Something Familiar (Mk.2)
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Something Familiar (Mk.2)
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Chapter Seven
"Interviews With Monster Girls"
(And Special Guest Star Sparkles)
AKA
"404: Clothing Not Found"
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The Familiar was beautiful in a way McGonagall had never encountered before. All humanlike Familiars - especially any sort of shapechangers - were unusually attractive, but she went beyond that. Her beauty could fairly accurately be described as divine,crossing into a realm that was unnatural even by the standards of the magical world.
Her skin was pure, pale ivory without even the slightest hint of a blemish or flaw. Thin braids fell around her neck and shoulders, a darker black than any muggle dye kit could achieve and without a single hair out of place. A delicate bone structure and slim figure gave her a distinctly aristocratic look. With a lean and strong build, she had the body of a professional gymnast, which was basically a polite way of saying whoever had invented the "Almost-B" bra had done it with her in mind.
The beautiful young woman was probably one of the more frightening creatures McGonagall had ever come across. It wasn't necessarily that she was dangerous, thought that was certainly true. It was more because she was sitting just over a meter away and McGonagall still wouldn't have a clue what she was if she hadn't seen it first hand. Her mimicry of a human being was so perfect that the witch hadn't spotted anything yet that gave her away.
For some reason the thought of a creature that was far more dangerous than any dragon, but gave not the slightest sign of it, sort of freaked the witch out. She'd run across plenty of monsters in her time, but at least most of them had the decency to look like monsters.
Only seeing her "assemble" herself had made it clear exactly what she was. Her pale flesh was actually composed of countless, hair-fine creepers woven together in a seamless mass. There was neither muscle nor bone beneath it, just a tangled mass of thorns and vines in the shape of a human. The braids falling down her back weren't braids at all, but some sort of vine shaped to resemble them.
The eyes, as with so many inhuman creatures, were the only thing that provided the slightest hint of her true nature. Though the irises and whites were indistinguishable from the real thing, there was one slight flaw. If she looked at the Familiar hard enough, McGonagall was certain she could see movement behind her pupils. Where most people's eyes were windows to the soul, hers were portals leading to a grinding mass of deadly thorns.
The creature was staring back at her with a slight smile, as if she could read the professor's thoughts and found them quite amusing.
Despite her seemingly passive stance, there was a very palpable feeling of violence and viciousness around her, as if she was ready to lash out at any moment. It was entirely possible that that was actually the case. Many people made the serious mistake of thinking about humanlike creatures as if they were human. It was a foolish thing to do because, in the end, they had entirely different thoughts and emotions. Something like tearing apart a human and eating the remains could be perfectly natural and, while they could never deliberately harm their master, there was nothing protecting others from the same.
Hopefully it wouldn't be an issue, but the monster would discover McGonagall was quite difficult to eat if it came to that. She didn't know how well her signature magic would be against it, but it had proved fairly effective against almost everything she'd run across.
"Do you know why you are here, Mr. Longbottom?" McGonagall asked suddenly.
Neville started in surprise, then shook his head nervously.
"No ma'am."
"I see. While it is a bit unorthodox, we will be completing you Familiar registration immediately," McGonagall stated. "Please give her a name."
Then young wizard looked across the desk, surprise overwhelming his fear.
"What? Right now? But it's not supposed to be until-"
"While tradition is quite important in many instances, there are times when it must take backseat to practicality. Occasionally the registration must take place immediately. This is one of those times."
Neville shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, staring down at the flower here held in his lap.
When faced with the task of choosing an offering, it had been the obvious choice. Mini-orchids were notoriously difficult to care for, so much so that more than one botanist had wondered how the species persists. He'd kept this one alive for a year, though, which was a considerable achievement. It was one of the few points of pride in his life.
He'd been a bit worried about using it in the ritual, but it didn't seem to have been harmed. In fact, it looked healthier than ever. The petals were practically bursting with life, though they seemed darker than he remembered.
"Orchid," he declared suddenly.
Besides him, his Familiar stiffened momentarily and shivered, as it struck by a particularly intense chill. The air of menace around her changed almost immediately. It dropped in intensity a few notches and the feel of it changed. McGonagall no longer felt like she was looking at a wild beast that would happily kill her for food and/or sport. Now the Familiar gave the impression of someone who would feel no guilt over ripping out your spine and beating you to death with it, should it prove necessary.
She'd basically gone from, "Your face looks delicious. I'm going to rip it off and eat it, then pull your intestines out your nostrils for fun," to "Don't fuck with me, bitch. I'd love to eat your face, so just give me an excuse," which was a fair improvement. It didn't exactly make her safe to be around, but it no longer felt like the Familiar was going to attack at any moment. That was good enough for now.
Sometimes you just had keep your expectations realistic when dealing with inhuman creatures.
"Thank you, Mr. Longbottom. Now then. I'm sure you have questions. To answer the first, registration of a Familiar is performed immediately if they are of an unknown species it are considered particularly dangerous."
"Oh. Why?"
"In the case of an unknown creature, it gives us the opportunity to identify them," McGonagall replied. "As for dangerous creatures, it makes them safer to be around. The naming of a Familiar solidifies the Bond, allowing their master's soul to have greater influence over their own. It pushes their thought processes and emotions to resemble your own to a degree, creating a sort of sympathetic humanity. The effect varies from one to the next, but it generally allows more dangerous creatures to function without tearing everyone they meet to shreds."
Neville paused, then slowly turned to look at his Familiar. Seeing his attention on her, she gave him a sweet smile and waved. Here gave her a half-hearted wave in return, then shifted his gaze back to his head of house.
"She's dangerous?"
McGonagall chuckled dryly. "Your Orchid is an alura une, Mr. Longbottom. She is a sort of carnivorous plant spirit that has been all but extinct for centuries. When the species flourished, they were also known by the rather charming moniker of 'Venus man-trap.' Would you like to guess why?"
Slowly paling, Neville asked, "She- she… eats…"
"People," McGonagall finished. "All sorts of meat, really, but historical records indicate that most breeds prefered human beings to all other forms of prey."
Neville turned to look at the alura une again. Seeing his attention was once again on her, she gave him a brilliant smile. His smile back was somewhat weak and strained.
"In addition, she would appear to be of the black orchid subspecies. It is thought they were among the most dangerous alura une breeds, but it is difficult to say for certain. Even when the species was flourishing, little was known about them. Considering that lack of knowledge stemmed from how few survivors there were of their attacks, it seems safe to assume they don't fall under the heading of 'Mostly Harmless.'"
"She can't be that scary, right?"
"Throughout history there have been many mass disappearances of varying sizes in both the wizard and muggle worlds. They vary from small homesteads to large villages, and in each case every former occupant vanishedwithout a trace and no signs of a struggle," McGonagall said quietly. "The black orchid is thought to be responsible for a notable portion of them."
Neville wasn't sure exactly how he should feel about this. Apparently his Familiar was a horrible, man-eating death machine. The thought that she was sitting right next to him chilled him to the bone, even though he knew that, as her master, she couldn't deliberately harm him. On the other hand, he couldn't help but feel a degree of pride that he'd managed to summon a walking murder-plant.
