Chapter Text
Mr. Crookshanks was not above a good hard day’s work. There were a number of jobs available for him to choose from. The apothecary was hiring, he had heard so from an old friend, unaware of the details of Mr. Crookshanks’ struggles with finding employment. Had he considered inquiring at the Leaky Cauldron? Or even Borgin and Burkes, where wares were as weird and worrisome as their employees.
It was the simple fact that not a single one of these locations would hire him for any job. Not for sweeping the back of the store, stirring a potion mindlessly, or helping assist with infirmed patients at St. Mungo’s. Because although he was assuredly a wizard, no one would hire a wizard that did not graduate from Hogwarts, and Mr. Crookshanks hadn’t graduated from Hogwarts. Indeed, Mr. Crookshanks had been expelled, and his wand snapped.
For what he did (or did not) do to deserve it, Mr. Crookshanks could not tell you. For an unbreakable vow got its name from somewhere, didn’t it? And so the secret remained kept, and his chance at graduating vanished when he was only fourteen years old. He mourned the fact that they insisted on snapping his wand more so than the education he had lost. Hogwarts itself was a bore. Mr. Crookshanks was never a particularly brilliant wizard; there had been many years of wondering if he was, in fact, a squib. The idea bothered his father infinitely more than it ever bothered him. In his father’s effort to coax the magic out of him, Mr. Crookshanks nearly drowned on three separate occasions, broke an arm and two fingers, and suffered a moderate concussion all before the age of nine.
After his failure at boarding school in Scotland, his father refused his return home, choosing instead to confund the muggle headmaster of a small, remote private school in Ireland. Mr. Crookshanks was enrolled the very next day. It was there he learned basic muggle mathematics, some very interesting muggle history about the Napoleonic wars, and Catholicism. So much Catholicism.
“They say it was his short stature that led to his madness,” one of his professors had said, referring to Napoleon and giving Mr. Crookshanks a rather nasty sideways glance from the corner of his eye. Mr. Crookshanks, who could freely admit he was a rather short man, displayed a remarkable amount of effort in ignoring the pointed remark to his height.
His basic education saw him through the difficult trials of life. Following the conclusion of traditional schooling, he had made his own way; overseas, in the countryside, throughout the various cities of Europe. Much of that was to avoid unwillingly roping himself into one of the largest Wizarding wars in history. What would either side do with him, a half-blood with barely a third-year education and nothing beyond basic wand skills to show for it?
Having worked in the lower bridges of a trans-Atlantic ship, in various factories across London, and even done some eavesdropping for a minor gang or two, Mr. Crookshanks was growing tired with the excitement. He only wished to risk his life measurably less in order to earn his wage. In need of a suitable profession, he quickly turned to reforming into a butler at the recommendation of a friend.
He learned all there is to know about the profession and grew to be rather good at it too, if he did say so himself. Announcing guests, prowling the home for things that needed attending to, and chasing rodents and other vermin out of the estate. Negotiating with vendors, ensuring the home was well regarded and the staff was pleased, spying on visitors, and keeping his ear close to the ground for traitors. Yes, Mr. Crookshanks was good at all those things, because Mr. Crookshanks was not afraid of any muggle man or wizard.
Though no wizarding family would hire him, Mr. Crookshanks easily found employment in the muggle world. After a few years of serving a wealthy elderly couple in the countryside, he ventured to London, roaming for a new post within the bustling city. Following the death of his father years ago, and his sizable savings, he was in no rush to return to work. For the first time in his life, he was looking for the perfect fit.
Mr. Crookshanks set off one bright morning to a local bookshop, in search of some reading to pass his time as he sought new employment. Having access to both muggle and Wizarding shops was something that greatly delighted him. Though many pureblood families openly scoffed at the non-magical, the two worlds had more in common than some would prefer to admit.
In the midst of his book search, he became so distracted he nearly bumped into another patron. The girl in front of him—dressed in fine muggle attire—clearly belonged to a wealthy family, though her brown hair looked to be wrangled into a vague attempt at something presentable. She was carrying around a book that looked to be the size of her person, holding it close to her chest as if it were a shield. Where was her mother, leaving her alone in London of all places? She looked up at him with large brown eyes that seemed too inquisitive for a young girl of her age. Mr. Crookshanks stared back before deciding to greet her.
“Good morning, my lady.”
“Good morning, sir,” The young girl’s stare did not waver. She continued to study Mr. Crookshanks as if he were a great mystery. “Are you looking for a particular title?”
