For the Love of Crookshanks

Thanks to my beta Meucci Warlock who is slowly but surely convincing me that commas are my friends.

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Chapter 5

There are some nuggets of wisdom scattered throughout this book. However, due to the sheer size of this work, those nuggets are few and far between. Ms Bast's understanding of the relationship between a human and his familiar is sometimes irritating, sometimes quite insightful and sometimes surprisingly touching. Ms Bast quite obviously knows much about Kneazles, however, some of her ideas are quite elitist and some border on the controversial. The casual pet owner would do much better to purchase a much more concise work on Kneazles.

--Hermione Granger, freelance writer. Her work has appeared in the Daily Prophet, The Quibbler, Ars Magna and many other Magical and Muggle publications.

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The life span of Kneazles will range anywhere from twenty to fifty years. A Pure Blood Kneazle will generally live much longer than any Kneazle who has the blood of a common cat. Diseases and afflictions common to Kneazles have been covered in Chapter Sixteen, Section 2, Part A. In an effort to prolong the life of your Kneazle, make sure to take him to your Magizoologist at least twice a year. Be aware of any great changes in mood or disposition as such changes often indicate more serious problems. It has been discovered that most Kneazles will not succumb to any particular disease, but will simply die of heart failure, or rather, old age.

The loss of any pet can be exceedingly difficult. The loss of a Kneazle can be devastating. As those of us who have been fortunate enough to form a bond with a Kneazle can attest, Kneazles are much more than pets. They are able to sense your pain and will therefore comfort you. They will protect you or warn you to those people who would harm you. They are our confidantes and friends. Due to their intelligent and perceptive nature, losing a Kneazle is much more like losing a best friend than a pet. It is essential you take time to grieve for your Kneazle when that unfortunate time comes. Do not feel guilty about the pain you are feeling or let anyone tell you that you are exaggerating your loss. Employ the same techniques for grieving for your Kneazle as you would for a family member or friend. It is generally not a good idea to get a new Kneazle soon after the death of your previous Kneazle. You must take time to say good-bye and grieve for your old friend before you can be prepared to welcome a new friend into your home. (excerpt from For the Love of Kneazles by Beneficent Bast, pg 1645)

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"Mummy, mummy, mummy!" a little girl squealed as she tore around the corner. Luna swept her daughter up in her arms and kissed her cheek.

"I missed you sweetie." Turning to Hermione, Luna asked, "How was she?"

Hermione tousled her god-child's hair. "A perfect angel, as always." Emmeline beamed from the attention.

"What did you do this week sweetie?"

"Me 'n Auntie Mine caught toads in the creek 'n we made cookies," she said, counting off on her fingers.

"That sounds wonderful," Luna said, completely engrossed with her daughter's ramblings. Hermione rather doubted that a more attentive parent than Luna existed.

"Yeah, I made them almost all by myself. Auntie Mine only helped a little, when I got egg in my hair," Emmeline said, pointing to her head.

"That was terribly nice of her," Luna said, and smiled at Hermione.

Emmeline squirmed in her Mother's arms. "I have to show you what I made for you, Mummy!" The little girl ran out of the room, and within a second ran back in.

"Look, I made this for you," Emmeline said proudly, offering her gift to her mother.

"Oh honey, it's beautiful," Luna gasped and delicately tied the necklace that consisted of a single button on a piece of string around her neck.

"You look so pretty Mummy." Emmeline fingered her handiwork. "An' guess what else?" Emmeline rambled on excitedly, jumping up and down in the boundless energy that children always seem to possess and that adults simultaneously envy and despise.

"What?"

"We sent Crookshanks to kitty heaven." Emmeline threw her hands up in the air in a joyous movement.

"Kitty heaven?" Luna asked.

"Yeah, kitty heaven. Daddy told me all about toady heaven when Rupert died and Auntie Mine told me all about kitty heaven." Hermione smiled nervously and looked away.

Luna opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by her husband. "There's my little girl!"

"Daddy, daddy, daddy!" The little girl threw herself into her Daddy's arms, just as she had done with her Mummy.

While Emmeline chattered away, Luna sidled over to Hermione, grasped her hand and held it tightly. Such a simple little gesture almost broke the dam that had held Hermione's tears at bay for a week. Hermione swallowed hard to spare herself the humiliation of weeping in front of others.

"An' guess what Daddy? Me and Auntie Mine caught a new toad in the creek and Auntie Mine said I could keep him. Come and see," Emmeline said excitedly, as she pulled on her father's arm. "His name's Samuel!"

