{A/N: To those of you following To Give it Time, please continue to follow. Here is a rather light story for those that are not interested in To Give it Time, ha. I wrote this when I was sitting in church and got rather bored with the lesson- shhh, don't say anything. It's a bit fluffy, more so than my normal style, but I love the idea of turning Severus Snape into a black cat, and I simply adore black cats. Please read this. I would truly appreciate your support. In the meantime, while I never get political on the job, also remember that tomorrow is voting day, no matter where you stand! That's all that I will say on that.

Happy Snape reading.}

Chapter 1-

The Felled Cat

The cat tumbled to the ground. Harry didn't want to touch it. He had been sitting in the backyard wondering how he was going to finish all of the chores Aunt Petunia had set for him to complete by dinner when a shadow crossed his path. He had glanced down startled, when he realized that it was in fact a black cat. The animal appeared to be hurt, but he couldn't see the wound. Hovering between the small garden path and the side of the house, it was crouching, humped back lined with fur standing on end forming a half moon. Shiny black eyes rove back and forth while Harry considered the creature. Finally he sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Come here, cat," he muttered. Of course he would have stumbled into a dangerous looking, scrawny black cat just waiting for him seemingly by the Dursley's kitchen. If Aunt Petunia saw him then he would no doubt be washing the kitchen floor three times a day for the rest of the week. Staying low on his knees, he pressed forward, trying to remain in the shadow where the wall met the effect of a larger tree close by.

"Come on. I'm not going to hurt you," he whispered. The cat continued to watch him. It looked calculating somehow, but that was a very strange word to coordinate with an alley cat. Although it didn't look particularly scruffy. It's fur was oily and sleek, and dare he say it- the cat seemed smart. Harry shook his head. Extending a hand carefully, he paused to gauge the cat's reaction.

"Come on. I don't know what's wrong with you, or if you can hear me at all . . . oh, why am I talking to you? Cats- cats don't understand me. Er- right?" The cat merely watched him. Actually, it had grown calmer. The back had dipped back into a typical position so that its form had straightened up to the animal's full height. It's body, sleek, languid. Perhaps he was athletic? "Now I'm really losing it." A glint shined through those orbs. "Ron and Hermione explained why I could talk to snakes, but even for a wizard that isn't normal," he said slowly, while cocking his forefinger to the cat's back, making contact. The cat, didn't move. He sighed. "Well you aren't talking, but you seem to be friendly. Er- well. Not friendly exactly, but not overly aggressive at least." He ran his right hand down its back, barely touching the fur. "Good boy. I assume you're a body," he told it uncertainly. "Can I see your injury?"

Harry had to admit that he still was rather confused as to why exactly he continued to speak. That foolishness he should reserve for school. No one would be able to explain it to him if he somehow managed an experience that would be an indicator of his abnormal tendencies. He wouldn't know if something he caused was even normal for wizards if he set a snake on fire, if birds sprouted from his hat, or- he didn't know what. Nevertheless he thought to himself- it probably wouldn't hurt to try and connect with the black cat.

"I'm going to pick you up. I need to see where your injury is," he said. No response. The cat just stared. Harry felt chills run up and down his spine. He could not stay here with the animal, for if he did it would not be pleasant for either of them, in a very short moment of time. The cat needed some care. He sighed again. Both arms now encircled the creature, whose entire body was stiff.

"Look, I'm sorry," he muttered. "I know that it doesn't suit you." He rolled it eyes up to the sky for a minute. "It really doesn't matter." Gingerly he lifted it off the ground. The cat's ears flattened back a little but it allowed Harry to lift it, albeit that he had not a plan. Well, the shed a few feet away . . . that might serve them, for a short while, at least.

"Why do I always get stuck in these situations?" The question went unanswered, like a doorbell ringing forth in the dead of night, when no one was around to reply. Harry quickly surveyed the area. A neighbor's backside could be seen bending over her flowers a couple of houses down. No one else. Everything seemed clear, so he reached for the animal's thin, rigid body, but if it could, it would spring . . . no, no, the cat wouldn't hurt him. Odd animal though. He picked it up swiftly, unlocked the floor, waited with bated breath. He snuck inside the garage, closing it softly. Not much going on, all was calm. Okay, cat, I need a light. It was so crammed that he could not move without bumping into a box of Uncle Vernon's tired old clothing that his aunt kept for Dudley, or Harry if it was an real emergency, like the dinner party where they were forced to bring him.

There should have been a flashlight, or a lantern. A low growling sound alerted him to the black cat's dissatisfaction, and he, smelled danger.

"I'll let you down in a minute." The animal lept from his arms. His fingers slid along to a metal handle. They nimble found a switch, which he flicked. His eyes scanned the plethora of scattered tools and storage.

