A Practical Cat at Hogwarts

And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known
(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)
Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time
Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!

"Hey, Hermione, your cat is spying."

"No he's not!"

"I just saw him peeking at Giles's cards."

"How could you see him looking at Giles's cards, when he's sleeping over there?" Hermione pointed, annoyed as always when somebody accused her cat.

The object of the discussion opened one eye and lifted an ear high enough to be noticable. The rest of him was deeply sunk into a huge pillow and was not going to move from there for a long time.

"Sorry. I could've sworn I just saw a ginger cat on Giles's armchair. Three spades."

"Hmm..." Sylvia always thought long about her bids. "Four clubs"

"Four spades." Giles didn't even look into his cards.

"Five clubs."

Bridge, Muggle or Magical, was a favourite of the Ravenclaws and the reason for Hermione's frequent visits to their common room. Gryffindors hardly ever played anything other than Exploding Snap, with the attractive possibility of a whole hand blasting into a player's face. Hermione preferred more intellectual games, and the Ravenclaws preferred letting her know the password to bearing the constant grumble of three bridge players looking for a fourth.

After three passes, Hermione became the dummy, so she laid down her cards and went to scratch Crookshanks behind the ear. He didn't open his eyes, but purred as a sign of appreciation. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a tall ginger cat sitting behind Giles's arm, but when she turned her head, it wasn't there. I'm tired and starting to see things that people suggest, she decided. I need to relax, play games, which require less concentration. But the Snap is boring, and Hufflepuffs don't want to play anything but Old Maid. Other houses call it "Sprout", poor her. And I don't want to find out if the gossip about Slytherins always cheating at cards is true and if they really play Strip Poker...

* * * * *

"Look what I found today on my desk, Minerva." Albus Dumbledore handed a sheet of paper to his Deputy.

"Another letter from the Ministry?" McGonagall eyed the official-looking paper with distaste.

"If so, it's not our Ministry," smiled Dumbledore. "I have no idea where it came from."

McGonagall scanned the page, which bore the red stamp "Secret" across the large heading Alternative Acoustic Homing System for the Mark-48 ADCAP Torpedo

"'Thanks to the contract awarded to Clevite for the development of the system, the Mark-48 ADCAP is provided with substantial on-board capability (HCL) to control search, homing and re-attack manoeuvres....' Sounds Mermish to me. Does it refer to a kind of Muggle weapon?"

"Obviously. But how did it end up on my desk?"

"It didn't come from our Ministry?"

"I owled them, but they said no. In the last two weeks they contacted the Muggle government only once and it was about next year's Hogwarts students. They dealt with the Department of Education and not with..." He glanced at the paper, "the Admiralty."

"What do you want to do with it? It's marked 'secret'"

"I am afraid if we tried to return it, it would arouse more suspicion than it's worth. Besides, I don't know where it went before landing at my desk. I think I'll just give it to Arthur Weasley. He should be delighted."

"I'll bet he will be. But I doubt even he will understand what 'two way communication (TELCON) provides the submarine fire control with the torpedo sonar and actual torpedo operating data' means."

"But surely it must run on 'eckeltricity'," said Dumbledore solemnly, peering over his glasses.

"Undoubtedly," agreed McGonagall. "Some more tea for your sugar, Albus?"

"Yes, thank you," replied the Headmaster, apparently oblivious to McGonagall's gentle sarcasm.

Professor Sprout, who had just entered the staff room, looked upset. Her hat sat askew on her head, due to the large, fluffy pink earmuffs she forgot to take off.

"What happened, Pomona?"

Sprout did not answer. The earmuffs designed to block Mandrakes' cry stopped Headmaster' voice easily. She sat across the other teachers and poured herself some tea.

"Pomona? POMONA! No, it's of no use," McGonagall bent and waved a hand in front of Sprout's eyes, and she jumped, frightened. McGonagall pointed to her ears and she put her 'muffs down, between biscuit-tray and teapot. Dumbledore repeated his question.

"Oh. Somebody broke the glass in Greenhouse Number Four."

"Really? Did any plants freeze?"

"Fortunately not. Only some of the Orchids caught cold and are sneezing horribly. You know these Placidus varieties, they are so delicate. I'll have to change my lesson plans. I don't want the students getting ill too."

"No idea who it could have been?"

"It could have been an accident. Most of the students are pranksters, not vandals."

* * * * *

"What do you mean, 'It is gone'?" The Undersecretary asked again, pronouncing every word very slowly and clearly.