He almost wished his Uncle Algie was still alive. Neville would have loved to shove this in the bastard's face and tell him his cockatoo could go suck a cock or two.
"Now, I would appreciate it if you would order your Orchid to refrain from causing significant harm to others while on Hogwarts grounds. It should go without saying that eating people is definitely forbidden under that rule."
The request quickly shook Neville out of his thoughts by reminding him that his awesome new Familiar was known to eat people.
"Oh. Right. Uh," Neville frowned and thought for a moment, then turned to face Orchid. Was it really okay for him to order a terrifying monster around?
Orchid smiled serenely at him and shifted her stance for maximum effect. It was important that her new Keeper understand how pretty she was so he could show the proper appreciation.
"...is she posing?"
McGonagall cleared her throat and gave the Familiar a disapproving glare.
"Alura une are creatures that entice food using their… charms. It isn't surprising that they would instinctively do such things," she sighed. It was starting to look like it was going to be one of those years.
The little bit of absurdity did a lot to reassure Neville, though. If she was doing something silly like posing for him, how much of a monster could she be?
Poor, naive Neville.
"Orchid… I don't want you hurting anyone, okay?"
Orchid tilted her head in a gesture designed to be brutally adorable.
A strong, sweet scent suddenly invaded Neville's nostrils. At the same time, a sudden flurry of images and feelings invaded his mind. They hit so hard it left him reeling for a moment, then vanished even faster. It was so quick he barely had time to register what he was seeing and hearing. Afterward, he was left with a faint feeling that could basically be translated as:
Why?
"Are you alright, Mr. Longbottom?" McGonagall asked, watching him carefully as he shook the cobwebs out of his head.
"Yeah," he replied in a slightly dazed tone. "I… I think she just talked to me…"
McGonagall raised an eyebrow.
"Oh? And what did she say?"
Frowning, Neville paused to think for a moment. Forehead wrinkling in concentration, he responded, "She wants to know why she can't eat people. I think she's confused, because it's a natural thing for her to do."
"Well, you'd better explain it to her, hadn't you?"
Over the next several minutes Neville tried his best to explain to his new familiar why she shouldn't hurt - and especially eat - people. The conversation was complicated by his inability to explain something he'd never really thought about and her inability (or unwillingness) to understand. From her point of view, people enjoyed being eaten. She really didn't see why it mattered that they only enjoyed it because she was pumping them full of narcotic poisons.
Finally he had simply said that he liked other people, and that it would make him sad if she hurt them. Her appropriately horrified expression when he followed it up by telling her making him sad would be like hurting him made Neville pretty confident she'd got the message, even if she didn't really understand the reasoning. After that, she was more than happy to promise that she'd do no stabbing, crunching and eating.
The images that conveyed that were enough to turn Neville's complexion a faint shade of green.
"Good enough, Mr. Longbottom. Breaking a promise given to their master is extraordinarily difficult for even an intelligent Familiar ."
Neville sighed in relief.
By the end of the conversation he had started getting used to Orchid's odd form of communication, but getting to that point had left his head spinning. The constant barrage of images was dizzying to say the least, let alone the phantom sensations that sometimes accompanied them.
"I'm curious, Mr. Longbottom. You seem to be communicating with your Orchid using a means that I am not privy to," McGonagall said. "By what method are you accomplishing that?"
Neville turned to look at Orchid curiously.
"Yeah, how are you doing that?"
Giggling silently, Orchid lifted her hand in front of his face and rubbed her pale fingers together. An incredibly fine, white powder drifted down from them. The sweet scent spiked again, and images rushed into the young wizard's mind.
See?
"Interesting," McGonagall said quietly. Internally, she resolved to practice her Bubblehead Charm until she could use it wandlessly without any delay. "Some sort of biological agent that induces controlled hallucinations?"
Orchid thought for a moment, then shrugged.
"I presume that is how you lure food into your embrace?"
The plant spirit thought for a moment. Then, smirking at McGonagall, she ran a hand down her chest.
Some.
Neville turned bright red.
"She… uh… says that she doesn't always need it…"
"Yes, I would imagine. That does bring us to the next problem, however," McGonagall said blandly.
Neville gave her a confused look and asked, "What problem."
Sighing, McGonagall pointed at Orchid's chest and said, "That problem."
Neville turned to see what she was pointing at, then froze. In an instant his face when bright red again, and quickly turned away while emitting a faint squeak.
Somehow, in all the mess about eating people and whatnot, he'd completely missed the fact that his Familiar was completely starkers.
The conversation that followed was far longer than it should have been, and even more difficult than the first. Orchid was adamantly against wearing clothing of any kind. As a creature that used her body to hunt, doing so was completely against her instincts. It was so bad that Neville for a moment though she would attack McGonagall when the professor offered to transfigure a robe.
Finally, they managed to settle on something approaching a compromise. Admitting defeat (sort of), Orchid caused flowers to bloom across her chest and from her hips. They formed something like a ruffled tube top and a tight skirt to match. Neville wasn't certain it counted as clothing, since it was part of her body still, but it seemed to be enough to satisfy McGonagall.
For the teacher's part, she was praising herself for her foresight in sticking a new bottle of muggle painkillers in her desk drawer. Something told her she was going to get a lot of headaches this year.
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Harry idly stroked the cat in his lap as he watched his head of house rifle around in a drawer.
He kind of felt like he should be freaking out right now but, amazingly, he felt really calm. It probably had something to do with the fact that Angel was laying sprawled in his lap. Something about the purring cat made it very difficult to be nervous.
"Now then, Mr. Potter," McGonagall suddenly said, placing a sheet of fine vellum on her desk. "Do you know why you're here?"
Harry nodded.
"Neville said it's because Angel might be dangerous," he replied. It wasn't very hard to imagine her being a threat, given the way her fingernails sliced through stone. "He told me when he left."
"Mr. Longbottom is partially correct. In your case, the issue is that we don't know whether or not that is the case. You are here so that we can answer that question," McGonagall said. "If she is, or if we cannot identify her, we will have to register her now."
Harry nodded. Neville had told him that part too.
"That's okay. She already has a name, anyway. It's Angel," Harry declared proudly. "It's something people used to call her, I guess…"
"You've acknowledged the name she came with? Well, that does make things simple," McGonagall said. "Ms. Angel, would you please assume your other form so that we may talk?"
Harry's eyes widened in horror.
"Angel, she didn't mean-"
The cat changed.
Describing exactly how Angel changed from cat to girl was kind of difficult. Her form sort of twisted, folding in on itself in a way that hurt the eyes. Then mass rushed outward, quickly expanding and unfolding into a bouncy redhead.
Unfortunately, there wasn't nearly enough room between Harry's lap and McGonagall's desk to accommodate the girl. The force of her expansion was violent enough to actually move the ironwood desk a few centimeters. Harry, not weighing nearly as much as the antique furniture, was launched backward. He hit the floor, tumbled, then slammed into the wall by the door. A pained groan escaped his lips as he collapsed into a heap.
"-right there," he finished weakly.
Angel, who had landed crouched in the now empty section of floor, turned to give him a confused look.
