Disclaimer: Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling / Bloomsbury Publishing - Full disclaimer on my profile.
Summary: A snaggle-furred, ginger cat disturbing his peace was not predictable or welcome, and it was distressing for a piece of headwear of his level of intelligence and perceptiveness to not be able to understand how in Merlin's name the beast had maneuvered its way around the gargoyle guarding the office. Drabble; Sorting Hat / Crookshanks; crack. For saminmytemple on Tumblr.
A/N: I requested crack pairings to make drabbles for on Tumblr. The Tumblr user called saminmytemple requested Sorting Hat / Crookshanks. I attempted to deliver. Although I suppose it ended up more as friendship than romance...eheh. I tried, at least.
At any rate, I did not expect my first HP fanfic on this site to be something like this.
Moves In Mysterious Ways
Life as a hat was a dull one - he would be the last sentient being to protest that - but at least it was comfortingly predictable: he would rest in the Headmaster's office, gathering dust over the course of the year until he'd be plucked from his resting place and brushed off to enlighten yet another batch of fresh, young faces on the subject of their path in Hogwarts, occasionally exchanging banter with the Headmaster of the time, should they be tolerable enough for the Sorting Hat's taste.
A snaggle-furred, ginger cat disturbing his peace was not predictable or welcome, and it was distressing for a piece of headwear of his level of intelligence and perceptiveness to not be able to understand how in Merlin's name the beast had maneuvered its way around the gargoyle guarding the office. But then, he'd never understood animals in general - they were so different to humans.
Cats in particular, he was aware, were (in)famous for their mysterious ways.
"Stop chewing on my brim," the Hat snapped.
The mangy thing pulled back long enough to blink slowly and uncaringly at the Hat's discomfort. It's squashed face vaguely resembled a pugs'.
At least it listened, the Hat thought forlornly in a failed attempt at optimism as the cat targeted his pointed tip instead, batting it with a paw and catching it in its sharp teeth.
"You truly are a miserable creature, aren't you?"
It gave the Hat a lazy mrreow. The Hat was not fluent in Cat, but would wager that the mrreow would translate as: "Have you looked at a mirror lately?"
It was not the last time that the cat would come. The cat seemed to believe that the Sorting Hat was a toy, despite him telling it - with increasing incredulousness - that he was a respectable piece of headwear, and he was hundreds of years old, don't you realise? Why, he had belonged to the founder of Gryffindor house himself!
...The cat appeared largely unimpressed.
It was not an entirely dismal situation, however, as the Hat soon learned. The cat seemed to stop abusing him (him, an antique! Did it have no sense of how unique he was?) when he sang - something which the Hat discovered quite accidentally. It was an...unusual experience, to see a creature sincerely appreciating his voice instead of merely gawking in surprise as it burst from the seam which functioned as his mouth, as many a first year had done to the point of himself becoming extremely weary of it. The Hat was a humble being if he said so himself, but he found himself preening slightly as it sat on its haunches and watched him. He could not tell from looking at its expression whether it approved or not as by nature, its face looked permanently disgruntled, but the Hat supposed that it continued to come back and listen was indicative enough.
One day, the ginger cat returned with a small silver bell in its mouth. If the Hat could have shot it a quizzical look, it would have. The cat simply kept headbutting him (he came dangerously close to tumbling over and onto the floor), the bell jingling in its mouth, until he realised.
The Hat inhaled deeply and began to croon in that deep timbre of his a song (of Muggle origin, if he was not mistaken) that Professor Dumbledore would often hum absently to himself as he worked - something about wanting to be a cat, and where "it" is at.
His feline companion began to shake its head back and forth so that the ball bearing within hit the sides roughly in time with the Hat's song. It was discordant, but a valiant effort, he supposed. Indeed, the Hat could see the cat fitting in well with the Gryffindor crowd.
When the song was over and done with, the cat nudged the bell towards the Hat - presumably as a gift.
The Hat smiled. It seemed that he'd been correct - the ways of cats truly were mysterious.