"Well, sir, it's not there. I checked three times."

"Did somebody else check with you?"

"Yes, sir. All three of us here checked three times."

"Tell me once more about it."

"Yesterday you asked me to prepare the original of the Treaty for making transcripts. So I let Treaty Section know what we needed and went today to fetch it. But it was gone. They couldn't find it."

"Other than the people from Treaty Section, who was the last to see it?"

"As I said, it was me. Three weeks ago, sir. I passed the clearances and deposited it at the Section."

"Jones, let me get this straight. Treaties do not just disappear. For goodness sake, you've been working here for nineteen years! You know the rules! You have twenty four hours to find it." The Undersecretary realized he was shouting and tried to calm down. "Jones, I want to keep this incident within these four walls. But if you don't find it, I'll have to call Intelligence and the Yard. And worse, notify Rifkind. He'll love it, especially if the press catches a whiff. 'Treatygate in Foreign Office,' blah, blah. He'll send us to Rwanda. Or worse - to France."

"Sir, I know the procedures. I know it is my responsibility. I did everything by the book. I think we should call the Services immediately."

The Undersecretary sighed and leaned his head on his hands. "Jones, this will blow the hell out of the Treaty Section. If they succeed in covering their arses, everything will turn against you."

"I know, sir. I am fully aware of that, sir."

"Oh, don't be so bloody noble, just tell me what could've happened to the damned Treaty! There was no reason for anybody to steal it, it's not secret, and it's even online, for goodness sake! Did mice eat it? Somebody wrap his sandwiches in it? "

"I honestly do not know, sir."

"Ruddy magic or what?"

Jones shrugged. "Might be as well, sir."

* * * * *

"Fancy a snack, Hermione?"

"You just finished your lunch, Ron!"

Harry smiled listening to his friends' conversation, as he came into the common room, carrying rolls of parchment and a large bottle of ink.

"I need lots of fuel to prepare my homework in the evening."

"And you have the nerve to say it with straight face."

"Oh, come on, Hermione. I know you have nothing to do, you finished your Potions assignments, and Vector got the flu, so you didn't have Arithmancy today. We haven't seen Dobby in ages."

"Great idea. Come on, Hermione." Anything, which could put off writing History of Magic essay sounded good for Harry; besides he genuinely liked Dobby.

"No, Harry, do your..."

"I haven't seen him in ages! Let's go!"

"But Harry..."

"Just give me a second to put these parchments away!"

"Just promise me, Ron," said Hermione looking at the stairs where Harry had disappeared, "that you won't stuff yourself with éclairs. Two is more than enough."

"Four?"

On the way Harry enjoyed himself listening to Hermione admonishing Ron and Ron promising her everything she wanted him to do or rather not to do; he was glad it wasn't him, as he was sure Ron would not keep his éclair promises and Hermione would not hesitate inflicting promised punishments.

"Harry Potter, sir! Dobby is happy to see you, sir! And Harry Potter's Wheezy! And Miss Granger!" Dobby hugged them all. "Dobby is happy you comes to visit! Would you like some cake?"

"That'd be great, Dobby," said Ron, withdrawing his left ankle from the range of Hermione's right foot.

After a moment the elf appeared again, balancing a huge, fully loaded tray. Before he darted away to bring more, Harry grabbed him by a hand and made him sit with them.

"Can I have some milk for my tea?" asked Ron.

"Ron, for good..." started Hermione, but broke, when she saw Dobby's huge eyes filling with tears. "Dobby, what happened?"

"Dobby is sorry, Mr. Weasley, sir, there is no milk."

"Oh. No problem."

"Dobby, what is it?" asked Hermione, concerned. "It can't be just milk? Something happened?"

"Dobby is bad elf!" screamed Dobby and banged his head on the table. Spoons rattled and Ron caught his cup just in time. "Bad elf! Bad!"

Harry managed to pull the elf from the table and restrain him from hitting his face with his fists.

"Dobby, tell us what happened. Surely it wasn't your fault."

There was a short pause while they managed to solve the problem of letting him blow his long nose without allowing him to break it as a punishment.

"Somebody looted the larder, Miss Granger, and all the milk is gone! And what will Dobby say when Professor Dumbledore wants milk for his tea? And what about tomorrow's breakfast? Professor Dumbledore was good to Dobby and Dobby was a bad elf!"

"But Dobby, there are a hundred elves here! Why should you be blamed?"

"All the elves have punished themselves, Miss."