"My Boy, why are you lying all funny? You have to land on your feet if you're going to jump, silly!"
"Duly noted…" Harry whimpered. "I'll put that down right next to 'walls hurt' in my notebook…"
Hooking a foot around a leg of his chair, Angel swept it back into place without rising from her crouch. Then she grabbed Harry and stood, effortlessly lifting him off the floor and deposited him in his seat. A moment later she joined him, bouncing into the chair next to him.
"Thank you. Now, with your permission, I would like to cast a spell on your Familiar," McGonagall said, acting like she had totally missed the small incident. "It is intended to identify her, though it will most likely be a waste of time and resources. I am, unfortunately, required to do so regardless, simply to satisfy Ministry regulations."
"Why would it be a waste?"
McGonagall scowled as she placed a small diamond on the sheet of vellum. Angel's eyes immediately locked onto it.
"Shiny…" she whispered.
McGonagall actually chuckled at that.
"It's a diamond, dear. It would be odd if it was not shiny," she said. "As to why it is a waste, the answer is that the spell is almost certainly going to fail. The Libra spell is designed to identify animals and magical creatures. It is not meant to be used on humans. Because of that, anything that regularly becomes a human confuses it quite badly."
"Oh. Isn't not going to hurt her, is it? George was saying it could be bad when magic things don't work right."
"It's a simple Divination spell. One of the few that have actual merit, really. The worst that will happen should it fail is a garbled mess of information that means nothing," McGonagall reassured him. "Well, that and the pointless waste of a diamond."
"Oh. That's fine, then."
McGonagall nodded and withdrew her wand. Gesturing toward Angel, she requested, "Now dear, please lean forward so I can reach you."
"Don't wanna," was the immediate response. There was a wary look on the Familiar's face as she stared intently at the wand. "I don't like the bad magic."
Harry gave her a confused look and said, "What do you mean? It's not gonna hurt you."
"It hurt the things. It hurt lots of the things," Angel replied, still looking at the length of wood.
"Huh? Angel, that's not nice. Why would you say something like that?"
McGonagall examined the girl for several seconds, then sighed.
"Because, Mr. Potter, she is quite correct. My wand has indeed harmed many of 'the things,'" McGonagall answered. "By some standards, perhaps even by many, it could be considered a 'bad thing.'"
Harry slowly turned to give her a shocked and confused look.
"Oh, there's no need for that. My prior position involved solving problems for various communities on behalf of the International Confederation of Wizards. Frequently those problems did not wish to be solved," McGonagall explained. "Magical beasts and cursed artifacts can get quite belligerent when asked to relocate."
"And peoples," Angel added quietly.
McGonagall arched an eyebrow and agreed, "And occasionally people. You can rest assured that they were only people of the very worst sort. I must admit, I'm quite curious as to how you know that."
Angel shrugged, but didn't respond.
"Very well, then. Regardless of that, the registration must be completed. Mr. Potter, please order your Familiar to allow me to cast the spell on her."
"I just asked her to."
Nodding, McGonagall said, "Yes, but you did not order her to. It is all but impossible for a Familiar to refuse a direct order from her master."
Freezing, Harry looked across the desk with an expression of horror on his face. Somewhere in the back of his head he'd already pieced that bit together. It hadn't been hard, given the bits and pieces he'd heard about the Bond. Having it suddenly dragged out into the light, however, was a bit of a shock.
It took approximately 0.023 seconds to realize he really didn't like the idea.
He turned to his Familiar, only to discover she was now trying to split her wary stare between both him and the wand. The suspicious look didn't exactly warm his heart, and firmly cemented his opinion about ordering Familiars around.
Rather than do as McGonagall had requested, he reached out and awkwardly patted her head. He honestly had no idea what else to do and she was just a big cat, right? So, as weird as it was, it was the closest thing to a good idea that he had.
Angel's gaze immediately softened, suggesting that it was, in fact, the right thing to do.
"Angel, would you please let Professor McGonagall use the spell on you?" he asked. "It's really important."
"But… But she said the magics won't work, My Boy. Why do I have to let her do it if it won't work?" Angel pleaded. Turning to McGonagall, she asked, "They won't work, will they?"
McGonagall sighed.
"The chance of it functioning properly is almost nonexistent," she replied. "Unfortunately, the cogs of bureaucracy have little use for common sense."
"Please?" Harry asked hopefully.
Angel bit her lip and pouted, but turned away and leaned forward across the desk. McGonagall, whom clearly had no intention of letting her change her mind, brought her wand up. She gently tapped one of Angel's temples, slid her wand across the Familiar's forehead and tapped the other.
"Libra."
There was a sharp crack, like a quiet gunshot, that caused Angel to squeak in surprise and throw herself backward. The move was so violent that it slammed her into the chair hard enough to start it overbalancing backward.
Harry registered his Familiar's plight peripherally, and even noted that he should be helping, but he was far to interested in what was happening on the desk to do so. Besides, she was a cat. Cats land on their feet.
The diamond had exploded, becoming a cloud of incredibly fine, shining dust. It hung in the air for a moment, then started to swirl. Thin tendrils of the shining dust began to stream down towards the parchment. There was a burning smell as they touched, and thin scorch marks began appearing on the paper. Harry watched in fascination as the shining threads began to draw letters and sketch patterns.
The show ended a moment later.
"Ooh~, neat magic!" Angel declared, obviously impressed.
"See? I told you it was-" Harry cut off as he turned to face her.
Angel had obviously managed to stop herself from tumbling backward. She'd stopped herself at exactly the halfway point, as a matter of fact. Harry knew this because the chair was still half-toppled, positioned at a 45 degree angle on its back legs. The bouncy redhead was crouched atop it, feet on the back of the chair and elbows propped on the edge of the seat.
Harry very deliberately turned away, deciding to ignore the oddity.
On the other side of the desk, McGonagall made a disgusted sound.
"As I suspected, a complete waste," she muttered, dropping the paper back onto her desk.
Harry tentatively reached out and, seeing no objection from the witch, slid the paper across so he could take a look.
The top left quarter of the sheet was occupied by a rather nice picture of Angel in both her forms. Her human body was sprawled out sloppily in an armchair, which was most likely the only way she knew to use one. In her lap sat her cat form, fast asleep on her back in a position that looked very uncomfortable. Angel's red and black ribbon ran between them, circling the cat's neck and tying back her hair in one length.
The only thing wrong with it was that the whole thing was a hair on the blurry side. The edges were fuzzed to a barely noticeable degree.
The rest of the page was less impressive. Words were randomly scrawled, like someone had eaten a dictionary and thrown it up on the page. The mess was made even worse by the odd patterns drawn here and there across parchment.
Angel suddenly snatched the page away and held it up to the light.
"Ooh, I didn't know wands know the Other Place's words!" she said, clearly impressed.
"The other place's words? What do you mean?"
"Not the other place, silly My Boy. The Other Place," Angel clarified. She lowered the page enough for Harry to see it and tapped one of the strange patterns. "Khe'set Tai'n. The Other Place uses these to write."
Harry's lips moved as he tried to silently reproduce the words. It was pretty much a lost cause, as both contained sounds he was pretty sure him mouth couldn't actually make. Finally, he settled on asking, "Oh, so those are words? What do they say?"
