He tried to pet Lynx.  He could, he thought, sit on the couch and pet the small orange cat.  That was supposed to make people feel better.   He'd read that somewhere.  It was why he'd bought the creature for Hermione in the first place.  Lynx swiped at his hand with a paw, however, leaving a trail of red, and then hissed before she ran off and crouched behind the corner of the bookcase.   He couldn't meet her eyes.  She glared at him.  How a cat could sit in judgment he didn't know, but this one was.