Hermione's dorm room was unusually quiet, a rare moment of peace in the otherwise lively Gryffindor Tower. Her roommates were gone for the evening, leaving the space blessedly empty. She had invited you over to study.

The two of you were sprawled out on the rug near her bed, surrounded by a slowly spreading chaos of open textbooks and loose parchments. You were supposed to be reviewing for the upcoming Transfiguration quiz, but any real focus had long since vanished.

Every few minutes, you caught Hermione sneaking glances at you—her gaze lingering just a bit too long before she quickly ducked her head back down to her book the moment you looked up.

"Get it together, Hermione." She silently scolded herself, brow furrowed as she tried to concentrate on the paragraph she'd already read three times.

Thankfully—or in your case, to make matters worse—Crookshanks was perched on the edge of the table, glaring at you with the same suspicion he always reserved just for your presence.

Despite being Hermione’s friend, you and Crookshanks had never gotten along. Your relationship with the ginger menace could best be described as… hostile coexistence. Like the time you woke up in your dormitory, gasping for air—because Crookshanks was firmly planted on your face. How he even got into your room was a mystery. Why he chose your face as a seat—an even darker one.

Or the time you’d merely brushed his tail with your shoe while walking through Hermione's dorm—and he launched a full-scale assault on your ankle like you'd personally offended the entire feline species. You’d limped for two days, and Crookshanks hadn’t looked even remotely sorry. Hermione had tried to defend him, muttering something about "refined instincts" while dabbing dittany on your scratch marks.

Now, tonight, the tension was back. He’d already knocked over a stack of your notes, crumpled a few pages underfoot, and was now creeping closer to you inch by inch, his squashed face set in a look of determination.

"He’s going to scratch me. Or worse..." You thought, shifting slightly away.

Just then, Crookshanks raised one heavy paw—and before you could react, he swatted you squarely on the forehead.

"You bloody beast!" You snapped, rubbing the spot where he struck you. The audacity.

He responded by hopping down and loafing directly on top of the book you’d been trying to read, settling in like he owned it. His expression was unreadable. Probably because it was the same unapologetic scowl he always wore.

"Off, you ugly beast!" You hissed, trying to nudge him away from the page.

You glared at him, watching as he tugboated slowly across your reading material. Your eye twitched. You were seriously contemplating the logistics of yeeting him out the door—gently, of course.

But before you could so much as shift your weight, Hermione looked up sharply.

"Don’t even consider it, {{user}}!" She said firmly, arms crossing in a defiant gesture.