff almost allowed her to forgive Crookshanks for his abominable behaviour. Almost.

Ron looked stunned and blinked several times. Cocking an eyebrow, he said, "I don't think he liked it very much."

"Yes thank you, Weasley, for that update," Hermione said through clenched teeth. She glanced out the window to see that the last twenty minutes of pure torture had culminated in Crookshanks rolling around in the compost heap.

As she watched Crookshanks frolic in the jumble of rotting vegetable detritus, a mighty battle raged in Hermione's brain. The two factions were equally matched. One side rallied for allowing the little prick to run around dirty if he wanted to, but banning him from the house. Overall, they were willing to employ far more questionable techniques than the other side. However, the side that fought for finishing the job properly because he was a beloved familiar had moral righteousness on their side. They rallied their forces in the way only the righteous can, and subsequently defeated Little Prick's forces in the fiercest battle Hermione's frontal lobe had seen in years.

Hermione sighed.

From the window, Hermione saw Crookshanks dive back into the compost heap and happily emerge covered in potato skins, so Hermione sighed again, just for good measure.

"You uh, want some help there Hermione?" Ron asked, the laughter evident in his voice.

Hermione squeezed some water out of her shirt and said, with as much dignity as possible, "If you insist." Ron smiled good-naturedly.

Ron stepped past Hermione and peered out the window at Crookshanks. "How d'you think we should approach this?"

Hermione resignedly slumped into a chair. "Hell if I know."

Ron wrinkled his brow in thought and asked, "You have any sleeping potion?"

Hermione's head snapped to attention at the thought of giving her precious little Crookshanks some sleeping potion. "What?"

"Sleeping potion. You know, a potion that makes you sleep," Ron smirked.

Hermione narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "What're you going to do with it? What're you going to do to Crookshanks?" she demanded.

"Just trust me, okay?" Ron said, with a look of earnestness that Hermione found she could not deny. In truth, Hermione couldn't deny the sheer exhaustion and general crabbiness, but it wasn't nearly as endearing as the first explanation.

"In the bathroom cabinet," Hermione sighed, resting her head on the back of the chair.

Ron bounded out of the room, apparently in search of sleeping potion.

Within a few minutes, Ron and Hermione were standing outside. Ron seemed to have a plan, and Hermione was ready to do whatever he said. She was tired, scratched up and bleeding. Crookshanks continued to roll in the compost heap as though taunting her. If he was capable of laughing, Hermione was sure he would be. Hermione directed her fiercest glare in his general direction.

"Alright, you ready?" Ron asked, looking at her with boyish enthusiasm.

"For what?" Hermione asked tremulously. Ron grinned, and he looked seventeen again.

"Accio Crookshanks!" Hermione watched in horror as Crookshanks pumped his bandied little legs in the air. He looked absolutely terrified.

"Oh Ron, no!" Hermione cried. She hated to see Crookshanks so terrified and she instinctively pulled on Ron's wand arm, but Ron did not waver. He deftly and gently shook her off.

Ron caught Crookshanks in his hands and pressed the dirty, wet animal against him. Crookshanks struggled violently against him. Ron dipped his finger in the sleeping potion and pressed it into Crookshanks's mouth. Within a few seconds, Crookshanks had calmed considerably, and while not asleep, hung limply in Ron's arms.

"Levitate him Hermione," Ron said.

"What?" Hermione said breathlessly, horrified at the scene.

"Levitate him." He turned to look at her. "Trust me."

"Wingardium Leviosa."

"Aguamenti!" Water shot out from the tip of Ron's wand. He washed off the dirt and grime. Very efficiently, he squirted some cat shampoo on his hand, quickly washed the animal and then rinsed him again.

"Aridus!" Ron moved his wand over Crookshanks, drying his fur.

"There!" Ron said, proudly presenting a clean Crookshanks. Hermione grabbed him out of the air and checked his vital signs.

Seeing Hermione's concern, Ron said, "Don't worry Hermione, he's fine. We got him all clean in about two minutes." Hermione could not deny that all around, Ron's method was much quicker and was probably more humane than her attempts to clean Crookshanks. And Hermione couldn't deny the evidence, Crookshanks was indeed clean, alive and breathing.

"Where did you get that idea?"

"Are you kidding? That's the way Mum used to clean the twins up."

Hermione snorted and then saw the look on Ron's face. "Oh, you're serious."

"Mm-mm."

"Really?" Hermione asked, once again struck by how different her Muggle childhood had been compared to the magical one Ron had experienced.

"Yeah, she always had trouble getting them to take a bath. Well you can just imagine what they were like as kids," Ron chuckled, "You should have seen it. These two naked little boys twisting in the air. Seriously, it was hilarious."

Hermione grinned, "I would have thought the twins would enjoy that."

"Well, there was that, but then Mum started washing them with Mrs Scower's Magical Mess Remover."

Hermione drew in a hissing breath at the thought of such a harsh potion against her skin.

"Yeah, that put a stop to that."

"Well, thanks for your help. Crookshanks and I probably would have killed each other getting him clean," Hermione said, absently stroking Crookshanks's newly clean fur.

"I doubt that. Maybe severely wounded each other, but not killed."

Ron and Hermione leisurely walked back to the house. "What are you doing here anyway Ron?"

"Oh," he scratched the back of his head, "I was just wondering if you were going to Neville and Luna's wedding."

"Of course," Hermione said.

"I take it you're going with Edward," Ron said, very casually.

"Oh no. Didn't I tell you? Edward and I broke up." Hermione looked up at him, unable to read his expression.

"Sorry."

"I'm not," Hermione said. The last time she and Edward had gone out, Hermione had feared for her very life. She had always thought that the phrase "dying of boredom" was just an expression, but had discovered otherwise upon spending an evening with Edward and his friends. A more boring group of people didn't exist any where else in the world, Hermione was just sure of it.

"You, uh, you want to go together? You know, as friends," Ron said.

"Aren't you going with Amy?"

"Nah, she's a twit."

Hermione laughed, glad that Ron had said it so she didn't have to.

"So, how 'bout it?" Ron pressed.

"Sure, that would be nice."

"Great. I gotta go and I'll meet you here next Saturday, yeah?"

"Alright." Ron Disapparated with a pop and Hermione puzzled over his behaviour for a moment and then shrugged. She carried her comatose cat up to her bedroom and placed him on her bed.

She gently stroked his fur. "Next bath time, we'll know what to do, won't we boy?"