"That's a pretty good name sweetie," Neville said, happily trailing his daughter.

As soon as her daughter was out of earshot, Luna asked concernedly, "What happened, Hermione?"

Hermione shrugged as though it was no big concern of hers. "He just passed on in his sleep. He wasn't sick or anything. Don't worry, I buried him before Emmy could see him," Hermione said. Hermione had prepared herself for this encounter all day. Luna's guileless affection for those she loved was surprisingly disarming. But Hermione wanted to keep her grief to herself this time. It felt too personal to share, even with one so equipped to help her manage it as Luna. This was hers, and she was determined to keep it to herself.

"Oh Hermione, I'm so sorry," Luna said sympathetically.

"These things happen," Hermione shrugged, taking a step away from Luna.

Luna looked at her sideways. "I think we should talk about this Hermione," Luna said. Her voice was without discernible pity or emotion. It was simply a statement of truth. Luna's expression was so open and so warm that Hermione nearly forgot her pledge to keep it all in. Hermione knew, without a moment's doubt that Luna would cry and reminisce with her all night if Hermione merely intimated she wanted Luna to stay with her. Luna was just the kind of woman to give up everything to comfort a beloved friend, the kind of friend everyone deserves but few truly possess.

Hermione smiled wryly. "There's nothing to say Luna. He's just a cat," she said, involuntarily wincing. Hermione had practised saying, "he's just a cat" in her head all day, but she hadn't counted on how much it would hurt to actually pronounce the treacherous words.

Luna looked doubtful and paused before speaking, which was quite a rare occurrence for her. "Well, if you want to talk about it, you know I'm always here for you."

"Thanks. You'd better get your little one home, she's been missing her animals terribly," Hermione said, eager to find herself alone once again.

"Yes, thanks again so much for looking after her Hermione. She just loves coming here." Luna said. Before Hermione knew what was happening, Luna had planted a swift kiss on her cheek.

"I love having her," Hermione said, smiling nervously and once again backing away from her friend. Grabbing bags and finding lost toys, and giving aunties and friends good-bye hugs and kisses, it took quite some time before the young family actually left.

After Neville shut the door for the last time, Hermione visibly deflated. She sighed a sigh of immense relief. However, she found herself in an unexpected predicament.

She had nothing to do.

The clock ticked, and the wind gently blew outside. She had done the laundry and had amazingly kept her home quite clean even with a little whirling dervish staying with her. This was the first quiet moment Hermione had had in a week. Emmeline had taken up so much of her time and energy. This week, it had been quite the blessing, but now, Hermione had no other distraction. The house was suffocatingly quiet and empty.

Hermione felt bad about pushing Luna away and even worse for lying to her. She both wished Luna had stayed with her, and was grateful she hadn't. It was too much for Hermione to place on another person. If she let anyone know how much Crookshanks's death had hurt, she would be one of those pathetic middle-aged women whose only joy in life came from her pet. Crookshanks had been the one constant in her life for the last twenty-five years. He had never deserted her; he had seen her through failed relationships and dissipating friendships. He had been with her through crushing disappointments and joyous achievements. He had been there on those nights when Hermione felt most acutely alone, and had played with her on those nights when she wanted a laugh. He had been a comforting presence on those frightening nights when they had kept themselves barely one step ahead of Death Eaters.

It had been the middle of the night when Hermione went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. She had found Crookshanks lightly twitching in his box. Holding him tightly, Hermione had performed every healing spell she knew, but it had all come to nothing. He had died only several minutes later in Hermione's arms. Holding him longer than she could possibly remember, she had finally given in to the reality of the situation and wrapped his body in his favourite blanket. In the middle of the night, she had dug a much deeper hole than was needed for a grave. She'd thrust the shovel into the dirt and pounded the earth in her impotent sadness. She had reverently placed him in his grave and stood beside him there in the deep and wide dirty hole. It had taken quite some time before she could begin filling in the dirt over his body. In the end, she'd had to close her eyes for the first few shovelfuls.

Hermione hadn't cried, she hadn't screamed. She'd had Emmeline to look after and didn't want the little girl to see how much Crookshanks's death hurt. Hermione's voice hadn't wavered and her chin hadn't quivered when she explained to the little girl what had happened and showed her the little grave. Emmeline wailed in grief and had insisted on picking some flowers and placing them on Crookshanks's grave. Between great choking sobs, Emmeline told Hermione about toady heaven. Against her better judgment, Hermione assured Emmeline that Crookshanks was in kitty heaven and they would see him again one day. This information had greatly reassured the little girl. Hermione simply hadn't the energy to explain that there was no such thing as kitty heaven, and secretly wished that she possessed the innocence to believe in such a place.

