Unfortunately, cats hate Fleur. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
“Fleur, have you seen my…” Harry started as he entered the room, stopping in his tracks at the sight before him. Fleur was sitting at the edge of the couch, slender legs tucked beneath her, a book in her lap and steaming drink. Harry would have thought nothing was amiss on any other day. This was her routine. Sit by the fire, drink something warm, and read a book. All was well, save for one detail.
She was wearing her bright Molly Weasley-made sweater, it’s golden F shining like a beacon on a foggy night.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said, unconvincingly. Harry frowned as he settled on the couch.
“Love, you don’t wear that unless something is wrong.” She huffed, unable to deny his logic for she knew it to be true. Sending him a half-hearted glare she returned to her book.
“I’m fine,” she said, again, unconvincingly. She heard him sniff, a quiet, almost inaudible sound, but one she knew quite well.
“You saw another one, didn’t you?” he asked, amusement beginning to creep into his voice.
“Yes,” she pouted.
“So…what’s got you so worked up?” he asked, eyes dancing with laughter.
“Because it was a little fat tabby with an adorable orange belly!” she said, knowing she sounded like a child yet not caring in the slightest. “You should have seen the soft orange fur! I just wanted to bury my face in it!”
“But…?” Harry asked.
“...but it hissed at me and ran away as soon as I came up to it,” Fleur said, defeated, looking away from him and into the fire. She just wanted the cat to let her give it some affection, was that so much to ask?
“Yeah, that sounds rough,” he said.
“It’s not funny, Harry. I just wish cats would love me like I love them!” she said. There was a subtle shift in the air as the magic surrounding them swirled and, instantly, she knew what happened. She forced herself to continue looking at the fire, it’s dancing flames doing their best to keep her attention.
pat pat pat pat
She felt the rhythmic pat of a soft pad on her arm and resisted the urge to turn around. If she did, she would give in, her childish tantrum ripped apart by the one thing she knew would break through. The pats continued until, all at once, her fortitude crumbled and she turned around, a smile breaking her lips for the first time all evening.
In place of her husband stood a small black cat, it’s shining fur glistening in the light of the fire, the barely-there white lightning bolt shape on its head the only break in it’s color. Upon seeing her smile, the cat stood a bit straighter, almost…smug. It’s wide eyes stared up, the green orbs making her melt, before she rolled her eyes and nodded.
“Fine, you win. Thank you, Harry. You always know how to cheer me up. Though…I believe you may be missing something. Something that will make it…purrfect,” she said mischievously. As she continued to scratch his head, she snatched the item she had summoned from the air and affixed it on his furry face. She squealed.
He looked so cute in his little cat-sized glasses.
Fleur bent down and kissed his nose before scratching all the way down his back, eliciting a loud purr.
“Will you keep me company like this, Harry? You know I love it.” Eyes set in determination, Harry walked into her lap and, in one smooth motion, jumped up and settled himself across her shoulders, his small head laying down as he closed his eyes. His front paws opened and closed on her sweater as she sighed contently, reopening her book to continue reading.
Fleur loves cats.
Fortunately, Harry loves Fleur. From the end of his snoot to the tip of his tail.
Fleur Still Loves Cats
Fleur loves cats.
Unfortunately, cats hate Fleur. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
“No, Fleur,” Harry said, crossing his arms across his chest, narrowing his eyes as he glared at her.
Please, Harry, just this once,” she said, looking up at him with a pout. He resisted her blue eyes, so full of hopes and dreams. He resisted the way her bottom lip stuck just a bit further out when she wanted something. He resisted with every fiber of his self-respect.
“No. It’s demeaning.”
“Pleeeease?” Fleur begged, taking both his hands, giving them a gentle squeeze as she continued to pout. He felt something brush against his mind, gently poking his consciousness, causing him to raise an eyebrow.
“Did…you just attempt to allure me into helping you?” he asked, a look of disbelief spreading on his face.
“That depends. Did it work?” she asked, a blush forming on her face. He sighed.
“Fleur, you know this will never work, right? Scents are a big thing in their world. It’s going to know.”
“But I just know it’ll work! It let me get close last time before it took off. I know if it sees me with another cat it’ll let me near it. To give it scritches. To pet that fluffy orange belly.” Fleur’s eyes grew wide and misty at the thought of the fat stray tabby that roamed the area, the one that had eluded her for so long. Since seeing it several weeks ago, she’d been searching it out, attempting to make friends. Her attempts had been…less than successful. Harry sighed again.
“Fine, but let’s make this quick.” Fleur jumped in excitement and kissed his cheek, taking a step back as the magic shifted around them slightly, a lovely jet black cat standing before her once it had settled. Looking up at her, Harry jumped into the open handbag, settling in a sitting position at the front of the bag. Fleur looked down and squealed. Harry did his best to look unamused.
As they walked down the street, a couple walking in the other direction smiled at them.
“Aw, what an adorable little guy,” the woman said. Fleur nodded.
“He’s a cutie. Aren’t you?” she cooed, scratching just behind his ear. Harry looked up and Fleur swore she could hear him sigh, before he gave the most bored meow she’d ever heard. She glared at him before smiling at the other couple and continuing on their walk.
Finally, they came upon the side road, the tabby lying near a short brick wall, it’s plump belly gently going up and down as it napped. As she got closer it’s eyes opened and head shot up, giving her an unsure look. Fleur stopped, bent down, and placed her handbag on the ground to allow Harry to jump out. He circled her three times, rubbing his side against her legs before looking at the cat and trotting off in the opposite direction.
It’s ears perked up and it stood, stretching itself out as far as it could to shake off the sleep. Gently, the cat took a few steps towards her, curiosity in its eyes. Every step it stopped and waited, for what Fleur didn’t know. Finally, it reached her outstretched hand, palm down, and sniffed, the thin whiskers tickling the tips of her fingers.
A slamming door echoed through the alley, scaring the tabby, which immediately hissed and ran in the other direction. Heartbroken, Fleur dropped her hand and her head, defeated. She had lost hope, the faint hope that the tabby with the fluffy orange belly would ever let her give it pets. Suddenly, she felt the sensation of sandpaper rubbing against her cheek.
Looking up, her silky, jet black Harry was standing there, licking her face, eyes filled with comfort. She smiled.
“Thank you, Harry. You always know what to do to comfort me,” she said, standing up. Harry jumped back into the empty bag, standing tall at the front, looking up at her expectantly, as if a child waiting for a ride. She scratched his chin and picked up the bag, ready to head into the market.
Fleur loved cats.
Fortunately, Harry loved Fleur. From the end of his snoot to the tip of his tail.