"This is horrible! Is there any proof it was one of you? Why did you punish yourselves?"

"The elves is responsible for the kitchen and the larder, Miss. We should not allow anybody to raid the larder."

"Let's have a look," decided Hermione, "maybe we'll find some traces."

When Hermione set to work with her Revelations Charms, Harry tried to talk to other elves, but they both accomplished as much, namely nothing. The lock had not been picked, and there was no trace of any Alohomora spell done recently. In fact, it was a very peaceful, well-stocked and well organized larder, except for the fact that the vat of milk was gone.

"I wonder who it could be?" mused Hermione as they were going for supper. "No student would need forty gallons of milk."

"Peeves?"

"He'd rather throw something in, for you to find it in the porridge. Bleh." Ron shuddered.

"I don't suppose you need any porridge or anything else for tomorrow's breakfast. You stuffed yourself like a pig, should last you two days. And I did ask you..."

"Hermione, please..."

"Oh! Excuse me, Professor!" Harry turned round the corner and bumped into Professor Sprout.

"Sorry, Potter, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going." The Herbology teacher wore a distinctly Dobby-like expression.

"Something happened, Professor?" asked Hermione.

"No, nothing. Well, yes. Where have you been this afternoon?"

"In the..."

"...Classroom Number Twelve." Ron broke in. "We were practising Shielding Charms. Why?"

"Somebody broke the glass in the one of the greenhouses again and I thought... Did you three happen to notice anyone around the place?"

"Again? No, we didn't see anybody. Did any plants freeze?"

"Fortunately not, but the honking daffodils have such stuffed trumpets, poor things. Sneezing whenever they want to honk. Or worse - no sound at all!" She scurried away, distraught.

* * * * *

"Three clubs."

"Three diamonds."

"Four clubs."

Crookshanks arched his back, stretched and climbed down the pillows to for go a stroll around Ravenclaw Tower. The Ravenclaws were the most inventive all the students, always ready to create something new, although not always so capable of reverting it to the original form. Some of their creations took a life on their own - it was the crossbreeds, which were the most troublesome and hard to hunt down. Except for rainbow-coloured mice (always fun to chase) some of the effects of students' experiments were rather unpleasant, but there was nothing that could intimidate a large cat. All this made the Tower one of the more interesting places in the castle.

Crookshanks started in the third year girls' dormitory, but his favourite Siamese, Mathilda, wasn't there. He amused himself for a quarter of an hour pulling all the dust balls and crumbled parchments from beneath her girl's bed; then left them in the middle of the room. He decided to have a nap on the top of a large armoire in the sixth year dormitory.

There was another cat there, lazily licking his forepaw.

"Oh. Hello."

Crookshanks sat and curled his tail around his paws in greeting. The other cat stopped, stood up and stretched his neck a little to catch Crookshanks' scent. He was ginger, very tall and thin; his fur wasdusty from neglect and his whiskers were uncombed.

"Hello." The cat sat back; his purr was low.

"You're new here? When did you come?"

The cat looked amused.

"No, it's you who is new here. I used to come here... let's just say a long time ago."

"What's your name?"

The cat stretched his hind paw to the front and licked it, smoothing the fur. "You can call me Hidden Paw."

"I'm Crookshanks."

"So I noticed."

Crookshanks' tail moved sharply, displaying annoyance.

"Easy, my friend, no disrespect meant. You are here with your human?"

"Yes, and what about you?"

Hidden Paw turned his highly domed head. "No, I am a freelancer."

"You live in this tower? They have fine mice here."

"Those colourful fellows? Indeed. Yes, I quite like the place. Of all places in this castle," Hidden Paw stretched his neck and looked down at the student who tried to dry-clean his socks, but so far succeeded only in turning them into pair of handkerchiefs. "The humans here are the most amusing. They spend lots of time complicating their lives."

Crookshanks nodded and settled down, curling his paws under his chest and wrapping his tail around them. Below them handkerchiefs changed colour, smoked, turned back into socks, then geckoes; everything changed about them, except for the odour.

* * * * *

"It couldn't be Snape! Buffy was stifled, not poisoned!"

"Somebody stifled Buffy? That malicious, annoying, obnoxious, monstrous creature? Are you serious? What a glorious day!"

Draco Malfoy never paid attention to third years, especially not Hufflepuff third years. But this overheard news stopped him in his tracks. The smallest girl in the group burst into tears.

"How could you!" Older girls, who were comforting her, turned on him. "Why are you so nasty! She's really upset!"

