Your Royal Highness
“DRACO!”
“What!?”
“DID YOU FEED CROOKSHANKS?”
He ran a hand across his stubbled jaw as he considered the behemoth cat glaring right back at him, yellow eyes narrowed in a squashed orange face. The food in the bowl between them sat untouched despite him having poured it out more than 10 minutes prior.
“I did, but he won’t eat it!”
Hermione rounded the corner into the kitchen in her smart dress suit, all tight fabric and curves. He reached out a hand for a grab that was easily swatted aside.
“That’s because you only gave him his dry kibble. You need to add some of the food in the fridge.”
As she whisked away the bowl, Draco leveled his best side eye at her familiar. The bastard sat there licking his paws without a care in the world, as if he was owed only what the best money had to offer. Which was ridiculous, really, because Draco actually knew everything that money could buy and that smug creature did not deserve it.
“Here, see? You need to use this amount and evenly mix it in.” She handed him back the cat dish before pecking him on the cheek, squeezing his bum (the hypocrite), and rushing to the Floo. “I’ll see you at dinner tonight!”
Draco turned to face off once more with his furry nemesis. “Here you go, your Royal Highness, Crookshanks of the Flat Face, Lord of the Hidden Cottage, Half-blood Kneazle King, and My Worst Enemy.”
He dropped the dish onto the counter and yanked his hand away just before the beast swiped it with claws fully extended.
“You better believe I’m grabbing me some witch arse tonight, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
Draco really should have felt ashamed at taunting Hermione’s familiar; he was only a cat, after all. There were times where he swore the animal was smarter than some humans, including those two idiot sidekicks of hers. If there was one thing he was thankful for, it was that Crookshanks seemed to hate them even more than he hated Draco. Oddly enough, the cat seemed to only like his mother, and every time she visited he perched himself on Narcissa’s lap in the perfect picture of royalty, a queen and her pet.
His musing over a fresh cup of coffee screeched to a halt at the strange wetness that suddenly formed over his foot. “Oi!”
Crookshanks was nowhere to be seen, but a bloodied mouse rested next to his big toe where it had rolled, leaving a red streak across his sock. Draco knew enough about cats to realize that this was the beast’s response to his previous statement—Crookshanks didn’t just act without reason. Either this was a declaration of distrust in Draco’s ability to provide for his witch, or a sign of acceptance in the wizard’s continued presence in their lives. Or, perhaps it was both.
He muttered a stasis charm and bagged the rodent to bring over to the Potters’ next time they visited. Their boys had a pet snake that always appreciated Crookshanks’ hunts. He then sent his cup and the familiar’s food bowl to clean in the sink while he grabbed his briefcase and made his way towards Hogwarts for the first round of classes.
Crookshanks really was lucky to have offered that mouse today, because Draco had half a mind to see what kind of potions could be made from a kneazle, particularly one as intelligent as this one. He was fairly certain Hermione would forgive him depending on the outcome.
Maybe tomorrow.