It wasn’t that he particularly wanted to catch the rat. In fact, he felt sorry for it. After years of watching excited children parading out of Eyelop’s Emporium with their tawny barn owls and sleek, cuddly kittens, Crookshanks knew that the rat was a lot like himself: the kind of pet that no one ever looked at twice.
Sometimes he even wondered if the rat were more than a rat, say, an omen, or a blessing, because if not for him, Crookshanks might have never found himself a home. The rat had come into the store, followed by the most caring, wonderful, level-headed girl in the world. Level-headed. Yes, of course, he was being silly – the rat was only a rat, after all. There were no higher powers at play here. What would Hermione say to a pronouncement such as that?
So there was nothing special about the rat, and therefore no reason for Crookshanks to hesitate to catch it. It was only natural. There was nothing more natural in the world than a predator hunting its prey, nothing, except perhaps love…
Best not to go there. He had no idea how she felt about him, so it was best to ignore how he felt about her. For now. Once he carried out his plan, maybe she would notice him, maybe she would realize his bandy legs made for stealthier prowling in the corridors, and maybe she would decide that she needed a strong, protective feline by her side as she patrolled at night…
Crookshanks shook his head, willing the jinxing thoughts to go away. Just because he wasn’t a black cat didn’t mean he wasn’t superstitious, and he wasn’t about to let his imagination run away with his chances of gaining her affection.
Gaining her affection. Right. That’s what this was all about. Madam Norris (for she was, in fact, in want of a mate, and Filch just spent too much time reading muggle literature) was a stickler for the rules, and, technically speaking, the rat was not allowed at Hogwarts. Students were allowed cats, owls, or toads only, and if there was one thing this castle didn’t need, that was more rats roaming the centuries-old passages at night.
Madam Norris’s regard for the rules was one of the things that Crookshanks admired most about her. He knew that Hermione’s friends were always berating her to loosen up a little and let some rules slide, but what did humans know about dignity, anyway? Cats were a noble race who had spent all of history keeping humans in line – an exhausting and thankless task. Crookshanks reflected fondly on the heroes he’d learned about as a kitten: the Norwegian Forest Cat that could scare off a group of full-grown trolls, the Scottish Cait Sith so powerful that wizards concluded it must be a race of Animagi, and the French Chat D’argent that could bring immeasurable wealth to a loving owner.
So it was settled: Crookshanks was going to nobly turn over the illegal rat to Madam Norris, who would, struck by the intensity of his honor and integrity, finally realize that he deserved, at the very least, a second glance.
But the plan would have to wait until later. Crookshanks had already been awake more than two hours, and that was far longer than any cat should ever be realistically expected to go without a proper nap.
**********
Three hours later, Crookshanks awoke, newly energized and ready to carry out his plan. Bouncing down the staircase, his bottlebrush tail held high, he thought about Madam Norris and the way she had looked as she pranced around the courtyard yesterday, leaping in vain at a butterfly that was perpetually flitting out of reach. When within sight of others, Madam Norris would never be caught prancing or rolling in the grass or engaging in any sort of behavior ill-befitting of a noble cat of her standing, but Crookshanks had managed to spy her when she thought she was alone. He wanted to see that side of her more often, and he wanted to become someone she felt comfortable sharing that side with. His mind was made up; nothing would get in the way of Crookshanks’s determination, nothing could possibly deter him from…er…deter him from…what exactly was his mission again? Everything had suddenly become so peaceful and warm and comfortable, and there was really no reason to be in a rush, and it had been so long since he’d last slept…and with that, Crookshanks became the victim of yet another wintry sunbeam.
**********
Crookshanks woke to a very distinct smell, a smell important enough to shake him from a very pleasant dream in which he and Madam Norris had been chasing mice around the castle together. For a moment, Crookshanks couldn’t quite place the scent, despite the alarm bells ringing in his head – THE RAT. It was nearby.