Draco shrugged. "But the rest of the school will rejoice. Finally we have only to cope with Peeves, McGonagall and that idiot Hagrid. I hope somebody strangles him, too. One monster less, all the better."

"Malfoy, leave the girl in peace." The Hufflepuff prefect sounded tired.

Buffy, a small Pekinese, had been the pet of Jane Cobbler, first year Hufflepuff. She loved the dog dearly, contrary to the rest of the world, who hated this nasty, mean creature, which stopped its squeaky barking only to whine. It was quiet only while sleeping or eating, or perhaps stealthily creeping from behind to painfully bite somebody's leg and then run away whimpering loudly. At least half of the school had openly threatened to kill it. Snape had promised to poison it if it should happen to wander within a hundred yards of his dungeons. Those who hadn't expressed such murderous intent outright were nevertheless rather pleased with the news of the animal's demise.

"Come on." Draco waved his hand dismissively. "You're as happy about it as I am."

"No! I am not!" The prefect stated, with far more emphasis than sincerity.

"And people accuse Slytherins of hypocrisy." Draco drew his cloak about him with unnecessary grandeur and swept away. The prefect sighed. The truth always hurts; at least if it had been Malfoy who had been stifled, one would not have had to endure this conversation with Buffy.

"Oh, dear, is she still crying?" The Head of the Hufflepuff House appeared wrapping a large shawl around her arms.

"Yes." The prefect was happy to see her. "Professor, could you speak to her? I know she respects you a lot."

"Sorry, but I am in hurry. Somebody broke the glass in the one of the greenhouses. Comfort her for me."

The prefect sighed again. Even warm-hearted Sprout couldn't bring herself to mourn that pesky, insufferable... to mourn that dog.

* * * * *

Crookshanks found Hidden Paw atop a library shelf. He was resting on a black velvet pouch that emitted a faint chemical aroma. He was doing complicated long-division sums in a kind of form, stamped twice across Hogwarts's crest in the header, marking the results with a small pencil stub clamped in his paw. He murmured something noncommittal in greeting.

"Are you busy?"

The ginger cat marked the last two sums at the bottom of the column and stretched. "I have finished. What do you want to do?"

"Want to go gnome hunting in the greenhouses? Or sneak into the kitchen?"

"Too far. Do you play chess? I wouldn't mind a match."

Somebody rushed between the shelves. Hidden Paw got up in one fluid, snake-like movement. Both cats peered down from the shelf.

"Can you get me Formidable Fertilizers? I really need to strengthen those poor flowers. Can you imagine? This is sixth time in two weeks. And always the same window! I put an Unbreakable Charm on it, but it didn't help." Sprout was gesticulating wildly with her dragonhide gloves and spilling bits of Hippogriff dung on Madame Pince's desk.

"In a second, Pomona. Please, I just polished this desk today!"

"Sorry, Irma, it really irks me a lot. All those poor coughing creatures..."

Hidden Paw swayed his tail. "How very tedious. So what about a game?"

"Why not? My tower?"

"No, Ravenclaw's. There are a few sets handy there."

"All right." Crookshanks got up and walked along the shelf towards the door. Before jumping down, he glanced around to see if the other cat was following. He was not. He had gone back to his cushion and was now calmly levitating, pillow and all, towards the window.

"What are you looking at?" Crookshanks heard a student asking her friend, who was following the movements of the pillow with her large, dreamy eyes.

"There is a cat levitating above Potions bookshelf," answered the girl and her table companions snickered.

"See yourself," said the girl calmly.

The window opened and the cushion turned, displaying the monogram "SS" stitched in silver letters on the side. Then it shot ahead and disappeared from view.

"Can't see anything," said other two girls, turning. "No flying cats. Not even a plain Puss in Boots. Unless you count this fat ball of orange fluff."

"Impertinence," murmured Crookshanks under his whiskers and presented his back to the girls raising his bushy tail as high as he could. "Ah, well. Let's trot to the western tower on our own four paws."

* * * * *

"You don't want to file an official complaint?" The police inspector looked up from his notebook.

"No, no, you misunderstood me." The shop manager flapped his hands. "We would just appreciate it if the matter was kept as quiet as possible. Asprey & Garrard is a very respectable firm, you know. Our security is top-level, you admitted it yourself. There is no proof that any of our employees was involved. We do not want papers blabbing and speculating about the trustworthiness of our people or the insufficiency of our alarms."

"Scotland Yard is not a news agency," said the inspector stiffly.