Angel shook her head and scowled at the page.
"Nothing, My Boy. Where the words are in the big shapes is re~ally important, but all the words are in the wrong places. Some of them are even in the wrong shapes!"
"So it is useless even in that respect, not that it would have done us much good," McGonagall grumbled.
"So how do we find out what she is?"
Angel giggled, "Silly My Boy, I already know what I am. Why would I need someone to tell me?"
"And that is…?" McGonagall promoted.
"Shi'ai'u."
Harry winced at the sound of the word. That one had contained two completely different sounds he was pretty sure would twist his mouth apart if he tried to reproduce them.
"You realize that isn't very helpful, right?"
Shrugging, Angel replied, "The words don't change good at all, My Boy. 'Cute kitty' is kind of close, I guess. Or maybe 'cute kitten.' Kittens are the little ones, so that might be closer. Oh, I know! I'm a harmless little cutten!"
"And do 'cuttens' typically shred wood with their nails?" McGonagall asked blandly, studying the gouges Angel's fingernails were carving into the furniture.
"We~ll, not everyone likes cute. Some things even try to eat us! Can you imagine that, something trying to eat someone as cute as me? " the Familiar faux-gasped. "So we have scary claws. Most cuttens just have the little claws for the little scratches, but mine are big!" she finished proudly, brandishing said nails.
"They are indeed," McGonagall agreed, studying the cutten's hands. Her nails didn't even remotely resemble a human's. They were several centimeters long, very thick, and very slim. It also looked like they grew right out of her fingertips. They really had more in common with a cat's claw than a human's fingernail.
"Being big is good. It's easy to catch the fuzzy things and make them go crunch! Even the big things!"
" Crunch…?"
Angel grinned at Harry, displaying a mouthful of pointed teeth. She then opened wide, spreading her jaw just a bit wider than any human could, before slamming her mouth closed and saying, "Crunch."
Harry's complexion acquired a green tinge, a direct result of a vivid imagination.
"The big things are fun, but little fuzzy things crunch best!" Angel continued excitedly. "Oh! Are there little fuzzy things to crunch here, My Boy?"
Before Harry could respond, McGonagall said sharply, "There will be no crunching of fuzzy things here, young lady."
Angel paused, giving her a blank stare.
"That's you. It's still you," McGonagall sighed. "If I address someone as 'young lady' while speaking to you, it is safe to assume I am referring to you."
"Oh. Okay."
Images of the bottle of painkillers in her desk danced across McGonagall's mind.
"As I was saying, there will be no crunching in Hogwarts."
Angel started to open her mouth, but before she could speak Harry said, "That's where we are."
"Oh~. I knew that!"
"No you didn't."
"No I didn't," Angel immediately conceded. "Wait, why can't I crunch things?"
"Because any creature you come across within these walls is likely to be a Familiar or pet."
Harry added, "That means they're your friends. It's not nice to crunch friends."
"... if you say so, My Boy," Angel agreed doubtfully. "Can I still crunch things that aren't friends?"
Harry thought for a second, then shrugged. "I guess so. Only if you're really, really sure they're not friends."
"Yay! I love you, My Boy!" his Familiar cheered. Before Harry could react she reached out and grabbed him. He didn't even have time to shout in surprise before being hauled out of his chair and against her chest.
McGonagall watched with with mild amusement as Harry tried without success to escape Pillow Hell.
"While we are on the subject, I want to make it clear that I will not tolerate attacks against students or staff in the future," McGonagall said firmly. "There is to be no further incidents like the one involving Mr. Malfoy. Is that understood?"
"Okay!" Angel immediately agreed.
McGonagall sighed internally and decided that was probably good enough, despite the fact that the Familiar was clearly more concerned with preventing Harry's escape than listening.
Sometimes you just had to take what you could get.
"Good. Now, on to the next problem. Your clothes are just barely appropriate, and that is assuming you use a very loose definition of appropriate," McGonagall stated.
Giving her a confused look, Angel slid a nail between her top and chest, carefully pulling it back. It stretched improbably far, then snapped back with a sharp crack.
"What's wrong with the clothes?" she asked.
"They are far too tight and revealing. I was actually a bit curious as to how you managed to get into them, but seeing how far the material stretches…"
Angel nodded happily. "Wormskin is re~ally stretchy and strong. The worms don't like people taking it, so it's kinda rare. Most people get crunched if they try to get it," she explained. "It makes good armor and wearing it makes you look real tough, so a lotta people like it."
"Is that why you wear it? As some sort of trophy?" McGonagall asked curiously. "I'm assuming it's not for the armor value…"
"Nope. No one with a brain is impressed by something dumb like wormskin. Just people that think they're tougher than they are," Angel snickered. "That's why so many go crunch. I like it 'cuz it's easy to take with me when I'm a kitty. Si'rren yelled at me for leaving the clothes everywhere, so I started getting the wormskin."
McGonagall paused. She studied the Familiar carefully, hoping she had somehow misunderstood her.
"...if I am understanding correctly, you wear that because you have trouble bringing other clothing with you when you change forms. Is that correct?"
"Uh-huh. It's easier to bring things when they're tight and there isn't much. Wormskin is easy 'cuz it's re~ally tight and almost not there!"
McGonagall signed and rubbed her temples. "Nonetheless, wearing proper clothing is something you will need to get used to. I am afraid I will have to ask you to dress appropriately. You will simply have to be careful about changing forms, and not do so unless you are somewhere you will not be seen.
Angel tilted her head and looked at McGonagall hopefully.
"You want me to wear the right clothes?"
McGonagall sighed in relief, trying to force down the sudden wave of dread she felt. It seemed like this one, at least, understood. All of her sense were screaming at her that something was wrong, as the Familiar wasn't protesting at all - but it seemed like it would work out well, if only this once.
"Yes. I would greatly appreciate it."
"Okay!" she exclaimed happily. She grabbed the bottom of her halter top and pulled, wiggling as she tried to pull it up over her head. Given how tight it was, it seemed to be quite a laborious process. Harry was pretty sure he could hear her top being peeled away from her skin.
"What are you doing!?" McGonagall snapped.
Angel paused, the bottoms of her breasts just barely visible. "You said I should wear appropriate clothing."
"And how does that involve stripping in my office?"
The familiar gave her a bland look. "I'm a kitty. Kittys don't wear clothes."
McGonagall started. Her left eye developed a slight tic. It started off quite slow, but rapidly hit the point where it couldn't possibly be healthy.
The weight against her legs shifted as Ash pushed away. The large feline slunk out from behind the desk, rounding it and coming to a stop next to Angel's chair. The girl stared down at him curiously, the two cats seeming to size each other up. The staring contest stretched on for what seemed like a very long time, both Harry and McGonagall watching it curiously.
Finally, Ash shifted his weight and raised a paw. Angel, in response, leaned down and held out her hand, palm up. Ash's paw immediately descended, slapping the middle of her palm.
Harry blinked. He could safely say he'd never seen a cat high-five someone before. Well, technically it had been a low-five, but it probably still counted.