With all his senses on high alert, it didn’t take long for him to spot the rat. There it was, sneaking toward the staircase that led to the boys’ dormitories. But that wasn’t right; Crookshanks had spent a long time observing the rat, memorizing its habits and schedules so as to best know when to catch it alone. And never once had he seen it climb all seven flights of stairs by itself, when it could ride up in the red-haired boy’s pocket so much more easily. Something fishy was definitely apaw here…mmm fish…no! He had to stay focused.
Crookshanks still hadn’t moved from his sunbeam. Maintaining all pretense of laziness, he glanced toward the fireplace. Hermione was studying, her friends were fawning over some old broomstick, and they were certainly not paying attention to him. Quick as a flash, Crookshanks darted toward the staircase, and no one even blinked an eye.
The scent was even stronger in the stairwell. Crookshanks followed it all the way to the top, where the door to the red-haired boy’s dormitory was open. He slipped in silently, and while his senses zeroed in on the rat immediately, the rat wasn’t the least bit aware of his presence. It was far too preoccupied reading the newspaper that had been left open on the bed. Wait…that’s ridiculous, rats can’t read. But why was he studying it so intently? And why was he – shaking? Could it be that he smelled the cat in the room and was terrified for his life? No, Crookshanks told himself, he couldn’t think like that. He was here to catch the rat, not feel sorry for it.
It happened in an instant. Crookshanks pounced, and the rat dove off the newspaper. It dashed toward the door as Crookshanks detangled his claws from the mangled newspaper, but Crookshanks had pushed off the door as he pounced, effectively shutting it. It wasn’t for nothing that the smartest witch of her year had chosen him.
The rat streaked toward the dresser in the corner, but Crookshanks cut him off midway. He just missed the rat’s long tail as it vaulted itself off of Crookshank’s own head and back onto the bed. In an instant, Crookshanks had joined the rat (with his bandy legs he was permanently ready to pounce) and captured it with one paw. Victorious for one shining moment, Crookshanks suddenly let out a howl of pain – looking down at the sheet, he saw only blood from where the rat had sunk its dirty little teeth into his paw. The rat had fled to the open window, and, leaping toward it, Crookshanks just barely caught a glimpse of the rat scurrying down the castle wall toward the moonlit grounds below.
**********
Crookshanks was at a loss. His plan had gone terribly wrong. The rat had escaped, and with it had gone his hopes of ever impressing Madam Norris. Crookshanks was wandering the grounds, but he knew his search was in vain; the rat was probably halfway to Albania by now.
Suddenly, a soft hooting interrupted his thoughts. Looking up, Crookshanks saw Hedwig sitting in a tree, contemplating him hesitantly. Crookshanks had met Hedwig a few times over the summer when they had all stayed at the rat’s house, but they didn’t know each other very well. Aside from a common joy for hunting mice and rats, they didn’t have much in common.
Hunting rats – that was it! Maybe, just maybe, Hedwig would be able to help.
Hey, Hedwig, Crookshanks mewed, care to join me on a midnight hunt?
Yooou bet, hooted Hedwig.
The two set off at a leisurely pace through the grounds, Hedwig soaring in small circles above Crookshanks, swooping low to the ground every time she spotted a scurrying creature in the darkness. After a while, Hedwig noticed that she was alone in her pursuits, and that Crookshanks was just looking straight ahead, seemingly lost in thought. Circling low enough to speak, Hedwig asked Crookshanks, What are you really hunting for?
Crookshanks continued to prowl in silence for a few moments, thinking. Sometimes it was lonely being such a solitary cat, and maybe he would be better off confiding in this wise owl. Slowly, Crookshanks shared his predicament with Hedwig, and his reasons for wanting to catch a particular rat. It was a mark of Hedwig’s stately dignity that she did not laugh.
