Here, Kitty, Kitty

Who Will It Be?

For a moment or two, Harry genuinely believed he was dead. It wouldn't have been too surprising, considering how much the Finicky Five had enjoyed cutting into him. He could only thank his malicious father, in some way, for his ability to withstand high levels of pain. Once again he'd held out against the agony and hadn't given the idiots the satisfaction he was sure they'd wanted.

At first, there was nothing. He couldn't hear, he couldn't see, and he couldn't feel: It was irritating.

Then, after a few minutes of internal chastising - due to the fact Cassie, of all people, had been the cause of his death - he realised that he wasn't dead. If he was dead he'd be awake by now and wandering the depths of hell. He wouldn't be stuck inside his head, arguing with himself, while attempting to rid himself of the unbearable itch spreading through his stomach and chest.

The inner ramblings paused. He was itchy... annoyingly so, in fact. He could feel it. If he could feel, then he wasn't dead.

Not yet, anyway.

After finally convincing himself he wasn't somewhere on the other side, Harry focused more on what was going on outside of his mind. His eyelids felt glued together, so for the time being he listened closely, hoping for a sound of some kind to give him an idea of where he was.

There was a faint creak, soon followed by a soothing flow of water; The ocean.

Harry gave an audible sigh of relief, releasing the breath he'd held in. If he could hear the ocean then it meant he was somewhere along the shoreline. He was in pirate territory now.

Suddenly, there was another creak, but much louder this time: A door.

The pirate stayed silent, attempting to feign unconsciousness to whoever had opened the door. He might be somewhere in pirate territory, but not everyone liked him as much as his crew-mates so he had to be careful.

Much to Harry's disappointment, he didn't hear any footsteps, or any signs of the mystery person coming closer. But after a few small seconds - that felt much longer due to his current situation - he felt an odd tickling sensation along his left leg. At first, Harry assumed someone had left the window open, and that it was simply a cold ocean breeze drifting through the room. However, the tickling didn't waver: If anything it grew stronger. This time, though, it was accompanied by a delightful - albeit quite alarming - warmth.

Harry fought against the urge to flinch, especially as the mysterious tickling travelled upward. It was insanely annoying, more so because he had no idea what it even was. All he could truly say with certainty was that someone... no, something, was in the room with him.

The tickling stayed near the left side of his stomach and the warmth grew in the space near his ribs. Then there was a small, cold pressure against his skin, coming from two very, very small hands.

'Not hands', he realised with a silent curse... paws.

Despite the fact he'd been killing little kitty-cats and scattering them around the inner Isle, Harry held no great disdain for the furry little pests. They never came to his side of the Isle so it wasn't as if they wreaked havoc around the shoreline, and they were rather interesting once they calmed down. The animals hadn't been too welcoming at first when he'd gripped the back of their necks and tossed them in cages. He'd kept them fed and warm down in the cells and gave them a little petting every once in a while.

He'd made sure to kill the chosen few away from the rest. After all, he already had one cat on his ass lately, he didn't need a few more on top of that.

While the confusion of having a cat near him now niggled away at his mind, it also brought a wonderful realisation. The only cats on this side of the Isle were the ones he had locked away in the cells.