The Kitten

Harry Potter was in a foul mood. All summer long, the press had been slandering him, casting aspersions on everything from his lineage, to his sexual innocence, to his mental stability.

Personally, he was quite certain that his maternal grandmother was full human; that Lily hadn't tricked James into marrying her with love potions, and that his parents would not care one whit that his favorite colour wasn't red.

The remarks about his love life stung, if only because they served as harsh reminders that he had none. The newspapers proclaimed that Mrs Potter recently announced their secret marriage, but Harry was really cheating on her with a Veela he had met during the Tri-Wizard. Unfortunately, in reality Harry had only ever been kissed by two people; his mother and Mrs Weasley. Reading the papers made him wish that the stories were true.

The comments about his mental health, on the other hand, only worked to make Harry want to prove them right. Then, maybe, when they realized that Voldemort was actually back, they would look for another, saner, more experienced person to save their lives.

That was the reason that he was walking into Perfect Pets right now. It was a wholly muggle shop, but would serve his purpose. Walking to the counter, he asked "Excuse me, ma'am, but could you tell me where the younger animals are?"
The woman glanced up from Home & Garden "The back of the shop. Most people who come in want a kitten or puppy, but the manager thinks that if they walk past the other beasts they might change their minds and pick out something else. Good riddance, I say."

Harry nodded politely before hurrying to look at the options. There were some puppies that he looked over before one nearly took his finger off. After that he decided that Padfoot was one dog too much. He turned to look at the kittens.

The cage was populated with many playful tabbies and sleek Siamese. But the one that caught his attention was a feisty white tomcat, all fluff and big blue eyes. He was the type of creature that girls would coo over; heartbreakingly cute. Yet the real reason that Harry picked him was his attitude; the kitten held tried to hold himself aloof, yet inevitably got caught in its siblings petty quarrels. Whenever that happened, the feline would lash out viciously. This personality trait would have warned off most shoppers- Harry was never one to lump himself in with the masses. Scooping up the kitten, he went back to the counter.


When he got back to Grimmauld, the first thimg he heard was an overloud yell. "Where the hell have you been, Potter!" Mad-Eye Moody strode forward to catch Harry by the shoulders, shaking him hard. "You're not allowed out, you fool! I should curse you to Timbuktu for sheer idiocy!"

"I was shopping."

Mad-Eye glared at him for such an inane statement, but seemed to be lost for words. Hermione wasn't. "Whatever materiel item could be so important as to risk your life for! I thought you were smarter than that! Do you have any idea how worried I've been, moron! You could have died!" She paused, gasping.

Harry spoke before she could start up again. "This" he said, holding the blue-eyed kitten out.

Hermione went gooey-eyed. "Oh Harry, it's so cute! The fur is so clean, so white! It's so fluffy and soft! Where did you get him? It tickles! Hey, stop that, kitty. Oh, Harry, look, his eyes are such a vivid hue! They're just a shade lighter than the gown I wore to the Yule Ball! We should call him Periwinkle! Have you named him yet? What did you call him?"
Hermione finished her sentence with a quizzical look.

Harry tried to work out what she'd said. When he recognized the question tacked on the end, he decided to answer and that if anything else was truly important she'd repeat it for him. By then, Hermione had gotten impatient.

"So, what did you call him?"

Harry smirked.
"Voldemort."


AN: Ok, I admit it, this is fresh off the press. I edit as I go. You don't like, I don't care. Flame me, I'll wonder why you think I do. Not my best, it wasn't meant to be, it's just a random plot kitty that took ages to write. I like my other stories better.