McGonagall, on the other hand, seemed quite a bit less impressed. She shot the pair a nasty glare that practically screamed, "We are not amused."
A faint "eep" escaped from Angel. She quickly twisted, instantly turning into an adorable kitten. Almost immediately, Ash's large jaws closed on the back of her neck. He hauled her out of the chair, spun, and dashed straight at the wall. Just before he hit it, a small hole - about the size of a doggy door - opened. The cougar vanished into the darkness with a confused kitten still dangling from his mouth.
Harry could practically hear the large cat screaming, "Get the hell out of Dodge!"
"Um… what just-"
McGonagall, once again massaging her temples, answered, "The tunnels. Hogwarts is full of them. No one is quite sure when they were made or by whom, but they allow Familiars to travel quickly around the castle."
And wander into places they have absolutely no place being, she added silently. On more than one occasion during her tenure it had taken a coordinated search of the castle to find a familiar that had gone too far off the beaten path.
Of course, most were eventually "found" in their master's common room, looking confused as to what all the ruckus was about. Your average small animal seemed remarkably good at unlosing itself once the whole castle had been searching for an hour.
"They are also quite useful when a familiar wants to avoid their master's wrath. Temporarily."
"I- I see." Harry said nervously.
He'd never been so glad he wasn't a large cat before.
=A=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=A=
The Greengrass family valued objectivity and reasoning above all other things.
Emotions were, for the most part, just obstacles that got in the way of their research. Most members of the family viewed then as a vice, much like smoking or drinking were seen in other groups. They were something that you could enjoy occasionally so long as you kept it under control, but were ultimately unhealthy. Because of that, overindulgence was strongly frowned upon.
Daphne was overindulging.
She had, since shortly after her birth, been considered something of a prodigy. Among her family that was saying something. She had taken to her lessons in control and objectivity like no one in the past two centuries. At ten years old she actually scared some of the weaker-willed members of the family.
Now it was like someone had shoved a red-hot poker straight into her brain.
She had anticipated a period of adjustment after her Summoning. There was almost always some emotional feedback that ran across the Bond. But this blew even her least favorable estimates straight out of the water, set them on fire, then ground them to dust.
Her Familiar was a bundle of pure rage.
Literally.
"I assume you know why you are here, Ms. Greengrass," McGonagall said. It wasn't a question this time, like with the others, but a simple statement.
McGonagall had little contact with the Greengrass outside of the social events that "everyone who's anyone" went to. They were one of the "questionable" families. Though they weren't exactly Dark, they still weren't Light enough for Albus. Because of that she was expected to stay away from them, and any interaction she had was subject to a great deal of scrutiny.
The Greengrass were one of the only reason she went to those blasted parties. They invariably ended up being massive nests of gossip and backstabbing. It still boggled her mind that you'd invite someone you disliked, and that they would attend even if they disliked you. It was probably because the McGonagall clan's blood had never been blue, but it was something she just couldn't comprehend.
Either way, social obligation said that, as a representative of Hogwarts, she had to greet every parent in attendance. Even better, it was a task that Albus was more than happy to leave to her. Every "Dark" or "Questionable" family she spoke to was one less he had to lower himself to conversing with.
While she didn't know them as well as some of the other families she wasn't supposed to interact with, she'd heard more than enough about Daphne specifically to assume she'd know exactly what the issue here was.
She wasn't disappointed.
"Him," the girl said simply, turning to face her new Familiar. "He's dangerous."
In more ways than one, actually. She could practically feel the fragment of her Familiar's soul pushing its way deep into her core. The frozen thoughts and feelings tried to bury it, freezing it solid and making it like them. Instead of doing the sensible thing and conceding to the greater power, it fought with surprising strength. Despite its diminutive nature, it was incredibly hard to suppress.
And even though she managed to contain it, it was still chewing at the edges of her being. Things that had been wrapped up, frozen, then shoved into the back of her mind were melting, if only a tiny bit. They were things she had forgotten long ago, assuming they were discarded forever.
It was his fault.
Her new Familiar chuckled, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking and found it extremely amusing.
He was massive, his entire body covered in muscles that looked like they'd been forged from steel. It made him look more like a parody of a bodybuilder than an actual man. The skin stretched over them was tanned without an ounce of fat behind it and his arms - all six of them - were larger than a normal man's thighs. There was a set of three on each side, attached to a matching set of shoulders that somehow shared the limited real estate by his neck.
His short hair was a pure white, matching his eyes that had neither iris nor pupil. Despite their lack of typical detail, the flat white orbs somehow conveyed a sense of savage amusement. It was mocking and seemed to lack anything even approaching respect, a fact that was also demonstrated by the feet he'd kicked up onto McGonagall's desk. He was leaning back in his chair and rocking slightly, grinding his heels onto the wood. One set of arms had its hands folded behind his neck, a second set was crossed over his chest, and the third was hanging limply and swinging as the chair moved.
"Indeed," McGonagall agreed dryly. "Dangerous is one word for it. Your Familiar is an asura, a physical incarnation of the sin of Wrath. He-"
"The word 'sin' is a subjective classification that lacks merit," Daphne broke in. "An asura is nothing but an incarnation of hatred and rage. Both of those are equally worthless, accomplishing nothing except driving men to make the wrong decisions, but have far more value than a word like 'sin.'"
The asura laughed again and declared, "Ooh, I like ya!"
"Ms. Greengrass, I realize things are done differently in your family, but let me remind you that it is inappropriate to interrupt-"
The asura's chair hit the floor with a thud. An instant later on of his hands slammed into the ironwood desk hard enough to shake the floor and drive his fingers straight into the metal-hard surface.
"You just talk down to 'er!?" he demanded. "I ought ta rip yer skank head off!"
McGonagall calmly stared back into his eyes. She had to admit it was a bit unsettling to look into them from this close. Still not bad as that thorny hell, though. "I would appreciate it if you did not assault my desk again. I'm rather fond of it."
The familiar blinked. A second set of hands came down - quite a bit more gently - on either side of the first. He shifted his weight, leaning forward to get a better look at her face. Her desk creaked dangerously. A fifth hand came around to point at her from just inches away from her face.
"There somethin' wrong with ya? Ya oughta be pissing yerself in fear! Don't ya know what I am, woman?" he growled.
McGonagall sighed, as if a particularly dim student had asked her to explain the same thing for the twelth time.
"I believe we've already covered that, but I suppose humoring you won't hurt. You are an asura, a member of one of the seven species of conceptual incarnations know as the 'Embodiments of Sin,'" McGonagall stated blandly. "Your particular species is born of wrath, and are appropriately violent and unpredictable.'
"Nah," the asura disagreed. "We ain't violent. Yer all just a buncha pussies."
"The Embodiments of Sin are one of the few conceptual incarnations that can reliably be summoned. It's quite clear that you allow that to happen specifically so you may torment and kill," McGonagall continued. "I believe that could be considered violent. Incarnations of wrath, in particular, are known for bringing their fool summoners to a messy end."
The comment actually seemed to please the asura, at least to a degree. The fury Daphne had felt from him since they entered the office abated noticeably. There was another pained groan from the desk as he pushed off of it, straightening and placing all six hands on his hips.
