InsaneJournal

“Well, there you are.”

Minerva held the door open as a sleek coal-black cat stalked into the castle without a by-your-leave. She was closing the door when a messy black ball of fur squeezed in, narrowly avoiding a squashed tail. “You too, then?”

The second cat, intact tail held high, rubbed up alongside the first, mewling plaintively.

“I don’t know why I put up with you two,” the witch said as she walked over to the stairs. “Especially in the summertime. You should be out hunting with the other creatures, enjoying the night air instead of begging your way in here every evening hoping you’ll get food from a tin and a warm bed to share with me.”

Her words were all for show, though, as evidenced a moment later when she paused on the second step, looking behind her. “Coming Severus? Harry?”

She continued to climb the grand stairway, past the jeweled hourglasses, without looking back. She’d reached the top step when the second cat leapt forward, bounding up the stairs after her. He was followed, at a much more respectable, sedate pace, by his companion.

“I’ve got something new for you,” Minerva said as she proceeded up another flight of stairs, the two cats silhouetted behind her. “And you’re not to fight over who’s on top – there’s plenty of room for two.”

She snorted at her own joke as she turned down a corridor, canting her head to address her feline companions. “With me, boys?” she called as she disappeared around a corner.

She didn’t wait for an answer, but opened a door at the end of the corridor and stood in the doorway until the two cats approached. Severus, who’d taken his natural place in the lead, looked at her superciliously as he walked in. He proceeded directly to the water dish while Harry held back, wrapping himself around Minerva’s feet and shedding copiously on the Headmistress’ robes as he expressed his approval with the accommodating quarters.

“You’re to cover your mess when you use the litterbox, young man,” she scolded pre-emptively. “I’d like to have a word with your mother sometime – she certainly didn’t teach you good manners.”

Harry walked another figure eight around her ankles, oblivious of her criticism.

“Out from underfoot,” she commanded. “You’ll trip me and I’ll break my neck before I can dish out your supper.”

At the mere mention of supper, Harry bounded off into the kitchenette, executing a flawless running jump up onto a tall three-legged stool which afforded him a clear view of the counter.

“Careful, careful,” Minerva said as Severus finished his drink and sauntered in front of her to take his place beside the mat where the food would soon appear. “I’m ninety-seven years old. These bones don’t heal the way they used to.”

Four eyes stared at her intently, two amber and two green, as she popped open the highest cupboard with an Alohomora. A tin of food, its colourful label decorated with cartoon mice, floated down toward her, and Harry, with exuberant glee and perpetual hunger, yowled in delight.

“Patience, patience.” She examined the tin and held it up so that Severus, who most certainly was frowning at her, could see it. “House Mouse Bits & Bites,” she read from the label, peering down at the tin through her spectacles. “Now, now, Severus,” she said as the older cat seemed to deflate a bit, “I know it’s Harry’s favorite, not yours, but it will have to do until I can get into Hogsmeade tomorrow.”

She waved her wand again and the lid peeled back in a tight roll, then she dished up healthy portions onto two china tea saucers and sent them softly down to the mat with a sideways flick of her wand. They landed side by side, perfectly aligned.

“You know, Severus – the real Severus – would have my head if he knew I’d named a cat after him,” she said, dropping into a kitchen chair with a groan and rubbing at her knee distractedly. The feline Severus, who, after sniffing vigorously at the food as if to check for poison, had been devoting his attention to the business of eating, closed his eyes slowly then blinked them open again, letting out a rumbled grrrr when Harry, who’d quickly gulped down his own food, tried to nose in on his meal.

“He doesn’t like cats much,” Minerva continued. “Or didn’t, when I knew him best. Silly man complained that I shed on him.”

She seemed to find that humourous, for she laughed, a fond look softening her aged-lined features. She sighed. “It’s not that I begrudge him his privacy,” she said thoughtfully, reaching out to run her hand down Harry’s back as Severus continued to eat at his measured pace, as if steady digestion was the key to longevity. “It’s just that I miss him. We were friends – well, colleagues, and a bit more, at least. But he’s been gone now longer than I knew him, and no one has heard a word from him – other than Harry, of course.”

“Meow!”

“Well listen to you! Cat’s don’t often respond to their names, young man. And you’ve only had that one since I gave it to you, and you were mostly grown when that happened.” She stroked his back again, and watched Severus as he licked his paws, the plate now spotless.

“Come on then, you two. I’ve got your surprise in the alcove in my room.”

She led the way across the sitting room to her bedroom and pointed to the alcove with a flourish.

“It’s all yours, boys. Do take care not to throw your back out, Severus.” She laughed again at her own joke and settled into an old wing-back chair beside her bed.

In the alcove stood a five-tiered cat tree with sleeping and climbing platforms, scratching posts, and dangling toys. It was fully two meters in height and was covered in rich plush carpet inside and out.

Harry charged at the thing with all the inhibition of a twelve-year-old. He bounded to the top in three leaps, practically flying, and perched atop the highest platform, gazing out at his conquered kingdom below while Severus circled the base, sniffing at this new monstrosity suspiciously.

“Harry always was the rash one,” Minerva mused. She tossed a small stuffed bird toy up at Harry and the cat nabbed it quickly with one outstretched, clawed paw. “That boy had nine lives, and he used up all but the last one saving us all. It’s only fitting he do what he wants now. He’s earned that.”

