Pretty Kitty (completed)

Chapter 29

Oh Merlin, oh Merlin!

"Harry, Harry! What is it?"

Fuck! Can't believe I just...

"Urgh, he's gonna throw up!"

"Shut up Seamus! Harry, can you hear me? What's wrong?"

"Ron, be quiet. Harry, Harry, it's Dean. Calm down, just calm down. Breathe, you're turning blue."

Breathe... Breathe... Yeah, should probably do that... A deep gulp of air.

"Ron! Your dad... your dad's been..."

XxXxXxX

"We will need," Dumbledore murmured to Fawkes, who turned beady black eyes to him. "A warning." Fawkes disappeared in a flash of fire, and Dumbledore sat back down behind his desk, one hand idly stroking his beard. And proceeded to say nothing more, continuing to avoid Harry's desperate eyes.

"I..." Harry started after a whole ten minutes of silence, not sure what to say but wanting to break the tension in the room. Ron sat tersely next to him, white as a sheet, and McGonagall agitatedly paced the length of the office. His tail was twitching back and forth with every rhythmical click of some magical instrument on one of Dumbledore's shelves.

"Dumbledore!" a voice called, and Harry yowled loudly, all hair standing on end. Ron quirked a weak smile, but otherwise, no one reacted. Harry cursed himself for his stupid cat-ness.

"What news?" Dumbledore turned to ask the portrait behind him, which had been suddenly filled with a panting wizard. The wizard looked grim, and Harry felt himself paling. Ron tensed even further.

Harry really wished the twins were there, with him, arms wrapped around him. Maybe he could nuzzle George's neck, sitting on Fred's lap. Fuck, he wouldn't even mind if they proceeded to molest him. Anything to distract him from... from his dream.

Arthur Weasley, splayed out on the ground, covered in blood from long, piercing fangs. Harry's long, piercing fangs.

"... Anyway, they carried him up a few minutes later. It doesn't look good..." Harry's jaw clenched around a mournful cat wail that threatened to break free from his throat. It wouldn't do any good to look even more like a lunatic.

"...Take it Dilys will have seen him arrive..." a grave Dumbledore was saying. McGonagall was listening intently but Ron, like Harry, seemed to be drifting in and out of his own world, unable to focus on anything.

Would Fred and George be mad at him? He'd mauled their father!

They were going to hate him. Ron would hate him.

A witch popped up in another portrait; again, out of breath. Harry watched, fascinated, as her silver ringlets bounced all over the place, catching the light. He shook his head, trying to undistract himself.

"Yes, they've taken him to St Mungo's, Dumbledore," she confirmed through wheezes, and Harry tuned out again, this time deliberately – he didn't want to hear all about the damage he'd inevitably done to Mr Weasley; good, kind Mr Weasley, who had always looked at him with so much understanding whenever Harry returned from the Dursley's, thin as a rail and refusing to eat more than a few mouthfuls.

Mr Weasley doesn't deserve this.

"Minerva, I need you to go and wake the other Weasley children." Harry's head shot up, eyes meeting Dumbledore's for a split second before the other wizard jerked his gaze away as if scalded. Harry shook his head. Fuck, Fred and George!

Harry jumped as a hand landed on his shoulder heavily, and resisted the urge to claw at it. Instead, he followed the arm up to Ron, who was staring at a wall, face practically terrified. But his warm hand continued to sit on Harry's shoulder, as if Harry were the one that needed comfort.