In the summers between school, a young Hermione Granger finds companionship in a mysterious young wizard near her family's country home in Wiltshire. They share their troubles under the comfort of their respective anonymity until one fateful encount...
- NOT MY STORY!! ALL CREDITS TO @stars_in_motion ON A03!!
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In his old age, though he tried to hide it as best he could, mobility for Mr. Crookshanks was becoming increasingly difficult. He could see the worry on the lady's face when he brought in tea or traversed across the manor for deliveries of parcels or letters from the owlery. Over time, he noticed the family would adjust their tasks to his ever growing physical boundaries. No longer was he allowed to venture off to locate family members across the estate; he was instructed to call for Dippy and allow her to bring him to them. Nor was he allowed to polish the silverware when 'there was such a simple spell for such things, Mr. Crookshanks, really'. When the young Lady Lyra pulled out a chair herself for Mr. Crookshanks during Christmas, he finally spoke up against such preferential treatment, aghast.
"Hush and eat your dinner, Mr. Crookshanks," ordered the duchess. His grace didn't even raise his eyes from his serving of peas.
The duke calling Mr. Crookshanks into his office was the very moment he knew for certain that his days as the butler were numbered.
"Crookshanks! Excellent," the duke greeted shortly as Mr. Crookshanks gave him a bow of the head. Removing his reading glasses, the duke stood from his desk. "I have something for you."
His papers of dismissal, Mr. Crookshanks was sure of it. Instead of handing him a sheet of parchment, marking his last day of service, his grace walked around Mr. Crookshanks to a back corner of his office. "Today is your birthday, correct?"
Mr. Crookshanks blinked, following the duke as he moved about the room. "It is, your grace."
When the duke turned, in his hand was an ornate wooden stick, polished with a clear handle. Hawthorn, if he had to guess.
A walking staff.
"Is there something you wish me to do with it?" If the duke meant for him to mail it, one of the sturdier birds would have to be used to carry a cane of that size any substantial distance. They had used Hermes, one of their most reliable eagles, to deliver Scorpius the newest broom model for his birthday the previous year.
The duke came closer, and the intricate carvings along the wood became clear. "Yes. You're meant to use it."
Mr. Crookshanks was not easily driven to irritation, though he was a proud wizard. At the duke's insistence, he reached for the stick anyway. "While I am grateful for your concern, your grace, I am perfectly capable of walking on my own." Though the moment the wood touched his skin, he could hear a faint hum in the room.
"Of course you are, though I imagine this will make your workload a bit easier." His grace leaned back against his desk and crossed his arms. "Go on, don't be foolish. Give it a tap on the floor now, with some intention."
Shifting his weight onto it, Mr. Crookshanks instantly felt more at ease with his balance. It was the perfect height.
Lifting the stick up, Mr. Crookshanks took in a deep breath before banging it against the ground.