"Messy ain't even half a' it. One a' my brothers yanked some dumbass summoner's arm right outta the socket and beat his sissy head in with it. Ironic, ain't it?"
"No," Daphne immediately answered. "It's not ironic at all."
"...it ain't?"
"No," Daphne repeated. "That's a complete misuse of the word."
McGonagall studied the asura as he looked down at his master with a confused expression. There was a faint smile on her lips as she watched him.
Oh, so that's the game.
McGonagall cleared her throat, drawing her companion's attention back where it belonged. Giving the asura a disapproving glare, she said, "Well, it certainly does seem like you live up to your reputation as a species of unreasoning, havoc-obsessed brutes."
The asura grinned, displaying a mouthful of jagged teeth. Not jagged like the vicious points in Angel's mouth, but more like every tooth had at some point been broken and reassembled poorly.
"Lady, ya don't even know th' half've it," he said proudly.
"I'm quite sure I don't," she agreed as she shifted her eyes back to Daphne. "It would be best if you named your Familiar and instructed him to behave. Asura are responsible for many atrocities, and it is quite likely he poses a danger to all in this castle."
The anger came back, fast and fierce enough to make Daphne gasp.
"Ya know, I hate that bullshit," the Asura spat. He slammed an open palm down on the poor, abused desk. "Yer th' assholes that call us, but we're th' monsters? We do exactly what you pricks tell us to do when we're here. We're perfectly happy beating th' piss outta each other. Yer the ones that open up th' door. Yer th' ones that tell us ta smash someone's head like a' grape 'cuz he said some words that hurt yer poor widdle feelings. They're your fuckin' 'trocities!"
"Would you stop that!" Daphne snapped, her patience finally completely eroded by the anger surging through her. "You are being very rude to Professor McGonagall. Sit down!"
Daphne's Familiar slammed down into his chair so hard the legs twisted and splintered. He sat there for a moment, stunned. It took a few seconds for him to shake it off, at which point he scratched his head and looked around, as if trying to figure out how he'd ended up there.
"Huh," he said.
McGonagall was feeling much the same, though she didn't voice it.
The Greengrass were trained to think the "right" way nearly from the time they were born. It was something she didn't really approve of, but even McGonagall had to admit it made them ideal students. The few she'd known had been so well-behaved that it was almost eerie, like they weren't human at all.
It was actually quite nice to see her acting like an angry child.
"While I certainly appreciate you reigning your Familiar in, I would suggest not using such a forceful command in the future. I'm not sure exactly how much more punishment my furniture can take."
Daphne, to Minerva's shock, actually blushed slightly.
"I'm sorry, professor. I don't know what I was…" Daphne trailed off as she noticed her Familiar was now leaning forward and studying her closely. "What?"
The asura chuckled. "Was getting worried there fer a sec, but you do got a li'l piss 'n vinegar after all, don'tcha?"
"I'm certain I don't know what you're talking about. Now, please just sit there and behave. I'd like to get back down to the dungeon at some point."
"Dungeon?" the asura asked, eyebrows raising in interest. "'s it th' fun kinda dungeon?"
"In your case I'm going to assume you mean the kind where you tear limbs off and bludgeon their former owners to death with them."
He gave his master a confused look. "'course I do. How th' hell else do ya have fun in a dungeon?"
"... don't ever ask me that again. That's an order."
"Whaddever ya say, Boss,"
"As interesting as this is, it would be best if we completed your Familiar's registration immediately, for the safety and welfare of our students and staff," McGonagall broke in. "Please-"
"Tch. 'Safety 'n welfare?'" the Familiar broke in. "Like yer one ta talk."
Raising an inquiring eyebrow, McGonagall began, "And what exactly does-"
Without warning, the asura let loose a savage yell and lunged forward across the desk. One pair of hands slammed into the surface, lifting him over it and finally snapping the abused furnishing's legs. The other four arms were stretched out, fingers cocked to grab the teacher and tear her head from her shoulders. Lines of burning white shot down his arms, like someone had poured molten metal straight into his veins, and the desk around his extended fingers sizzled with heat.
"Sparkles!" Daphne blurted out.
The asura - now Sparkles, apparently - froze in mid-lunge.
"Well, whaddaya know?" he said, chuckling quietly.
Her brain finally catching up to what had happened, Daphne's eyes widened in shock.
Sparkles had stopped with his hands still several inches away from McGonagall's neck, which was probably a good thing. Where the surface of the desk had been the dark grey of ironwood before, most of it was now the dull black of actual iron. Over a dozen metal rods - a few centimeters in diameter - protruded from the transformed surface. The four Sparkles had caught and hauled to a stop were glowing a faint red around the points of contact, while the rest had frozen at various distances from his head, neck and chest.
Each was tipped with a very nasty looking point.
"Heh," Sparkles chuckled. "Ya smell like a demon yerself, y'know? Bad as any a' my brothers. Figured you'd be good for a throw-down."
"You might not enjoy it as much as you think," McGonagall said blandly. She moved the hand resting on the surface on her desk, flexing her fingers and dragging them across the iron. The movement dragged the cuff of her sleeve up, revealing a glimpse of the complex pattern carved into her forearm. Faint sparks of light ran through the deep scars as the rods slowly pulled themselves back into the desk.
"Ya ain't known many asura, have ya?" Sparkles chuckled. He tilted his head, nodding toward the hand still laying on the desktop. "Ya been ready ta do that th' whole time, yeah?"
McGonagall shrugged dismissively. "I didn't reach this age by being careless or stupid, did I?"
Laughing, Sparkles dropped back into his chair, paying no heed to the splintering sound that came from the legs. "Woman, I like ya. We oughta knock each other 'round a bit sometime. 'm thinking it'd be a blast!"
"I'm afraid those days are behind me, Sparkles. The headmaster would be very displeased with me if I had 'fun' of that sort," McGonagall said.
It might have been Daphne's imagination, but there might have been the tiniest hint of regret in the professor's tone.
"Well 's a bitch, ain't it? Too bad, 'cuz…" the asura trailed off with a somewhat puzzled and put-off look on his face. "Hold up. The hell is a 'Sparkles?'"
This time it was McGonagall that chuckled. "That would be you, apparently. It would seem you've received your name."
Sparkles stared at her for several seconds, then slowly turned to face Daphne.
The young witch slowly turned a faint shade of red. If the had been in her normal frame of mind, she would have been ashamed of herself for giving in to the embarrassment. But, at the moment, she was absolutely mortified past the point of caring. She had reacted purely reflexively, based on emotion and panic, and had done something stupid. It was exactly the sort of thing she'd received years of training to avoid.
"Sparkles… Sparkles? Seriously, Sparkles!?"
Daphne, having recovered with admirable speed, gave him a cold stare.
"It was all I could think of quickly. It's your fault for forcing my hand by trying to murder the professor."
"Oh, come on! I was only gonna kill 'er a li'l! That's basically like saying hi!" Sparkles protested. "Why freakin' Sparkles 've all th' stupid things!? Why would'ja think a' that first!?"