The cat crept out from between two of them near the back, growling low from a deep place in its stomach, but nonetheless coming towards him.

"Hisss." The tail at the end of the long body flicked slowly , languidly, the back humped, its paws well formed, round and muscular. Harry observed it carefully. The cat stopped, the cold glint in its strange black eyes scrutinizing Harry utterly. He suddenly gasped.

"I know who you look like. Snape!" He exclaimed, still trying to keep his voice low. Those eyes bored lazily into his own. The thought was ridiculous well, wasn't it? Maybe not entirely. The cat blinked at him, a swift motion. "You are Professor Snape?" Was the animal communicating? Horror flooded through his system rapidly. "Why were you crouching? Where are you injured? I didn't know you were an animagus. But if you are, why can't you turn back?" The animal turned around. A patch of red covered on one of its hips near the connected joint of the leg. Harry felt the blood drain from his face. The cat wanted him to heal it?

"You want me to heal you?" Harry whispered. How was he possibly going to work on his potions professor? What if the Dursleys discovered his efforts? He bit his lips. "I suppose I can sneak you into the cupboard with me. The Dursleys hardly ever go in there unless I'm being punished. And that's only when Aunt Petunia wants me to eat." He laughed, mocking himself a little. "Well, come on then. I'm sorry. If you're really Professor Snape then you're going to despise me much more than you already do. Come to think of it, I'm really confused about why you are even at the Dursleys." He frowned, looking at those eyes. Surely it was Professor Snape. He had this horrible, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. But, he wasn't in a position to give him detention exactly, was he? He wouldn't take fifty points from Gryffindor for his actions. I am helping him.

"Er- you'll need to be hidden. I'm- the Dursleyes will kill me if they see you." How was he to explain to Snape? The man- cat- would think him insane. He glanced around. A muggle neighborhood. With the Dursleys, it didn't matter. Everyone thought he was nuts. Crossing over the threshold to the garage, he performed another quick, check. He stopped.

"It's clear. I thought I heard something. Okay. I'm placing you behind my back. I won't drop you." Apparently that didn't register. The cat flew out of his arms once again, kicking him in the chest as it went flying. Before Harry knew it, the animal left the area near the garage, making toward the backdoor of the Dursley's house. It sat, waiting, it seemed-

"You will come in after me?" Harry guessed. The cat was truly bright. "You must be the potions professor." Another blink. "I got it." Hi sized the animal. "Can you follow? Stay back in the shadows. I will try to make straight for my room- but the Dursleys might stop- "

"Boy!" Aunt Petunia screeched. "What are you doing?" He glanced once more at the cat, now standing stock still. The ears were high. It seemed very attentive. Maybe there wasn't too much to worry about. "I'm coming, Aunt Petunia." She stood in the midst of the kitchen with her hands upon her hips. Harry crept in with the cat, watching as it slunk out of the rear.

"Where have you been?" she demanded, as his eyes darted towards the door to the living area.

"Um," he mumbled, scratching his head, "You didn't ask me to do anything except the lawn and the flower bed." She harrumphed. "Took you two hours, did it?"

"No," Harry said, trying to contain his rising anger. But the amount of time it had taken him was of course because of Professor- no, that cat.

"Well, get to work then," she said candidly. Harry mentally ticked off his fingers. "I did everything."

"Set the table," his aunt trilled. Hopefully the animal would find the cupboard. He moved to get the dinner supplies as fast as was, he thought, humanly possible. Where was the professor? Not the professor! The cat! Before long he was finished with what she dished out to him, without a pun intended. He cursed the Dursleys to himself because he wouldn't be eating what she put on those plates that he set down for them and that cat would need dinner, as well as some medical assistance.

"Alright, that's enough." His aunt had entered the living room, and was now observing him shrewdly. Harry straightened.

"Go to your room," she commanded." He did.

When he opened the door to the small cupboard situated beneath the stairway, he noticed the black shadow.

"Uncle Vernon must have closed you in. Sorry," he mumbled, scratching his head. The cat had that calculating look. "I honestly don't have anything to give you. I hope you're not really Professor Snape," he muttered, nearly incoherently under his breath. The cat growled low. "Guess that answers my question," he said ruefully. He picked his way over to the cat gently. "It's flaming enough to burn. The area had no fur on it, was raised and anguished looking. The blood appeared to have stopped. The area was red and inflamed, with no skin covering the sore. He must've torn himself on a tree? Or maybe a jag such as a sharp rock. The round feet moved a bit uncomfortably, jerking back and forth insistently, Harry thought. Why would Snape-

"What's wrong, Professor? What do you need?" he bent down closer to the animal, hesitantly closing into its space while the tail flicked once, twice. Harry paused. The tail flicked. The motion was blatantly fervent. He stared down at the cat. It swiveled around slowly. There was in its movements what Harry perceived as an estimation of some kind, as though it knew why each move had gravity. The head tilted, and the cat looked up at Harry keenly. Harry's eyes widened. The cat blinked, knowingly. Harry found himself captivated by those black eyes.