"Please, inspector," said the manager slumped to his chair, "I have a headache already. We all know about the 'leaks'. It's bad enough that the case was rifled, jewels are gone, all the alarms were switched on but not tampered with; and there is no trace of anything."

The inspector hooked his foot on chair leg, brought it closer and sat down, too.

"Hard case," he sighed, "I'll be honest with you, sir. We'll run the security tapes through the checks and the boys are collecting all the fingerprints, but if there is nothing conclusive there, we'll run into a dead end. There are really no traces of anybody going through the door and that's what bothers me. A lot."

"Beg your pardon, inspector?"

"I mean, no problem with a picked lock, even if the robber didn't leave any other marks. But the locks were not picked. And if somebody was able to get inside so ghost-like, why not clean up afterwards? Why did he leave everything in the open? If he had put the case back into the safe, it could've passed another day or two before you'd have looked inside. So why didn't he try to buy himself some more time? You've given me quite a job, sir."

"Even longer," said the manager gloomily, "This is the summer collection. It won't go on display until next month. It could have been weeks before we noticed the jewels were missing. It's as if Mr. Lupin wanted to laugh at us."

"Well, we'll see what we can do about it," said the inspector, pocketing his notebook. "Good day, sir. I hope I'll have good news for you next time."

* * * * *

"Humans are funny," Crookshanks lay on his side and looked around lazily. "You have just beaten me six times in a row. I should get mad at you, or at least sulk for a long time."

"If we were playing for something important... food, let's say, than it might have made sense." Hidden Paw patted his king, who gestured at his troops. The ebony figures formed two columns and marched to the box; the ivory ones followed.

"I wouldn't play chess then." Crookshanks stretched. He was on of the largest cats in the castle and he knew it.

Hidden Paw's sunken eyes never left the other cat. His ears slowly lowered to horizontal, but he didn't move, except for the tiny circles the very tip of his tail was making.

"Or maybe I would," conceded Crookshanks. "Or maybe I'd even look for other chess partners," he conceded further.

Hidden Paw half turned and with two quick movements of his tongue smoothed the ruffled fur along his spine.

"Yesterday two girls almost came to blows, because one was given a rose." He raised his whiskers in amusement. "Valerian, I would understand. Or catnip. Or at least something to chew out of boredom. But a rose? Stinks. Thorns."

"It's a sign of a tomcat's, I mean boy's, affection."

"I know." Hidden Paw lazily scratched himself behind the ear. "That's what's funniest about it. So impractical. Have a look at this rubbish," he pointed with his ear, "cold. Inedible. Uncomfortable to sleep on. But still they would kill each other for these shiny things."

Crookshanks poked a paw at the pile. "Where did you get this stuff from?"

"Around. Want something to play with? There is a nice roll of parchment somewhere behind. You'd fare better with it, you can tear it or eat a ribbon. I like parchment. Paper sticks to my teeth."

"Thanks, I have enough of parchment every day."

"Ah, indeed, your girl has a lot of it. Make for good sleeping, at least?

"Yes, fine, much better than her books. The brass on the covers hurts my back."

"Exactly. Paperbacks are fine, though."

* * * * *

"I'm really grateful, Albus, that you decided to hire Dobby." Sprout helped herself a large serving of spaghetti.

Dumbledore smiled, putting copious amount of parmesan on his plate. "He deserved a better place than Malfoy Manor. Minerva?"

McGonagall took the grated cheese and put it as far away as she could reach. "Really, Albus, I don't know how you can use so much of this stuff."

"Must be the aroma," muttered Snape under his breath, "reminiscent of the socks of which our Headmaster is so fond."

"Severus!" McGonagall turned in her chair with a jerk. Snape ignored her and continued winding spaghetti on his fork. Dumbledore pretended not to hear.

"Was Dobby able help you, Pomona?"

"No, he sent her the single Valentine she got. Made her feel a woman again."

McGonagall regarded Snape icily. "Are you jealous, because you didn't get even a single one?"

Deftly continuing to wind his spaghetti with his right hand, he reached into the folds of his robe with his left.

"Here. You can have them." He dumped a packet fully one inch thick on the table.

McGonagall fumed and turned back to Sprout. "So, Pomona? Did he help you?"

"Oh, indeed he did!" Sprout waved her fork. "I really didn't know what do to about this window somebody keeps breaking, and the poor, sneezing creatures inside! I was looking for something to keep them warm and Dobby found me exactly what I needed!"