Mr. Crookshanks paused, tilting his head slightly. “I’m merely taking my time looking through the newest selection of available works.” Mr. Crookshanks eyed the book in her arms. “And what is it you have there?”
The book looked to be the weight of a stone, the title hidden away from him. The young girl looked down, and then back up at him. “Some light reading.”
It took Mr. Crookshanks a considerable amount of effort not to scoff, and he was a butler. “How smart you must be, for such a book to be light reading.”
“Last week was my seventh birthday, and papa was away, and my mama said I could pick out a book for my birthday,” the young girl explained as Mr. Crookshanks nodded dutifully. Her fingers curled around her book as if it was the most precious possession she owned. “Since I’m only allowed one book, I thought I might get the biggest one.”
Mr. Crookshanks laughed heartily. “Yes, that is a very logical deduction to make, my lady,” He could not help the gleeful look that surely passed across his face. He crouched down to her height and asked her a question under his breath. “Would you like to see a magic trick, dear?”
Her brow furrowed. “Magic isn’t real, sir,” she said in such a matter-of-fact way that immediately reminded him of his catholic school teachers. “It goes against our Christian beliefs.”
Mr. Crookshanks tutted. “It is harmless. Let me show you.”
With a wave of wandless magic he had mastered over the years, his levitating spell lifted the book out of her grasp only a small distance from her hands. It wouldn’t last long. This book probably did weigh an entire stone after all.
The young girl became mesmerized. After lightly returning the book into her arms, she hesitated for a moment before leaning in closer with bright, wide eyes. “Could I show you my own magic trick, sir?”
The question shocked him. “I would be delighted.”
The girl put on a mischievous smile and closed her eyes, seeming to concentrate intensely for a moment or so. His face began to tingle slightly, unsure of what was happening until he saw in the reflection of the shined mirror behind her that his mustache moving completely on its own.
His hands flew to his face in shock before the motion stopped, and her eyes opened up and bright. This young girl was undoubtedly a witch, a talented one at that. While he had struggled to show any form of magic as a boy, this girl had not only performed magic on her own, she could even control it.
“Hermione?” A woman’s voice rang out from within the store. She sounded distraught. The young girl, Hermione, let out a gasp, and sprinted back towards the main aisle of the store.
“Coming, mama!”
“Hermione Jean Granger, where have you been? I turn my back for one second, and it’s as if you vanished! I have told you time and again not to go disappearing like this!”
The verbal lashing went on for a moment before Mr. Crookshanks heard it soften. Judging by the look of relief on the mother's face, it was clear that Miss Granger was dearly loved by her family.
The next morning, Mr. Crookshanks went to the office of Mr. Granger—it wasn’t hard to find him, as Mr. Crookshanks had friends in every alley of London—and offered his service should the Granger Household need any domestic staff.
Surprisingly, Mr. Granger looked up and went on to thank the Lord. Just the previous day, Hermione had sent their third butler running for the countryside, loudly proclaiming she was a witch in need of an exorcism.
“A witch, sir?” Mr. Crookshanks questioned doubtfully, though he knew the truth. It was why he was there, after all.
“I do realize how ludicrous it sounds. Mr. Crenshaw claims that a raincloud opened up above his head after making a comment to Hermione about women’s work. And it was Ms. Haven before that; she stormed out after a particularly difficult lesson with embroidery—all her pins had turned to small lizards.” Mr. Granger openly scoffed. “As if I would believe that for one moment!”
A valuable lesson. Whatever Mr. Crookshanks would do, he must not make the young lady angry.
“I met your young lady at the bookshop with your lovely wife, sir. She is extremely well-mannered and well-read, it would seem. It would be an honour to serve your home.”
Mr. Granger regarded him carefully as if searching for the true reason behind this bizarre encounter. “You would need to be both our Butler and House Steward, as I have limited funds after so many of my staff have walked out. Tell me, do you have a family? A wife?”
His father, Mr. Crookshanks Senior, had passed not too long ago after the first emergence of the Dark Lord in Europe. His brother suffered a similar fate one year afterward.
“No, sir. No family, no wife to report.”
As it turned out, the Grangers were your average sort of well-off London folk. Mr. Granger was a wealthy businessman in the trade of book publishing. Mrs. Granger, a lovely and kind lady, devoted her time to teaching the young Miss Granger all she needed to know about navigating this interesting world on her own.
With his list of glowing references, Mr. Crookshanks began his employment at the Granger Household, vowing to protect the young witch, even if she was yet unaware of it. Because although Mr. Crookshanks believed he had lived an interesting life worth telling, this story is not about Mr. Crookshanks. It is about a promising young woman, and where her life would lead her.