1 p.m.
The Shrieking Shack



At the very edge of the property – where the skeletal remains of its gate still stood – Gracie’s favorite pair of boots mulishly soaked up rain.

Hands comfortably tucked into the pockets of her jacket, the girl eyed the  house sitting atop the cliff, expression pensive as she stared. For weeks Greebo had been missing, her stupid, ridiculous, beloved cat—and, to her shame, it had taken her that long to notice. Eamon, had he known, would have been disappointed; not because of the neglect, but because he had trained her better than that. She should have been more observant. But in her defense, it wasn’t unusual.

Because Greebo—her stupid, ridiculous, beloved cat, who had been the one she’d bought that day because he’d been the cheapest—was a bit of devil, in some respects. Massive, muscular and tough as nails, her cat fought less like a cat and more like a demon, a whirling dervish of wretchedly sharp claws and needle-sharp teeth; back home, he would often slip outside and disappear, only to return hours later with a new scar – or carcass – to grace the house. If one didn’t have a light on while visiting the loo, then there was always a danger of stepping on something very, very dead.

At Hogwarts, it had been no different. Though she hadn’t voiced it aloud (who would?), she had a pretty good idea where the Slytherin Dungeons’ rodent population had gone.

But this time… This time was different. He always disappeared, but never for weeks on end; usually he’d give her with a sign, at least a glimpse or gift to remind her he was still around to leave a space for on the bed. This time, there had been no such thing, and so for the first time in a long time she had worried. Wondered if, maybe, something had finally gotten lucky.

It was such a stupid thought, really, because the grumpy tomcat was– well– him, thirty pounds of pure, feline malice, arguably the nastiest kind around –but it’d been enough to have her check his usual hangouts, uneasy and tense with dread, and then with the house elves in case they’d seen him. House elves were, after all, the eyes of every dwelling. Very little happened without their knowledge-

They hadn’t seen him.

It’d taken a bit more than a few words and a comforting arm around the shoulders to angrily wipe away at her face—rise to her feet, pull her hair back into a no-nonsense ponytail and get searching—but it had worked, and so she did. Had. Had a long, hard think about it all, and - finally - accepted that she’d have to look beyond the castle walls.

That was a lot of ground to cover, but it wouldn’t be anything she hadn’t done before, wouldn’t. (Worse come to worse, there was always the Fetching Charm...)

Luckily, though, it hadn’t come to that. Instead, after nearly two weeks of constant searching, Gracie found herself staring down a rather sorry-looking house, that had probably never seen better days since it was built. “The things I do for you…” she muttered under her breath, squaring her shoulders as she set off for the front door.

It wasn’t that she was afraid of it or anything; after certain myths had been dispelled, the Shrieking Shack had become something of a favorite for some Slytherins, herself included. It was just—it was different when you went alone. In some ways, there wasn’t anything scarier than what was thought up in your own head.

With only a sharp intake of breath and pursed lips – irritably pushing her hair out of her face – Gracie made her way inside.

Inside, the Shack was easy to see, to think it hadn’t changed at all: the room was still in shambles – curtains torn and something broken here and there, the floorboards creaking beneath her with age and rot – and the furniture was still old, outdated, weakly boasting fabric that had faded, sun-bleached despite the boarded windows. Even the walls were looking haggard, though that wasn’t saying much.

But to the sharp eye, that knew what to look out for, there were some key differences. Whereas pieces such as the shelves, the chandelier, and the large painting above the fireplace still remained untouched, others – like the chairs in the living room and the bed upstairs – weren’t, the layer of dust on them thinner than around the rest of the house. Under the bed, up the chimney, and inside the floorboards, she knew were bottles of butterbeer and firewhiskey, stocked for future use; hidden within one of the chairs was a pack of cigarettes…

Averting her eyes, Gracie let them track along the floor beside her – into the shadows full of cobwebs and dust – and slowly went down to her knees, shifting as she did until it was a snow leopard that stood in her place, heavy tail swishing behind her.

Rounded ears pricking forward, it didn’t take long to pinpoint the hub of soft, shuffling sounds, so faint they would have been inaudible to a human ear. And even if she’d been deaf, there was still that whole world of scents to delve into—that sharp, almost ammoniac smell to focus on, the kind unique to felines. It was practically a knife to the nose, among the stale, musky odor of old house, rain and mildew.

Too strong to be attributed to just one cat, even one as aggressive as hers.

Muscles smoothly coiling under thick, dense fur, Gracie climbed the stairs, footsteps soft, nearly inaudible despite her speed. When she reached the bedroom, she was human again, an outstretched hand gently pressing against the door.