"Sparkles was a stuffed unicorn. She was my favorite, right up until Mother took her away," Daphne explained. "It's an important name. You should be glad to have it."
"Yeah, 'm happy as a gremling 'n a plane factory," Sparkles grumbled. "'s pretty happy, just in case ya never met a gremling. Everyone just trembles 'n fear before Sparkles: destroyer of civilizations 'n entertainer of li'l girl's birthday parties. Pretty fuckin' sweet, yeah?"
McGonagall smiled faintly and agreed, "Indeed. I'm almost jealous."
"Ya should be. Just wait 'till I break out th' pink tutu an' start handing out th' shiny rainbow stickers. I'll see if I can find ya some right after I find my pride."
"Okay, I get it. You don't like the name."
Sparkles gave his master a shocked look. "Don't like it? Boss, why'dja think that? All I'm saying is that Spikey there prob'ly ain't getting a sticker anytime soon."
"A shame. I was so looking forward to one," McGonagall said blandly. Turning her gaze back toward Daphne, she continued. "And as for you, I know telling you to forget this happened entirely would be pointless. Instead, I must insist you do not talk about it to anyone outside of your family. I would appreciate it if you asked your mother to show the same discretion."
Daphne nodded in agreement. "Even had you asked it, I could not withhold this incident from Mother. I believe I am the first of my family to see the Iron Maiden's signature magic. My observations of the event may prove useful in the future."
"Hey, if 's people getting shanked you wanna see, Boss, I got ya covered. Hell, I'll do ya one better!" Sparkles said with a grin. "Ya wanna see how far ya can shove a guy's head up his own ass?"
"...have you actually done that?" Daphne asked in disbelief.
"What's the problem? Lotta humans got 'em up there to begin with. I was just helping out. Making it a bit less figurative an' all. 's not like they wear signs, ya know? Good ta have th' warning."
"You are not to cause serious injury or permanent harm to anyone in this castle unless I grant you permission or they are a threat to me." Daphne said firmly. "That is an order."
"An interesting and well-thought order. Still… 'unless I grant you permission', Ms. Greengrass?" McGonagall asked with a arched eyebrow.
"I've been taught it is always wise to keep your options open," the girl stated. "It's not like I couldn't just countermand the order later, anyway. This just means it'll take less effort."
"Wait, you mean I can't hurt anyone? Are you being serious, Boss?" Sparkles said in disbelief. "Do you even understand what a freakin' Asura is?"
Daphne fought the urge to groan. It'd been years since she had to struggle to suppress a reaction like that, but this time she came very close escaping anyway. Sparkles' anger was like a giant mixer dropped into the formerly placid lake of her mind. Not only was it stirring the water itself up, but that frantic motion was dredging other unwanted feelings up off the lakebed.
"It was my understanding that completing the Bond made Familiars more human and calmed them significantly. When exactly is that supposed to happen?" Daphne asked.
McGonagall blinked at the girl in confusion. "It should have the moment you named him. Why?"
Daphne took a moment to contemplate her inner state. Sympathetic emotions were still whipping back and forth within her, feelings of anger and hatred chief among them. They seemed less intense or unpredictable than they had before.
She looked at Sparkles in confusion.
The Asura gave her a smug smile. "You're kidding, right? Me and my cousins - all of the Seven - come from your desires. You can't make us 'more human' because we're already 'bout as human as you can get. Hell, we're more human 'n you in some ways."
"And that means…?"
She got a grin in response. "Ya can't fight how I feel any more than ya humans can keep all th' dirty li'l thoughts outta their heads. Denial don't do anyone no good. Accept it an' control it an' I'm sure yer gonna be fine. Or maybe not, which just means more fun fer me," Sparkles chuckled.
"While we are on the subject of nasty little… things," McGonagall deadpanned, "I would greatly appreciate it if you would order your familiar to wear actual clothing."
Both Daphne and Sparkles looked down to consider the small, black speedo the Asura was wearing.
"Heh. Ain't nothing li'l going on there. Might be kinda nasty though, judging by th' itch. 'course, it could be 'cuz I was hanging out with th' crazy lust chicks 'fore I left. Ya end up with the weirdest itches," Sparkles muttered. "An' what the hell is wrong with my clothes?"
"You aren't wearing any." Daphne blandly observed.
"Hey, ya blind, Boss? Ya been whippin' it a li'l too much? 'course I'm wearing clothes. 's traditional asura formalwear, all the way," he declared, snapping the waistband of his tight, elastic speedos.
McGonagall was fighting the urge to slam her head into her desk. What in the world was it with Familiars and clothing?
"That may be so, but I believe traditional wizard garb would be more appropriate in this case. Wouldn't you agree, Ms. Greengrass?"
"Yes, professor," Daphne agreed. Glancing at her familiar, she continued, "You will wear appropriate attire at all times."
Sparkles eyed McGonagall's thick robes dubiously. "If you say so, Boss."
"Why did you say it like that?" Daphne immediately demanded.
"Say what like what?"
"When you agreed. You sounded…"
"Oh. Well, 's like this, Boss..." Sparkles responded, giving a six-shouldered shrug. He held a hand out towards Daphne, extending his hand palm-up.
Curiously, she reached out to take it. An instant later she had to fight down the urge to gasp in shock. His hand was hot, far warmer than a human's. It was almost uncomfortable to hold.
Sparkles gave her a cocky grin. "Ya heard a' bein' hot under th' collar, right? Maybe felt a little warm when ya got pissed off real good?"
"What exactly are you implying?" McGonagall asked.
"Ya let an Asura warm up and we start feelin' good. 'course, feelin' good for me ain't exactly th' same as it is for ya," Sparkles' grin widened. "We start feelin' good an' we wanna have some fun. If ya think 'm feeling wound up now..."
"It gets worse?" Daphne asked, horror evident in her voice.
Sparkles chuckled. "It gets better."
"You are not to wear clothing. Ever." There was a slightly panicked edge to Daphne's order.
The Asura considered her for a moment, then gave another shrug. "Yer th' boss, Boss," He said agreeably. One pair of arms dropped to his waist.
"Except that!" Daphne quickly corrected.
"Y'know, Boss, I think I'm gonna like you." Sparkles chuckled. He tilted back in his chair and threw his feet back up on McGonagall's desk. "Bet yer all kinds a' fun when ya get fired up."
McGonagall watched with interest as he stretched and cracked all six sets of knuckles in succession, her curiosity momentarily overwhelming her annoyance. The familiar's shoulders had actually shifted to better accommodate his movements. The joints had quickly rearranged themselves, moving several inches to assume a different configuration. The Asura didn't even seem to be aware of it happening.
Some sort of inherent metamorphic magic, perhaps.
Sparkles, for his part, was laughing his ass off internally. It never ceased to amuse him how gullible humans could be. You could convince them of the stupidest crap sometimes.
Of course, in his case it was at least partially because they thought of asura as violent, unthinking brutes incapable of misdirection and manipulation. Given their love of smashing things, breaking bones and shoving heads up asses, it was a reasonable conclusion. After all, when you think of someone indulging in acts of hatred and anger, you picture them punching someone in the teeth with a brick.
