The Halloween Feast
Title: The Halloween Feast
Author: PigWithHair
Prompt: Halloween
Characters/Ship: The Weasleys and one ginger-haired, hungry cat
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 499
The heavy chill of autumn had increased his hunger, and though he kept looking for Hermione, he could never find her. The humans with the red fur had brought him here, to this strange smelling house where the fat one resided who smelt of lavender and burnt liver.
Where was she? He prowled about the house, hunger burning its way through his stomach. But, instead of feeding him they were sitting about the table, talking. Again.
He tried the subtle pass by, just to remind them he was there, the pitiful meow, which always worked with Ron’s mother, and, when that failed, he resorted to begging.
"Shoo! Shoo!” The fat one they called Great-Auntie batted her wand at him, and Crookshanks had seen enough of life to know not to mess with wands. He thought of the warlock he’d lived with, before Hermione had found him in that shop, and shuddered. One could end up as a furry antimacassar if one wasn’t careful. Dodging the fat one, he went under the table, milling about their feet, smelling for the best dinner scrap prospect.
“…haven’t heard a thing. Two months and not a word!”
“Control yourself, Molly. You still have the five older boys. Arthur, pass the sauce.”
Crookshanks trailed down to those two who smelt alike - they’d experimented on him once or twice, but they wouldn’t try that again, not after using seventy-eight different scouring spells to rid the smell from their beds, after he’d deliberately licked up four bowls of water. Still, they ate a lot and often proved to be good prospects.
“…Halloween feast. I don’t reckon you do - out in broom sheds or stables or sewers or wherever the hell they are. Even if they did, Ron would scarf the lot, pig that he is.” They weren’t dropping anything. Crookshanks curled around the leg of one, rubbing his face against it.
“I sort of miss having Ron around. I didn’t think I’d ever say that.”
“Yeah, odd little git that he is. But he’s our odd little git.”
“True.” There was a pause. “I reckon no news is good news.”
“Yeah.”
Still nothing. Crookshanks circled in frustration. What was the bloody purpose of living if you weren’t going to eat? Disgusted, Crookshanks went over to the door, scratching at it to get out.
“Molly! That mange-infested familiar is digging at my door again!”
“He’s Hermione’s, Great-Auntie.”
“Well, why is he here, then? Filthy thing! Why do we have to bother with a cat? As if it isn’t enough having the whole family here.”
“Hermione’s with Ron and Harry, Auntie.”
“Hmpf! It’s indecent! What sort of girl can that Muggleborn be - off alone with two men?”
“One of those men is my Ron!”
“Exactly my point. He’ll turn out like Arthur, mark my word. Seven children! It’s -"
Someone opened the door, and a relieved Crookshanks shot outside. Better to be out dodging from gnomes jumping on his back then stuck inside with no food.