When my master first found me, began Hedwig, I was always looking to impress him. I had never had a human of my own before, and I so wanted him to regard me as a worthy and faithful companion. I would go hunting by nightfall and return with small gifts for him. One night I even brought him the rarest delicacy of a frog. But I soon came to realize that it was not these gifts which endeared me to my master, but rather the comfort my presence provided him. Each summer I am his only companion, and it is by simply sharing the lonely days with him that we have built a lasting bond of trust and friendship.
Crookshanks reflected on Hedwig’s words, still hearing the echoes of her hooting tones reverberating in his head. There was no doubt that he would love to be Madam Norris’s most trustworthy companion, her protector. But she was a proud cat, a brave hunter, and she hardly needed protection within the walls of Hogwarts. She was always within seconds of her master, ready to protect him should the need arise, so why would she need protecting? Crookshanks confided all this in Hedwig, and was surprised to see her shake her feathered, regal head.
Last year, there was a series of attacks at the school. Madam Norris was the first victim, and she spent the majority of the year in a state of petrification. She stays close to her master because she is afraid of another attack; she can’t shake the memories of wandering the corridors alone and seeing the eyes of death itself reflected back up at her.
Crookshanks was surprised to learn this. He had never known this part of Madam Norris’s past. Come to think of it, there was much about her that he did not know, and learning this one part of her life just left him wanting to learn it all. Raising a paw in thanks, Crookshanks flitted back into the castle and began to prowl the corridors aimlessly, mulling over all he had just learned.
If Madam Norris really did want someone to keep her company and to keep her safe, how could he make her see that he could be that cat? Why would she ever think that he, who had never even had the guts to talk to her, could protect her from danger?
Suddenly, Crookshanks stopped short in his tracks. Tail high in the air and fur sticking up all along his spine, his instincts had sensed something was wrong before his brain had. Quiet footsteps, a soft swishing noise, and muffled whispers echoed in the corridor ahead. Stealthily, Crookshanks slipped into the corridor, but saw no one. Wait, there – at the far end of the corridor, another midnight prowler had just come into view. His heart skipping a beat, Crookshanks recognized the outline of Madam Norris, and the invisible culprit was heading her way!
Crookshanks heard an indistinct muttering coming from the place where the swishing continued, and recognized the random guttural noises that he supposed were humans’ way of communicating with each other, although they sounded like nonsense to him. Staring hard into the darkness, Crookshanks was caught unawares as a foot materialized out of nowhere, sweeping through the air. There was a split second when Crookshanks knew what was going to happen; powerless to prevent it but infused with rage, he pounced down the corridor. Leaping higher than he ever had before, he buried his sharp claws in some unseen fabric just as the disembodied foot connected with Madam Norris. She flew through the air, landing on her feet but thoroughly disheveled, as Crookshanks landed on the ground, bringing the fabric with him and revealing the invisible culprits – it was Hedwig’s and the rat’s masters! The red-haired boy was howling, trying to staunch the blood raised by Crookshanks’s claws and simultaneously spot the inflictor of his wounds. But the cloak he had been wearing seconds before had fallen down onto Crookshanks, who ran about the boys’ ankles, clawing at every bit of skin he could reach. Terrified by the injuries that were apparently coming from thin air, the boys turned and ran back up the corridor at full speed, shouting incomprehensibly.
Crookshanks shook off the fabric and turned back toward Madam Norris. She was standing right where she had landed, trembling from whiskers to tail, staring blankly ahead. Not knowing what to do or say, Crookshanks slowly approached her. After a few moments that felt like a lifetime, he nuzzled his head against hers, and her trembling slowly subsided.
Thank you, mumbled Madam Norris.
You’re welcome, muttered Crookshanks awkwardly. Another long pause. Well, good night.
Wait. Turning her lamp-like eyes on him, Madam Norris took a deep breath and regained her composure. Will you stay and patrol with me?
Crookshanks grinned. Moving forward to stand at her side, he fell in step beside the cat with whom he had only just spoken for the first time but whom he felt he had known for a lifetime. They strolled away down the dark corridor, and as they passed a thin window, a lone moonbeam illuminated their entwined tails.