Disclaimer: They don't belong to me (damn), but to the all powerful DWJ! There really should be more fics in this section. Come on people. She rules. Better than JKR and Pullman. So ha!



In the countryside, a castle atop a hill sat peacefully. There were ruins around it, and many beautiful gardens as well, where children played in the summer and gardeners coaxed the most exotic plants into bloom.

However, it was the lack of children in these gardens that made the castle's owner upset. As the all-powerful sorcerer he was, he ought to have found a nine-lived child to go in his stead by this time. As it was though, he frankly hadn't found a whiff of a heir anywhere. He supposed that he could wait for his own children to be born, to see if they qualified, but that was just too long (which was not to say that he wasn't handsome, it was just the fact that no woman could quite be comfortable with him). It wasn't exactly usual that a Chrestomanci felt this need for a heir, it was just that this particular one would just like to get the job done. He was still young, yes, barely thirty, but a Chrestomanci's life could be dangerous, and he wasn't taking any chances.

So here he was, Cat Chant, The Chrestomanci, nearly asleep in his leather chair with a large book propped on his knees. The book was a listing he had obtained from a nice gentleman in Series Ten, which contained a list of all their children which had shown any talent for magic.

And then suddenly, there it was. Right there at the bottom of the page was a name that was strange, yes, but the power rating next to it was extraordinary. Why, it was more than what he had when he first arrived a Chrestomanci Castle (and that was saying something, if he did say so himself)!

Harquas Uquara, read the entry. Born in the year 567, power: 8/9

Harquas Uquara, he thought. Interesting. He had to look back at his reference guide to see what year 567 translated into in his world's years.

...And he nearly fell off his chair. Which, mind you, would have been quite difficult in such a massive, soft armchair as he currently occupied. This child was not a child at all! He groaned. It was just his luck to get a foreign speaking teenager to pass on his legacy to.

He heaved himself out of the chair, with the thought of a good strong, cup-eating mug of coffee dancing in his head. And this was just the beginning, he thought miserably. He had to go fetch the damn kid as well. Finger-combing his blonde hair out of his eyes, he stumbled out of his office, eyes half closed. Which was not a good idea, for he promptly ran into a maid, who happened to be carrying a large pile of laundry.

"So sorry," he apologized, gripping the girl's elbow mostly to steady himself, not her. But the maid was already on the floor, picking up the now-dirty-again clothing with red cheeks. Cat paused, then kneeled to help her. The girl turned even more scarlet and finished quickly, ratta-tap-tapping down the stairs with her burden before Cat could even utter another apology.

Somehow, he made it to the kitchen without further mishaps, where he managed to chide the cook into making him a strong cup, with which he sat on the patio, watching the depressingly empty gardens. They would stay empty, too. Teenagers, as he recalled from his own experience, did not chase about the gardens like younger children did. He wondered vaguely if this Harquas-Uquara had any younger siblings that could be taken along. It might bring some life to the castle, at least. Yes, they might be barbarians, but it would be a blessing to have some good young voices making a racket at tea time and children in stockings and breeches making a fuss at dinner.

He would have to ask his correspondent in Series Ten about this boy. Yes, boy. Cat never really thought much on the subject of gender, assuming his heir would be male. Which was his biggest mistake of the day.