"Alright Prof- can you perform legilimency? Maybe you could talk-er- well . . . " Harry glanced toward the side, prevaricating. "I don't know if you would want- " What was he saying? He shook his head. Of course Snape wanted to perform legilimency on him. He ruffled his hair. The cat growled low in its throat, swatting hard at his left leg. Harry for his part tried to think quickly. His thoughts raced ahead of him, while he simply struggled to grasp one.

"Okay." He passed a hand over his face, keeping his eyes on the shadow his hand created. "I'm acting like a completely idiot. I'm sorry, Professor. Sorry," he muttered, turning around for a moment. "Bloody cat," he added under his breath. The cat batted him again, this time allowing its claws to touch. "Hey," he gasped. "I said I was sorry," he said, although he actually did feel a little bad. After all, the man had turned into a cat. He could do nothing. Well, that wasn't exactly true. Some Neosporin- just go and grab a few sundry items. Snape could let him know if he didn't heal him correctly.

"I'll be right back." Before the cat could scratch him, or worse, bite him if it wanted to, since after all it was his potions professor . . . odd thing that- he should just go get the Neosporin.

The Dursleys were all eating dinner, so it wasn't too difficult to attain all of the different supplies that he thought would benefit his purpose. He reentered the room, and thought to himself that the cat's eyes held disgust. That should not have surprised him too much.

"Right." Harry swallowed. "If you could just come over here, please, I'll apply the medicine." The cat came warily, as though every moment of this action repulsed it. Harry blew a long breath through his teeth. "Right here." The cat turned its back to him. He checked over the area carefully, while moving his hand toward the Neosporin bottle. Harry didn't have much experience healing, in either the muggle world or the wizarding one. "Sit down, if it is more comfortable for you." To his complete surprise, the cat did as he asked. He popped the top off the bottle, placed some of it on his finger, and rubbed it into the sticky area. He breathed deeply.

"Let me know if it hurts." The cat stood stock-still. That oozing, flaring area looked as angry as fire. A slight jerky movement went through the body. It was a small frame. Thin, rather. Surely a reminder of the potions master it was. Harry couldn't help but to think of how well his animagus suited him. Tentatively he continued to rub.

"That will do for the moment." He bit his lip. He then reached behind him for a white bandage. When he had finished, he told cat-potions master,

"I'm going to put these back now, because if I don't the Dursleys might notice."

When he had arrived again, he discovered the cat curled up in the corner furthest from his bed. Harry himself now felt rather tired so, he moved to a small, rickety and bedraggled bureau reaching out, his hand coming to a standstill. His jaw dropped a fraction. For Merlin's sake! He hadn't fed Professor Snape! The worn- cat- would kill him for certain if he hadn't done anything similar before, and all of Harry's prior fears would come to light. Snape would turn him into a potions ingredient if he forgot to feed him and hang him up on the wall with all of those eerie purplish brains and pig ears and whatever else lined those office walls.

"I- I'm sorry that I didn't feed you," he said in a rush. "I didn't do it on purpose," he allowed, knowing that he sounded defensive as the cat's eyes bored into his again in that eerily familiar manner. "I didn't get anything to eat either," he continued in a lower tone. "Look, if you wait awhile I'll be able to sneak something up after the Dursleys have gone to bed." Harry was not extremely happy about this arrangement, but what could he do? The potions master could not chop him up for liver ingredients, or something bizarre, while he was yet a cat. The cat cocked its head, considering or measuring, or planning, something of course dreadful.

"Just rest for now." Harry pulled his clothes out of his top shelf, tucked them under his arms, and snuck out of the room. He changed quickly, did his best to ignore those glowing orbs pinned like a hard drill upon his person, and finally burrowed himself beneath the sheets on his bed. Tonight would be a long one- yet he fell asleep before the warm pillowcase touched his hair.

When he opened his eyes again, Aunt Petunia's voice careened through his door, bursting out like a terrible song through his quiet cupboard. The room never gained any sunlight, but the clock told him seven a.m. He groaned, trying to cover his face, but failing with a grimace at the shrill screeching. When he glanced around Snape appeared in his mind- no, his eyesight, looking fairly bored. His-

"Professor Snape!" His eyes met Harry's coldly. He assumed a negligent stance in his sweeping black robes as though he were tired of listening to the weather.

"Indeed. She always cackles like a hen, does she?"