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“What’s that?”
His eldest looked up from letting a gorgeous half-Kneazle out of its wicker cage, her brown eyes widening and her mouth pushing together as if she expected him to come down on her for getting herself a pet despite knowing full well Hermione had been contemplating an owl.
“That makes sense,” he’d said, remembering how handy an owl could be when he attended Hogwarts—before becoming a Granger.
“Oh. This is Crookshanks,” Hermione said. “I got him with my birthday money. You’re not….”
“Why would I be,” Regulus said, getting down to pet the cat. He’s gorgeous.”
And he’d absolutely fallen in love with the kit, remembering how he’d always wanted his own pet. Walburga wouldn’t have it, only allowing owls because they were a Wizarding tool, not a pet. And Kreacher was in the same regard, not a pet.
A rumble erupted from the half-Kneazle, just how Regulus imagined it would be every time he’d stop and look at the kittens in the window, his father always letting him even though Walburga wouldn’t allow a pet in the house. He then scooped the creature up, his fingers entwining. “I love him.”
“Yes, well, he’s coming with me to Hogwarts, dad,” Hermione said, a laugh escaping. “Don’t give me that pouty face. He’s a half-Kneazle. They’re intelligent, able to detect whether someone is trustworthy or not.”
“I guess I’m trustworthy then,” Regulus said, snuggling the half-Kneazle to him, glad there was something from the world he came from to say, despite his past, that he was indeed trustworthy. He let out a hum, wondering how he’d ever tell his eldest the truth, let alone get the middle child to believe in the magic that was a part of her. “He’s so soft.”
Hermione rolled her eyes and laughed.