Sly as snake, Ugly as a Rat
Oh, Draco Malfoy. I had my suspicions about him from the moment he strutted into the Great Hall, all slicked-back hair and polished boots. There’s just something about the boy’s air of superiority that makes my fur bristle. But this time? This time, it wasn’t just his usual pompous attitude that was grinding my whiskers. No, no—Draco was sneaking around, and let me tell you, I know a sneaky person when I see one. It’s practically in my job description.
The humans were too busy with their incessant drama—Harry with his brooding, Hermione with her obsessive reading (don’t get me started on how she ignored me in favor of her stupid books), and Ron with, well, whatever it is that Ron does in his spare time (probably gorging himself on treacle tart). But me? I had eyes everywhere. And I saw Draco. Oh, I saw him.
He was constantly sneaking about, peeking around corners, his expression as shifty as a rat trying to get away from an owl. That’s right, I said rat. I know rats. I’ve chased them, watched them, disposed of them. Draco Malfoy had “rat” written all over him, and not in a cute, fluffy way. No, this was the kind of rat that runs in the shadows and gets into things it shouldn’t.
“Honestly,” I muttered to myself one evening as I watched Draco slink past a classroom, “if that kid Draco isn’t up to something, then I’m a hairless cat.”
I flicked my tail, annoyed. I had no time for subtlety. I was Crookshanks, and I could smell trouble from a mile away. And there it was. Something was off about Draco. He was too quiet, too sneaky, like a shadow trying to hide behind a curtain. The fact that he’d been lurking around the Slytherin common room, muttering to himself? Definitely suspicious. I couldn’t let that slide.
I had a plan. A perfectly brilliant, utterly foolproof plan to trip him up—literally. Now, I’m not one for being subtle (have you seen the size of my tail?), but there are times when a little “accidental” interference is all that’s needed to send a message.
So, when Draco—looking particularly devious that day, with a little glint in his eye—slinked his way toward the entrance to the Slytherin common room, I was ready. I positioned myself by the staircase, pretending to be lost in thought, like any respectable cat. He didn’t notice me at first, but I knew the moment I shifted my weight, he’d take the bait.
He took a step closer. Another step. The perfect moment was drawing near. And then—bam!—I flung my tail out with all the grace of a well-practiced predator. It struck his feet just as he was stepping forward.
Draco’s eyes widened. He flailed like a kitten trying to walk on a tightrope. For a brief, beautiful moment, time slowed down, and I watched as he twisted in midair, arms windmilling, before he crashed into the stone wall with a rather satisfying thud. The sound echoed down the hall.
I, of course, acted completely innocent. I might have raised a paw to my face as though to say, “Who, me?” but that was purely for dramatic effect.
“What the hell, Cat?!” Draco yelled, his face flushed with anger and embarrassment. His hand shot out to grab the wall for support, but he was already struggling to keep his balance.
I pretended to be nonchalant, stretching lazily, as if I hadn’t just caused him to trip in front of half the school. But I did give him a smirk. Oh yes, I was definitely amused.
“Watch where you’re going, Malfoy,” I said—well, I thought it, but it came across as a satisfied meow. Draco glared at me, and I could’ve sworn he muttered something about cats before he scrambled to his feet and stomped away, no longer looking so confident. He glanced around as if expecting someone to have seen him. Poor thing, his plan was clearly ruined.
It was the perfect distraction. And, honestly, I felt like a genius. The boy was now thoroughly rattled, and all I had to do was sit there, pretending to be oblivious. I was so good at this.
Later that night, I found myself lounging in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room. I could hear Harry and Hermione talking about Draco’s strange behavior, but I kept my mouth shut. Honestly, the idea of them figuring things out was a bit too far-fetched for me. The truth was simple: Draco was up to something, and I—Crookshanks—was the only one who could see it. My nose was far more reliable than all the human brains combined.
“Oh, I’ll figure you out, Malfoy,” I thought to myself, swishing my tail. “Just wait.”
And when I did, I’d be sure to make it as dramatic as possible.