Feline Harry mewled petulantly down at Severus, who arched his back, stretched, then sniffed at the scratching post before sinking his claws into it and getting on with business.

“I know – he’s not a boy anymore, is he? Past forty, he is. Pity he didn’t have any children of his own.” She waved her wand idly and a bottle of scotch and a glass lifted themselves from a sidebar and danced their way over to her. “I shouldn’t say that,” she mused. “He got what he wanted in the end, didn’t he?”

Severus the cat let out a soft meow, looking upward, sounding out for Harry. Harry stuck his tangled head over the side of the platform and Severus leapt gracefully up to the first level.

“I haven’t seen him since Pomona’s funeral,” Minerva mused as she took a sip of the scotch, which Harry had sent her for Christmas. “But he sounds so at peace in his letters. I have an idea they’re still in Scotland or Wales – probably off on some property that belonged to Albus, though the old coot won’t spill it to me. He kept those cottages of his under twelve layers of secrecy. They were safe houses for the Order, you realise.” She sighed. “Albus has been gone more than twenty-five years – you’d think those wards would have died with him, but we still can’t open one of the secret drawers in my office, and whenever we rearrange the portraits, his always finds its way back to its original spot, where he can look over my shoulder whenever he pleases. Nosey old coot.”

By now, Severus cat had explored the first two levels, poked his nose inside an intriguing little tent, sniffed and ignored a dangling toy and executed a flawless jump to the third level. He turned back to stare back at her, swiveling his head like an owl. He blinked, then bent suddenly to lick his privates, a display that did not remind her of his namesake in the least.

“I have an idea that Severus is still with us,” she mused. “That potions supplier Poppy picked up for the infirmary fifteen years ago?” She snorted, then sipped her scotch, closing her eyes as the liquid warmed her belly. “Who else could it be, really? And considering the Weasley outfit delivers it?” She shook her head again, her eyes bright but touched with melancholy, and watched Severus finally jump up to the top platform to join Harry. Harry welcomed him by cuffing his ears, and Severus hissed until Harry retreated and rolled onto his side submissively.

The cats were soon engaged in a rigorous round of grooming, with Severus trying to tame Harry’s wild hair, and Harry alternately purring and yowling.

“You two,” Minerva mused. “You two….”

She glanced at her mantel, at a Muggle-style photograph in a burnished silver frame. Harry and Severus standing knee deep in the water, nothing but sea behind them and clear blue sky above. It was taken at midday, and there were no shadows. She couldn’t discern direction, or coast, or any sign of any feature that would identify locale. It was just Harry and Severus, standing side by side in the sea with trousers rolled up to the knee.

She’d never seen so much of Severus’ bare legs.

Harry’s arm was wrapped around Severus’ waist. His tousled hair, tinged with grey, fell to his shoulders. His eyes were crinkled in the corners and he smiled and squinted in the sunlight. He looked happy – you could see it in his eyes, in his posture, in the way he held onto Severus so casually. As if it were an everyday thing, to drape his arm around Severus and stand barefoot in the sea, smiling into the sun.

And Severus – nearly as severe as he had always been, grey-black hair drawn into a plait down his back. His face, without the curtain of hair framing it, was even more angular, his nose more prominent. He wore a long-sleeved white shirt that billowed a bit at the waist, almost tunic-like, but the real difference was in the glint in his eyes, and in the slight quirk of his lips that could almost be called a smile.

“It took Harry nearly two years to track him down,” she said, “once he had his mind clear.” Severus cat, paw over Harry as he aggressively groomed his head, turned his head to gaze at Minerva. “He was miserable as an Auror, you know. He was through doing what was expected on him. We have Ginny Weasley to thank for seeing through it all and ending their relationship. Oh – what a mess that was. Wedding planned, the cottage in Godric’s Hollow they’d built together….” She shook her head and considered her nearly empty glass. “But when he wrote me the first time, after he’d found Severus – after they’d sorted things out – well, it made it all worthwhile. I’d rather receive letters from a happy Harry than see him more often miserable and lost.”

Harry cat had raised his head, too, and was regarding Minerva with green eyes as vibrant and clear as those of his namesake. Severus cat responded by plopping a paw on Harry’s head and licking a streak from nose to forehead. The hair rebelled at once, briefly leaving a jagged lightning bolt shape until Severus gave it another good lick.

Minerva raised her glass.

“To happy endings,” she said. “To Harry and Severus, wherever you are.”

She downed the liquid, set the cup on the side table, then stood, eying the new cat tree with a certain feline interest.

A few minutes later, she was curled up inside the little tent, a grey tabby cat dreaming jumbled dreams of catnip and mice, of seashores and salvation.

Above her, three stories up, Harry and Severus slept, bellies full, not a care in the world to keep them awake, no world to save, no losses to grieve.

And not so very far away, in a wide bed in a moonlit room, in a cottage on a rocky coast, slept the men in the photograph. A cat, a grey tabby with a crooked tail that had been caught in the door one too many times, jumped on the bed and forced its way up between them, snuggling between their pillows.

“Get down, Minerva,” Harry ordered sleepily.

But he rolled over without seeing that his order was obeyed, and Minerva, cat that she was, ignored him completely and settled down to sleep.