The Red Reign Challenge: This Christmastime
The Twelfth Night : A Faerie Tale
by I Got Tired of Waiting

December 25 : Happy Christmas

He awoke snug beneath an ancient duvet they'd let him take from his quarters at Hogwarts before the court's Aurors had escorted him, at his trial's end, to this three room cottage. There'd not been much they'd let him take, most of it non-magical, but with the four people who could have defended him--Albus, Minerva, Remus, and Harry--all gone, and no real magic remaining within him, he'd not been in a position to argue.

His desire to stay abed warring with a full bladder, he stumbled from his warm haven to the freezing bathroom and hurriedly did his business while shifting from foot to foot to keep warm. Afterwards, he quickly dressed before checking the weather outside through the room's small window, deciding to start the kettle before going out to collect the day's wood; hot tea would be welcome after the cold outside.

Exiting his small bedroom, he stopped mid-stride across the sitting room and stared at a small, bare evergreen tucked in a corner of the room opposite the sideboard and the door to the kitchen. Cautiously he approached it; he could almost smell the magic emanating from it as strongly as its pine-ness. The feel familiar, he suddenly had a vision of white hair and merry blue eyes. Backing away from it, he blindly fled outside, taking huge breaths against a pain he'd thought long buried.

Without a cloak, the cold quickly seeped into his heavy robes, bringing with it a measure of sense and self-derision as to his startled reaction to what was only a harmless, if a bit odd, tree suddenly appearing in his cottage. After all, stranger things had happened to him in the past and he'd not been harmed. Calmer now, and certain the feeling he'd got from the tree was only his imagination, he briskly walked into the small garden with its ever-full wood pile, spelled to always stay stocked. Oh, never enough for a luxurious fire, but enough to keep the pipes from bursting. Far be it for them to allow him to freeze to death--starve maybe, but he would never lack for a marginal environment.

As he reached for the last log the pile would allow him, it hissed. Pulling his hand back, he studied the stack through narrowed eyes until he spotted two bright lights peeking through a chink made by several irregular logs. Sinking to his haunches, he peered closer, eyeing what he thought was a Scottish wild cat wedged in the void; he would have crushed it had he pulled the log he'd been after.

Strangely unafraid, although he should have been given their well-earned reputation as a 'bite-first-then-scratch-your-eyes-out' sort of feline, he mumbled an apology before calmly taking a different log further down the rack. His pace unhurried, he made his way into the cottage, his arms full.

That evening, after eating a light supper, he made one last trip for firewood, almost disappointed that the cat was nowhere to be seen. As he toed open the mostly-closed back door to go inside, a tawny blur darted out of the shadows and ran between his legs, knocking him over as it dashed into the house. Logs everywhere, he struggled to his feet, while debating his best course of action. Warmth won over a feline eviction, for he was certain it had been a cat, so he collected the logs in his arms once again, piling them up past his nose, before depositing them in the sitting room bin. Dusting his hands on his robes, he resolutely turned to seek his intruder...

...and pulled up short when he saw that the tree was now decorated. Inching closer, he noted there were red apples tied to its branches. Feeling no danger, he plucked one, its pungent ripeness making him think of Autumn and burning leaves. With no magic in it that he could sense, he took a small bite and groaned, the taste being the freshest he'd encountered since his arrest.

The apple's bulk filled him as he'd not been for ages, but he was not lost to its sweetness. Even as he savoured each bite, he carefully watched his quarry cautiously inch its way out from under the tree until it sat primly at its edge, seemingly calm, but the tautness of its powerful hindquarters spoke of instant running and hiding. The minutes ticked by as human and cat eyed each other warily, its golden eyes fierce and unwavering. An odd-looking creature, its face looked like something, or someone, had bisected it diagonally across its nose and slid the two halves slightly along the scarred seam, which left it with a near-perfect face except that it was out-of-kilter. A beautiful animal otherwise, if one were inclined to dwell on such things, its black stripes bold against the thick tawny fur, yet deadly if the claws peeping out between the rather dainty toes on the huge paws were any indication. The tail wrapped around its back paws was magnificent, thick and ringed with a black blotch at the end. A powerful cat, almost as large as a spaniel, adapted to live in the wild Scottish highlands, but what was it doing in his house?

The wind hurling snow against his window, he came to a sudden decision. Tossing the apple core into the fireplace, he strode into the kitchen, surprised when the cat followed him to just outside the room's opening. He fetched a small porcelain bowl and filled it with water, placing it by the stove. "I'll give you clean water and a warm fire by which to sleep, at least until this blizzard passes," he rasped. "You'll have to fend for your own supper as I've none to spare." The cat blinked.

With a large, shallow metal pan in hand, he grabbed some old Prophets and marched past the bemused creature to the bathroom. After a few moments, he returned, sans pan and papers, leaving the door to the room open behind him. "I can't think of a better use for those old rags. They come whether I want them or not. I've made you a litter box in the bathroom." He frowned. "See that you use it." The cat slunk back under the tree, his tail held low.

Shaking his head, he gathered some wood from the bin and stepped into the bedroom. Poking his head out the door, he growled, "And if you even think about using your claws on anything..." He let the threat hang before closing the door to his bedroom firmly, wondering if cats could chuckle.

TBC