"What was it?" McGonagall spread a napkin on her sleeve to protect it from the tomato sauce dripping from Sprout's fork.

"A whole collection of tiny hats and shawls! Perfect! I don't know where he got so many of them! The Mandrakes didn't like them at first, you know they are almost grown, this a hard time for them, all these pimples, you know, they are vain, and the shawls were pink, but when I wrapped them and they were warm, it was fine." Sprout stuffed a forkful of spaghetti into her mouth.

"It's really very odd," squeaked Flitwick. "I put guarding charms around, but when the glass broke again, they indicated that nobody was there!"

"Must be magic," suggested Dumbledore cheerfully. "Thank you kindly!" The last phrase was addressed to the owl that had just delivered a Valentine card. It took the offered half a meatball and flew away.

"My twenty third today!" From the card emerged a cloud of pink mist, its rose scent clashing horribly with the parmesan. Dumbledore waved his wand and the scent of rose turned into that of basil. Sprout nodded appreciatively, focused on her food. Snape snorted.

* * * * *

Crookshanks balanced on his paws, his rather large posterior moving from side to side. Then he leaped; two jumps and he was on his prey, forepaws clutching, hind paws carried away by the weight of his still-moving rump. He landed on his back, but did not release his prey. He rolled twice, still keeping it in his claws then brought it to his chest, at the same time clawing, biting and kicking with the hind paws. Its long tail smacked his nose and he bit into it madly, tearing and gnawing.

"Your cat's gone crazy again," said Ron, entering the common room through the portrait hole.

"He's just playing!"

Ron grinned. Hermione bent over her pet, who stopped his fight for a second and looked at her, head bent.

"What do you have there, Crookshanks?" She managed to disentangle a silver pendant from his paws and extricate its long chain from his teeth. It was not an easy task, since the cat was delighted she had joined in the play and pulled as hard she did.

"Where did you get it from?" It was a simple pendant on a long chain, very beautiful and elegant. Crookshanks didn't answer, instead trying to catch the jewel dangling from Hermione's hand.

"Looks expensive. Maybe better check if it's cursed?" Harry remembered the necklace he saw at Borgin & Burkes.

"It must be really expensive. It's white gold, not silver." She took her wand and muttered several detecting charms. "Looks fine. No trace of magic whatsoever. A Muggle thing?

"Somebody lost it? Or is your cat going around the castle robbing people?"

"Ron!" shot Hermione, before she realised he was baiting her again. "I'll ask the Headmaster to announce during dinner we found it."

But nobody claimed it.

"So you get a Valentine's gift from Crookshanks!" Harry was amused. "Beats all the others, I'm afraid."

"May I see it?" asked Lavender. "Oh, it's beautiful. I almost wish I had a cat." She glanced at Crookshanks, who was sitting at the bench trying to look sweet and innocent.

"No, he's mine!" Hermione cuddled him possessively. He bore it with dignity. He'd had lots of practice.

"Maybe it was somebody else who left it with Crookshanks." Parvati looked at Harry, who was busy with his food and not paying attention. "A boy too shy to give it you..."

"Really, Parvati, you read too many romances."

"It's possible!" Lavender spoke up.

"Honestly, you two..."

Heated discussion allowed Crookshanks to steal a large piece of sausage and slip unnoticed under a table to eat it. Bored with the prattle, he strolled to Ravenclaw Tower to visit Hidden Paw. He checked the armoire first, then a few other favourite spots. The ginger cat was nowhere to be seen. Crookshanks followed his scent to the large gargoyle on the second floor. It was opened and voices could be heard all the way down the stairs.

"Albus, how I am supposed to do my job as a Deputy, when you are losing important documents!"

"Minerva, I swear I had it here."

"Fawkes hasn't eaten it. You must have stuffed it somewhere. What I will say to the Board..."

"Hm, now as you mentioned Fawkes I seem to recall I'd seen a ginger cat...."

"Yes, cats are widely known for their passionate interest in financial reports."

"They are devious creatures, Minerva."

"Thank you, Albus, I appreciate the compliment, but now, let's just sit down and write the reports again. I'll get the drafts..."

"Hi, Crookshanks."

"Hi, Mung." Large tabby, nicknamed Mung, had come to the castle a couple weeks ago, but, he said, only waited for the weather to improve to go on. "I'm looking for Hidden Paw. Have you seen him?"

Mung looked at him with faint amusement, perking his ear towards the sounds of dispute. "You're looking for Macavity? Macavity's not there."