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

December 29 : Silent Night

Buttoning the sleeve of his robe as he entered the sitting room, the first thing he noticed was the tree shaking, the marzipan and apples swinging back and forth quite violently. The second was a low growling rumble, almost on the edge of a yowl, a frustrated sound if he'd ever heard one and, given how many he'd uttered himself as a professor, he considered it a rather informed opinion.

He was about to peer under the tree, for he had no doubts as to who was making such a racket, when a reddish ball rolled out from beneath the branches. Twisting and snarling, it was the cat, trapped in something soft and woolly. Sinking to his knees, he placed his hands flat on the writhing mass. "Idiot cat. Hold still," he said softly, but with authority. "You'll only make it worse if you struggle."

It stilled instantly, a pitiful mewling coming muffled from within. Chuckling, he patiently unravelled the beast from its tangled prison, the last claw disengaged without tagging what turned out to be soft, loosely woven fabric. With the cat rubbing its body against his thighs, he examined the long, narrow cloth and realised he held what appeared to be a long woolen scarf patterned in a tartan remarkably like McGonagall's. "Stop that," he admonished absently as the cat tried to bat the fringe on the ends, yet he was amused at its jumping efforts to catch the swaying strands when he dangled them above its head.

Shaking his head at the cat's folly, he stood and wrapped the scarf around his neck, narrowly side-stepping a leaping swipe of dangerous claws. "Playing with the scarf when worn by the human will not be tolerated," he intoned, a smile tugging his lips as the cat yowled once and slunk to a corner of the kitchen, obviously sulking. "I'm going to the village to hunt up some work." He hesitated, then crossed the kitchen to take a few Galleons out of the bag. "There now, just in case. Afterwards, I'll go to market to get us a bite of supper. I should be home before sundown." His last glimpse before leaving was the cat yawning and licking a paw while golden eyes stared longingly at his neckwear.

That evening when he returned, snow and frigid air followed him into the cottage, swirling throughout the warm kitchen. He hung his cloak and scarf by the door and turned to find the cat primly waiting for him with another mouse for their supper. "I see you're decimating my rodent collection," he commented wryly, hiding his small worry at how thin it looked. "Can't see that there's many of them left by now," he added, placing the groceries in their proper cupboards, including a large flat tin of sardines. "So you just eat your mouse and tomorrow morning you can have a spot of fish." He pulled a bottle of milk out of the cold box. "For now, you can wash down your supper with this." He broke the seal and poured a small bit into a bowl.

Glancing at the cat watching him with rapt attention, its haunches wiggling as its tongue licked its whiskers, he sighed and opened the tin of sardines, fishing one out and placing it whole in the bowl. Fork in hand, he turned to his companion and asked, "Mashed?" The cat shook its head like it was shedding water. "I'll take that as a no," he said with a smile, placing the bowl on the floor near his seat at the table. By the time he'd finished cooking his own supper, the cat was cleaning fish and milk off its paws and face; when he sat to eat, it lounged against his legs and feet while grooming its tail.

"I found no work, but the bookstore just received a new shipment, so I bought us one." He picked up the heavy book and read from the spine, "Scottish Wild Cats: The Fact Behind the Myth." Setting the book down, he peered under the table, "Seemed fitting, although had I known I was entertaining a legend, I'd have made you a better throne." The cat yawned, showing sharp fangs before settling its white muzzle in what he could only call a grin.

However, he didn't get his read that night, for the wind outside blew so hard it made a backdraft in the sitting room chimney, the room quickly filling with more smoke than heat. Calling it an early night, he closed the damper and moved the remainder of the firewood into the bedchamber. He returned to the kitchen to grab a handful of Prophets and his new scarf before going back to his room, the cat watching his every move from under the tree, its tail swishing and flicking from side to side. Standing in the door opening, he said, "It will be cold in here tonight. You may share my fire, if you wish."

The cat blinked, seemingly as surprised by the offer as he himself. Hesitantly, the cat slunk into the room, darting under the bed as soon as its tail cleared the doorframe. He shook his head, making a new fire in the bed chamber. Wetting a finger, he tested the air and stuffed old Prophets into some draughty chinks. After dressing for bed, he wrapped the new scarf around his neck and hastily climbed under the duvet.

His room lit only by the fire, which for some reason was behaving better than the one earlier, he fingered the soft woolen garment around his neck. A few minutes later the cat crept from under the bed to stretch out on the hearth so close to the flames, he thought for certain its fur would start smoking. As he watched the cat's eyes move, he realised it was tracking the movements of his hand on the scarf. Chuckling, he commented, "Minerva was just as single-minded as you seem to be and twice as stubborn; she used to drive me to bedlam." He smiled in the dark remembering her tart rejoinders, her good humour, her fierceness, much like the feline gracing his hearth. "Maybe it's a Scottish cat affectation, but you remind me of her--even when she was human." He turned on his back and lay staring at the top of his four-poster. "I think she stayed with him to the bitter end, but I'll never know what happened; she was killed in the last battle. I found her just few feet from the Forbidden Forest."

He closed his eyes, the cat's gaze heavy upon him. "I miss her, but you make her loss easier to bear somehow." Shying away from other, more painful, thoughts of that day, he eventually fell into a restless slumber.

TBC