Her heart beat a little faster than usual when she pushed it open, not sure of what she’d find, except-

Nestled at the foot of the bed – where the blankets half-spilled to the floor, pooling into a mess of faded linen – was a cluster of small, furry, wriggling bodies, huddled close to the larger (but thinner, slender) body of their mother, who graced the Slytherin a full two seconds of polite disinterest before looking away, in favor of giving one small head a solicitous lick. Above them sat Greebo, perched at the very edge of the bed, where he radiated feline smugness, the little-

“Dad,” Gracie breathed, eyes wide, a little too enraptured by the sight to dwell on the unfamiliarity of the word. A delighted, if disbelieving grin crept onto her face. “Greebo, you devil, you’re a dad-”

The moment ended far too soon. The smile disappeared almost as quickly as it’d appeared, giving way to a palm to the face. “Oh my god,” she groaned, scrubbing her face. “you’re a dad! Kittens, Greebo! Fuck!” One pet per student, rules said. While some might dismiss the odd toad to an owl, even two cats were too much. There was breaking rules because they were stupid (or it was fun), and then there was breaking rules because you were stupid.

It was just, she was just too young to be a cat lady.

Sighing gustily, Gracie let her hand fall to her side and eyed them. There was quite a lot of them, but it was hard to count exactly how many there were, the way they wiggled over and around each other. “Just how many are you, anyway?” she mused, frowning slightly as she watched one clamber over a sibling, mouth caught open in a yawn. It was cute, she noted. Small, maybe five, six weeks old, cream-colored like its mum and fluffy like its dad-

Four-eyed, as it turned out– once its mouth closed and stared owlishly at her (with all four eyes!) –like neither parent. And when it tumbled off its sibling and out of the light, the other kitten stirred, its... three eyes blinking sleepily.

Movement caught her eye. Bewildered, she watched another leap through the blanket, the tip of its sand-colored tail disappearing through the undisturbed sheet–

–And another, this one a little carbon copy of Greebo, with its two tails–

–And a fifth one, watching dust motes with its four eyes–

What even.

Numbly – incredulously – Gracie went over to them, footsteps slow, unsure, as she drew closer, and slowly knelt in front of them. Greebo jumped off the bed and sauntered around her, nuzzling her briefly before slipping under the other side of the bed. “You are in so much trouble,” she informed his tail, just as it disappeared underneath the bed. “All this time you were literally shacking up with a lady friend, I can’t even with you.”

Gracie picked up one kitten, and carefully held it up. “Your da doesn’t even have the decency to produce normal babies,” she told it, gaze severe. “Look at you, with your ridiculous huge ears and completely, utterly ridiculous face. You should be ashamed.”

Gently cupped within her hands (and looking completely, utterly, ridiculously cute), it meeped.

She sighed (it was either that or melt into a puddle of goo) and looked at the queen square in the eye. “Jezebel,” she said accusingly, with no real heat.

But, really. What was she supposed to do with them? -Aside from the obvious, because she knew that. It was just, they obviously weren’t normal, the evidence as apparent as… the eyes on her face, argh.

The Magical Menagerie wouldn’t take them, that was for sure. For all the colors they came in and all the above-average intelligence they possessed, the cats sold there were as ordinary as the sun; anything deviating from the norm was looked down upon, even outright prohibited. There was no way they’d accept her cats.

…Merlin's sodding left testicle, she was already thinking them as hers. Shit.

“You’re all going to be the death of me,” Gracie murmured, as she gently ran a finger along the spine of one soft, dust-colored body. It stirred under her touch. “Convenient like hell, all of you. I don't have time to look after you guys-” She really, truly didn’t, they’d just have to go on as they had been while she was away. Even if she could devise a way to bring them all back with her to the castle on the sly, that didn’t mean they would let her.

Or, that it’d be wise to, young as they were. Eight weeks was the bare minimum, twelve the optimal, to start separating them from mum. Even if she just wanted to relocate them, she’d have to wait. And by then she would still need help–

Damn damn damn, she’d still need help; it’d be best for them, really, if she had another hand to feed and socialize them until she could give them away, no matter how much she might prefer otherwise. And that was an entirely different can of worms altogether.

One thing at a time, Gracie thought, as she watched a particularly intrepid one climb up her leg. It’s fuzzy and big like most of its siblings, and like a few of them has an extra pair of eyes. But other than the curious bumps she could feel hiding on its crown, there isn’t anything else blatantly unusual about it. Maybe not all of them are magic…?



She ends up staying a few minutes longer. She could worry about stuff… later.