Now that she the house was empty again, Hermione lit several lamps, as it seemed remarkably dark tonight. She wandered aimlessly through her home, pushing a book into place in her study, moving her teacups a quarter of an inch to the right in her kitchen and carefully rearranging the vines of her favourite plant. With meticulousness Hermione rarely applied to her housework, she walked though every room and inspected every corner. It was all for naught, as she had already cleaned and moved everything she could in the last few days when Emmeline was sleeping, only falling into bed when exhaustion had demanded it.

Hermione sat down at the edge of her rocking chair, her back straight. She gently wiped her hand across an end table to remove some imaginary dust. Completing that task, Hermione quietly folded her hands in her lap. The clock on the mantle quietly ticked the seconds away. As she ran her hands over her trousers to smooth out some creases, Hermione heard the pop of Apparition outside her door, followed by frantic knocking. Hermione reluctantly stood to open the door and consciously straightened her back. The last thing she wanted to deal with at the moment was a visitor.

Before waiting for any kind of reply, Ron burst through the door. Upon crossing the threshold, his energy of purpose seemed to deflate. He started for Hermione and then stopped, suddenly unsure of himself. They stared at each other for longer than either realised. Hermione consciously tried to look bored, or at least uninterested in anything Ron might have to say.

"Hey," he said tentatively.

"Hi," Hermione responded, taking in Ron's pyjamas and dishevelled appearance. His hair was flattened on one side, giving him a distinctly idiotic look.

"Luna erm. . . Luna Flooed me. . . about what happened," Ron said, seemingly embarrassed by his sudden appearance.

Hermione nodded while her heart rate accelerated and her face flushed. Through her exhausted haze, all she could feel was fear - fear that Ron would accomplish what Luna had attempted. Hermione stood stock still, unable and unwilling to say anything to Ron.

Rocking on his heels, in his tatty slippers, Ron simply stood and watched Hermione, as though weighing his options. Ron cautiously took a step toward her as though she were a dangerous animal to be approached with the utmost care. Instinctively, Hermione took a step back and willed her chin to stop quivering. She silently cursed herself for this weakness.

"Hermione," Ron said quietly as he continuously moved toward her.

"Ron, don't," Hermione said, holding up her hand to stop him.

She couldn't, she simply could not allow the grief to overcome her, and certainly not in front of another person. Not in front of Ron. She had never been able to fully let go with Ron. At least that was the reason Ron had given her when he had left her all those years ago, claiming that she didn't really love him, that she could never honestly and openly share her pleasure or her pain with him. Hermione had assured him of her love and affection, but it hadn't been enough for him. How could she let go? How could she give him that sacred inner piece of herself if she didn't even what it was? She could still remember the look on his face when he had said that she didn't love him. Not really. His leaving had hurt much less than Hermione had expected. She had prepared for the pain and waited for it, but it had never materialised as she thought it would. Then, as now, she was unwilling to think of the ramifications of Ron's assessment of her character.

"You need to," Ron said gently. Hermione again backed away from him until she was up against the wall. She looked to her side for another possible escape route, but before she could move, Ron had put his hand on the wall, next to her head. Although Hermione felt threatened by Ron's movement, she knew that he would not force her into any confessions if she pushed him away. And yet, Hermione also wanted to sink into him, in the way she had never allowed herself before.

Instead of looking at his face, Hermione watched his chest as it advanced on her. With excruciating slowness, Ron's arms carefully pulled Hermione away from the wall and wrapped around her. Almost instinctively, Hermione pushed against him, but Ron firmly pulled her tense body against his.

Slowly, and with such gentleness that Hermione nearly gave into the impulse to cry, Ron pulled her resistant body into his. Hermione quietly crumbled as Ron gently stroked her hair and firmly massaged the rigid muscles in her back. Hermione's throat ached from trying to keep it all in. She took deep ragged breaths to calm herself, and continuously told herself that she was in control, she didn't have to do anything she didn't want to, she could control whether or not the tears fell.

It started slowly, with one tear, and then another. As she fought against the tears, Hermione let her body melt into his. She sniffled once, and then again. One arm tentatively held onto Ron, and then the other clutched him closely, needing his warmth and his strength just as close as possible.

"Let go. It's okay, you know. Just let go," Ron whispered. His voice was tight with emotion and yet genuinely sincere. Hermione clung to him, with her head buried against his shoulder. "Let go," Ron repeated.

And she did.