I turn and am greeted with a pair of bright orange eyes. Granger’s beast had arrived and he sat on her dresser observing me. We stared at each other a while before I retreated out of her room, the furry orange thing staring me down the whole time until I shut her door. I had forgotten that Granger had a pet. I honestly thought the thing would’ve died of neglect or something when she was running all over Britain during the war, but here it sat, fat, and seemingly healthy as ever. I walk through the bathroom out into the common room and there it is again. The bloody cat is following me. I pace in front of the fire and he sits on the middle table, tail flicking as his head follows me like he’s watching a game of Quidditch. How does this cat of all things make me feel so nervous? It’s a cat! This is stupid!