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Harry doesn’t tiptoe into the flat he shares with Tom, but it’s a close thing. He holds his precious bundle close to his chest until he sees Tom, then smiles at him, trying to convey every bit of warmth that he feels. It’s usually enough to just see Tom; today, there’s an extra source of happiness, one that Harry hopes will lift Tom’s spirits as much as his own.
“It reminded me of you,” Harry offers, lifting the basket to give Tom a closer look at the kitten sleeping inside. “Look at her grumpy face! How could anyone resist her charms?”
“Easily,” Tom drawls. His arms are crossed. His expression does not hold the same enchantment and adoration that Harry’s does, although he examines the kitten visually. There is little change to his expression, but Harry has been attentive to Tom’s every expression for years, and knows that there’s still something there despite his reticence.
The kitten is adorable and fluffy, and Harry secretly hopes that the kitten will grow up to be as big of a furball as Crookshanks. But those aren’t the arguments that will sway Tom. “She’s almost a full-blooded kneazle and she’ll be the smartest cat in the world, considering that Crookshanks and Merlincat are her parents.”
Tom looks pained at the name of Ron and Hermione’s second cat, as he usually does. “We already have a pet.”
“You can’t cuddle a snake.” Harry pets the top of the kitten’s head, cooing at her sleepy grumble. “You can’t curl up with one on the couch.”
“I do,” Tom replies, his grumble not much different than the kitten’s. Harry has to admit that Tom letting his snake wrap herself around him is adorable, even if snakes aren’t as cute as kittens. But with a sigh, Tom steps aside to allow Harry into their flat. “We’ll give it a proper, dignified name. And it’s not allowed in the bedroom.”
Harry grins to himself, his back turned to Tom. Whatever name Tom comes up with, Harry will find a nickname. And considering that Nagini regularly slithers up on their bed, he can’t imagine the second rule lasting. As he walks into the kitchen, Harry sees a litter box already set up in a corner. The food and water bowls next to it are already filled. He can see the edge of a cat tree in the living room and suddenly knows that somewhere in their home, there is already a soft bed for his little kitten.
Suspicions raised, Harry says, “Tom...?”
Tom’s sigh is audible, world-weary. “I knew you weren’t going to leave without one of those little monsters. I can only hope it grows up to be a more attractive cat than its father.”
“She’s already perfect,” Harry replies, but he’s already setting the basket down on the floor and launching himself into Tom’s arms.
“You smell like cat.”
“I love you,” Harry replies, smiling so hard it hurts. He kisses Tom, and Tom gives in, his grumbling fading away entirely.