But people tended to forget something important: changing your identity, befriending your hated enemy, gaining their trust over several years, becoming the center of their existence, then destroying their entire world in front of their disbelieving faces was also an act of wrath.
In other words, asura could be just as insidious and sly as any of their cousins.
But still, this was unbelievable. That had been pretty bad, even for something he'd just pulled out of his ass. It didn't even remotely qualify as 'subtle'. Seriously, asura got angrier when they warmed up? How the hell was that supposed to work? What part of it was even remotely believable?
In reality, he just didn't want to wear clothes.
His body was built to be an unstoppable engine of destruction. From head to toe, every inch of it was built for maximum devastation. Asura were all about anger and collateral damage, so anything that caused them was a work of art in their eyes. Basically, Asura found their own kind to be more beautiful than just about anything else.
What was the point of having a hot bod if you couldn't show it off?
Asura were, as a species, pretty vain. They got along quite well with their pride-born cousins.
"Greengrass do not get fired up," Daphne said primly.
Sparkles rubbed his chin with one hand, while the fingers of another on the same side drummed on the desk.
"That a fact?" he asked, giving her a thoughtful look.
Daphne nodded and replied, "Yes, it is."
"Right. So, 'm getting that I gotta get fired up for both a' us. Show ya how fun it is."
Hopefully quick, too.
Contrary to his claims, he could already feel the boss affecting him. Her presence was like a sliver of freezing cold driven straight into his core. A splinter made of liquid nitrogen sat neatly in a soul that raged like a burning sun. The coldness was already seeping into everything around it.
Here could only hope he was affecting the boss just as bad. Given how cold that little piece of her soul was, her insides must have been sculpted from pure ice. Having a piece of him in there couldn't be comfortable.
Sparkles chuckled.
He had no idea that answering that call would be so amusing. Even just being connected to the boss was a blast. Would he melt her first, or would she freeze him?
Either way, finding out would be fun.
=A=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=A=
"It seems you should have invested in a more durable desk, Professor," Blaise observed, eyeing the heavily damaged furniture critically.
McGonagall sighed as she examined her poor desk. To be fair, it had stood up to the asura's parting gift - a brutal overhead blow delivered by all six hands - better than most things would have
The sudden act of violence had startled and confused his new master, but the message was pretty clear to the deputy headmistress. Ironwood was aptly named, as it was as hard as the metal it took its name from.
The very same metal her transfigured bars were made of.
It wasn't all that hard to get the "subtle" message.
"It would appear so," she agreed. "I can't say I anticipated a need for durability enchantments on an ironwood desk."
Blaise nodded agreeably. "It always pays to be prepared. If you'd like, I could request a replacement desk with suitable enchantments already installed. Given your relationship with mother, I'm certain she would offer it at a substantial discount."
"A tempting offer. I don't suppose it could be enchanted to punch back when assaulted?" McGonagall asked dryly.
Shrugging, Blaise replied, "Rather exotic, but there's little that can't be obtained for the right price. I'll ask mother to look into it."
"I wouldn't want to trouble her. I'm certain she's going to be quite busy finding a solution to your little… problem," McGonagall stated, eyes fixing on the side of his face.
There was a thin, mostly clear membrane covering the flesh. The substance was both a healing agent and painkiller, the result of a rather expensive salve used to treat frostbite. The flesh below it was anything but healthy, considering the way it was discolored, cracked and peeling.
"Yes, it is a bit of a problem. I must admit, I'd pay a great deal for an effective solution," Blaise said. Shaking his head, he turned to regard his "little problem."
Blaise's Familiar was seated next to him, poised in a chair that was rapidly acquiring a layer of frost. She was quite obviously paying not attention to the conversation. Instead, she was twisted around in the seat so she could stare at her master raptly.
Her skin was pale, even paler that Orchid's, to the point that it was actually white. There was also a faint blue tinge to it, like she'd spent far too long in the cold. A braid of frosty blue hair hung halfway down her ample chest. Oddly enough, it was actually tied in the front, hanging it a way that completely obscured almost half her face. Her single visible eye was a brilliant, crystalline blue.
The clothing she wore was enough to make McGonagall's hand twitch towards her drawer of painkillers. It was, technically speaking, a kimono. I use the word "technically" there because it looked like a cross between what you'd find in a high-end tailors and a costume from a sex shop. It technically covered everything that needed to be covered, but left a considerable amount of cleavage, thigh and hip visible.
Fuck it, McGonagall thought. Close enough.
"I must admit, I hadn't considered what a hinderance having a hazardous Familiar would be. Having an unpleasant appearance can be quite detrimental in negotiation," Blaise muttered, touching his cheek. "Unless dealing with criminal elements, of course, but there are few of those in Hogwarts."
"I would certainly hope so. Speaking of which, should I bother to ask how you obtained that salve so quickly? I'm fairly sure you didn't bring it with you."
Blaise thought for a moment, then shrugged. "I suppose you could, if you really wanted to. Mother considers such information to be quite valuable, though. I doubt you'd want to pay the price she'd extract."
"No doubt. I suppose I'll overlook it, since it seems necessary," McGonagall sighed. "Lord knows I would be hard-pressed to prevent such 'imports' from entering the castle."
"Your discretion is quite valuable to us. You can be assured that no items of questionable legality will enter the castle, from us or our competitors," Blaise stated pleasantly.
McGonagall raised an eyebrow and asked, "You have competitors?"
"It was more of a hypothetical statement. I suppose it is somewhat worthless, as such a situation is quite unlikely to arise. Most find that my mother is more than a match for them."
"Or they disappear," McGonagall said blandly. "Quite conveniently, as I understand."
"We have had a few lucky breaks in that area," Blaise readily agreed. "You never can tell when someone will abandon their assets to run off with a secretary. I certainly wouldn't want to suffer the penalties involved with my wife locating me in that situation, and would likely see the value in simply vanishing."
McGonagall sighed (again) and resisted the urge to rub her temples.
It was definitely going to be one of those years.
=A=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=A=
Author's Note
=A=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=A=
Yeah, so, male or female, humanlike Familiars aren't all that fond of clothing.
The actual reason for this is actually pretty straight forward. Clothing is very much a "civilized" thing and is typically limited to "civilized" creatures. Humanlike Familiars, on the other hand, are elementals, spirits, monsters and other assorted things that are generally not civilized at all. Imposing civilized behavior like wearing clothing on an elemental is asking them to do something pretty far outside their nature.
How many landslides have you seen wearing a dress?
In some cases wearing clothing is completely against the Familiar's nature. Asking Orchid to cover herself up is basically asking her to disarm herself. You could even liken it to something along the lines of declawing a cat. She relies almost entirely on being sexually attractive to hunt, so every instinct she has balks at it.
In most cases, it becomes less uncomfortable for them as their personality shifts towards their Master's.
Basically, it all goes back to the one reason that many wizards have a hard time dealing with humanlike Familiars. Because they look human, people expect them to think and act like humans. It's a pretty major mistake, because an alura une has a very different way of thinking than an extremely attractive, but otherwise normal, young woman.
Hitting on her and offering to bring her out for a meal are pretty much the same thing.
Also: don't fuck with McGonagall.