For the Love of Crookshanks

This is the last chapter of this little fic. I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, thanks to my beta Meucci Warlock, who has been most helpful throughout both revisions.

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Chapter 6

Do. Not. Bother.

--Kingsley Shaklebolt, his Kneazle, Kolya has won the Best in Show at the European Kneazle Show three times between 1999 and 2012

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Kneazles are fiercely independent animals. They will sometimes take a liking to particular witch, wizard or family and sometimes not. In many cases, it is really the Kneazle who chooses the wizard and not the other way around. There have been reports of Kneazles simply leaving families they dislike or distrust. They will sometimes seek out a new place to live or, as they are quite capable of taking care of themselves, some prefer the freedom of being on their own. Any respectable magical pet shop in the world will not sell a Kneazle to any witch or wizard if the Kneazle takes an immediate dislike them. It is best not to try and force your favour upon a Kneazle as they will be naturally suspicious of such actions. This book is intended for those who have already formed a bond with their Kneazle or have formed bonds with Kneazles in the past. They are remarkable creatures and will add much to your life and your home that it is most definitely worth the effort. Lists of activities that will help your Kneazle to get to know you have been outlined in Chapter One, further bonding activities have been described in Chapter Thirty-Two. (excerpt from For the Love of Kneazles by Beneficent Bast, pg 2384)

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The leaves looked nasty, as far as Hermione was concerned. She delicately reached out and fingered them, as though hoping that a burning sensation or a noxious fume would indicate that the plant was indeed a weed and not a flower she would later regret pulling. Hermione had difficulty in separating the weeds from the flowers. Discerning flowers was ridiculously easy - they had petals and such. They were pretty. Hermione liked them. She picked them and put them in nice little bouquets and such. Weeds were more difficult - they might just be flowers that hadn't blossomed yet and Hermione was typically a bit hesitant to make a value judgement on the worth of a plant. She decided to just let the plant be for the time being.

After a year of trying to raise magical plants, Hermione had wisely decided that perhaps regular old Muggle plants were the way to go. Muggle flowers were a bit more boring than magical flowers, but Hermione saw this as a very fair trade-off. Muggle flowers, unlike their magical counterparts had never made an attempt on her life. How could gardening be the relaxing experience she wished it to be when the Nefarious Neptulina flower had made attempts on her life? Although she felt much safer in her garden these days as she could safely turn her back on her tulips, Hermione knew quite a bit less about Muggle flowers than she did about magical plants.

Hermione couldn't deny that she enjoyed gardening to a degree. Neville and Luna had suggested to Hermione that she expand and diversify her garden and had been kind enough to assist her in this project in exchange for watching Emmeline and her little brother Winston on occasion. Hermione felt she had gotten the better end of the deal. Luna and Neville had slaved in the dirt for an entire weekend. Hermione got to play with two of the best little people in the world.

Hermione never really felt like she got much done in the garden, but it was satisfying in a gritty sort of way. It gave her something to do on those nice sunny days. Being raised in the middle of a city, Hermione had never had a garden growing up and found that picking berries or beans right off the bush and eating them had to be one of life's greatest and yet most basic pleasures. On those tired summer nights, Hermione would often go into her garden and eat her dinner right off the plants. Hermione liked to tell people that she was getting back to the earth, but in actuality, it just saved her the trouble of cooking. Ron would inevitably grumble that he couldn't live off fresh blueberries or green peas. Hermione would remind him where the kitchen was located, in which case, he would generally grumble some more, grab a sandwich and crisps, meander back outside to continue pestering Hermione in the garden.

Hearing the back door slam, Hermione looked up to see Harry ambling toward her. He was slumped over and walked as though in pain, his hair even messier than usual. His bleary eyes were completely focused on the cup of coffee he reverently held in his hands.

Hermione wiped her dirty hands on her trousers and tried not to smile so brightly. "How are you feeling?"

Harry shrugged. "Been better," he said, smiling ruefully. Harry sipped his coffee and seemed much relieved by what it offered him. "Where's your lesser half?" Harry asked, yawning.

"Passed out in the study," Hermione said.

"If I had the energy, I'd go wake that bastard up, and if I didn't have a headache, I would do it very very loudly." Harry took another sip of his coffee. "With pots and pans and maybe some fireworks," Harry said, his voice raspy. He settled himself onto the stone bench facing the garden. "And don't tell me I know better," he grumbled, staring into his coffee.

Hermione smiled and sat next to him. "But Harry dear, you do know better."

Harry grunted. Hermione chuckled. "You find my misery amusing, I see," Harry said. Hermione sucked in her breath. She knew he had said it in jest, but Hermione couldn't joke about such a thing

Hermione wrapped her arm around Harry's hunched shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. "Never," she whispered and pulled him close to her in a tight, but awkward hug. "I'm glad you're here, Harry," Hermione said, thankful that Harry had finally accepted their invitation to stay with them. If anyone deserved a happy life, it was Harry, but life didn't seem to agree, obliterating his chosen career and finally putting an end to his dysfunctional marriage within one very painful year.

As Hermione pulled away from Harry, she noticed a bit of grass stuck in his hair. Gingerly, she pulled it out. "What's this then?" she asked, grinning.

Harry sighed. "Your idiot husband thought he and I should race our brooms, to see who was the best once and for all," Harry said, running his hand through his hair, shaking out a few more blades of grass. "Had a bit of a problem with the landing."

"So who won?" Hermione asked, rather wishing she could have seen such a sight - it would have been amusing at the very least to see Harry and Ron drunkenly swerve on their brooms. However, Hermione had had an early night, sensing that perhaps Harry needed Ron's support more than hers last night.

"I've no idea," Harry grumbled, gulping his coffee. "You know," Harry said thoughtfully, "I would feel much better if you told me that Ron will be just as miserable as I am today."

"Oh, fear not," Hermione smiled. "I'm sure he'll be positively wretched," Hermione said, knowing full well that by the time Harry and Ron had gotten over their hangovers, they would argue Quidditch tactics all day or try to build the trellis that Ron had promised to her some time ago and make a right mess of it. Whatever the case, they would happily spend the day in each other's company, each man blaming the other for his hangover and one would inevitably challenge the other to a rematch of the broom race from last night and then both would wonder when exactly they had gotten so old. Ron was remarkably talented on keeping a person's mind off his troubles for awhile. Hermione dearly hoped Harry would have a good day. Later, they would make sure he had several good days, string them into weeks, then months and then years. She and Ron could do no less for him. But for now, it was just one hour, one day at a time.

"Hey look," Harry said, sounding more like a human being and less like a frog. He pointed to cat slinking around the edge of the garden. The cat was on the largish side, dark grey with black spots and bushy fur reminiscent of Crookshanks.

"Oh that's Esma," Hermione said.

"Esma? I didn't know you got a new cat," Harry said, watching Esma's progress around the garden. The animal moved with purpose and seemed to know she could dazzle her small audience with her grace and poise.

"Well we didn't really. She just showed up one day and has been hanging around for a few weeks." Esma sauntered over the pair on the bench as though they were no real concern of hers, and sniffed Harry's bare feet. The cat then raised her eyes and regarded Harry for a few moments. Harry looked at Hermione and raised a questioning eyebrow.

Hermione shrugged, "She's suspicious." Harry chuckled and shook his head. "Well she is," Hermione said.

Harry passed whatever test Esma had administered and hopped between the two friends and after much rearranging, settled between them. Hermione could feel Esma purring against her thigh. Harry reached down and tangled his fingers in Esma's hair.

"She must really like you," Hermione said, "It took her three days of sniffing and staring at me before she would let me touch her."

"It's my boyish innocence," Harry said.

Hermione guffawed.

"You know this cat looks kinda like that old cat Luna used to have, you know, that ugly grey one."

"Are you saying my cat is ugly?" Hermione bristled.

Harry looked up at Hermione and gave her his most dazzling smile, "Why, yes, I am." Hermione's heart lightened considerably, she had not seen that particular smile in nearly a year.

"Hmph, well I think she's beautiful," Hermione said, rubbing Esma's head.

"Nice cat though," Harry said.

"Yeah, she is," Hermione said, leaning against Harry with her hands tangled in Esma's soft fur.