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

December 31 : Auld Ang Syne

He slept late and woke refreshed, his dreams having been filled with all the happy times he'd once had with his lover. However, reality intruded when the cat, shifting from paw to paw on his chest, butted his chin, meowing continuously in what he surmised to be a rather cheeky request for food. Digging deeper into the bed, he groused, "I fail to see why I should stir to feed your lazy arse when you're perfectly capable of catching your own breakfast."

Glaring balefully, the cat turned his arse to him, tail held high in indignation, and with the obvious evidence so close to his face, he couldn't help but notice his cat was most definitely a 'he'. Playfully pushing 'him' away, he exclaimed, "Go on now, you auld sod. Take you and your furry balls elsewhere."

As the cat pranced down his legs, claws digging deep enough to nip his bare legs, the name 'auld sod' danced about his head until it settled into 'Ossie'. It might not be much of a name, but at least the beast had one now. Reaching the end of the bed, the cat lightly jumped off and sat by the doorway, singing his hunger.

"All right, all right, Ossie, I'm coming," he muttered, throwing the covers aside.

The cat stilled and stared at him.

Donning his dressing gown over his nightshirt, he moved into the kitchen, asking as he passed, "What? You don't like it?" Given that the creature almost tripped him with his enthusiastic rubbing around his feet as he strode to the kitchen, he assumed the name met with his approval, or else Ossie was really hungry.

In between hearty bites of toast and eggs, he laid out the day's plans. "Given the hour, there'll be no work for me today, I'm thinking, so I'll just go to market to buy provisions for the next few days; MacGruger's will be closed tomorrow." Laying on his feet, Ossie paused in his washing to rub his face against his legs. "Glad you approve," he replied with a wry chuckle.

After dressing, he took his basket and two market bags from a cupboard. Donning his cloak and scarf, he hesitated and moved back to the counter. "Maybe a bit of ham, some fresh vegetables," he mumbled, sweeping a few Galleons from the bag into his pocket. "And a fish."

He returned near sunset. After unpacking his purchases, he made them a simple supper--bangers and mash for him, egg and raw chicken laced with boiled barley and chopped greens for Ossie. He smiled as the cat cautiously sniffed the bowl's contents, but after a small growl, he tucked in with as much enthusiasm as he did any other meal. Surprisingly, the cat disappeared as he was washing dishes, but given that the stove was banked for the night, he assumed he'd gone to lounge by the fire in the sitting room.

When the hearth proved empty, he next checked under the tree, which he noted now had small oranges as well as apples adorning its still-fragrant branches.

Near the front, Ossie stood guard over a plain wooden box tied with a black ribbon. Suddenly serious, he reached for it with shaking hands. Opening it, he found within his old wand, broken in half with the core missing. Heart pounding, he traced the now-fragile wood with a fingertip, utterly undone when no remnant of magic answered his touch. So responsive his wand had been, so much power he'd controlled with hard-earned ease, so ultimately powerless it became when uncaring, self-righteous hands had snapped it in half the day of his sentencing.

He took the box and wand to his chair, sinking into it numbly. Ossie jumped into his lap, purring and rubbing his face against his chest. Long, elegant hands caressed the worn wood, almost feeling the power it had once contained. As he stared longingly at what had once been his to master, Ossie licked his bent face. Looking up, golden eyes captured black with a gaze of compassion so deep, it stole his breath. Whiskers tickled his fingers as the black nose nudged the wooden fragments and box aside, making room for him to lay down. Staring at him, the cat begged with his eyes.

Wand pieces in one hand, soft fur under the other, he told his tale. "They didn't take my magic away, you know," he said quietly, "they merely made it impossible for me to use it." His fist tightened around the brittle wood. "They thought themselves merciful, but I can still feel it coursing through me. Every day, every hour, every second, I know what I lost the moment they snapped this wand and cast their geas on me." The fur smoothed beneath his palm. "I'm not certain the kiss wouldn't have been kinder, but Albus, bless his soul, tried to help from beyond the grave. His written testament clearly detailed my role in the war, so their clemency extended only to keeping me alive enough to bear the punishment they deemed fitting for a former Death Eater with blood on his hands, no matter how nobly he'd shed it." Ossie shifted and hissed. "Oh, the trial was fair, they told no lies; Albus' papers saw to that. But without his compassion to temper them? No, I was damned regardless."

Ossie stood and licked his face then rubbed his jowls against his jaw. Such strange comfort to be found in such simple gestures, and yet he had to ask whether it was enough to stave the bitter irony? He'd mostly chosen to go it alone, but now? When his choices had been removed? "I hate this exile in which they've left me. I sometimes think I would be better off..."

With a low, angry growl, Ossie swept the box and the wand to the floor with his paws, the broken remains spilling onto the rug. The words of censure stilled on the edge of his tongue as his companion jumped down and began nudging the fallen items towards the fire. Once the cat had them arranged to his satisfaction on the hearth, and he had no doubts they'd been placed there for some unknown purpose, Ossie sat on his haunches, staring at him expectantly.

Thoughts of what he'd lost warred with thoughts of what he had now, and he soon realised that, magic aside, his life wasn't as lost as he'd often led himself to believe. Perhaps it was time to choose at least a part of his own fate, to not dwell so much on the past and move on into his future, one he could make himself, regardless how limited it might be. Just as the village clock struck midnight, he knelt in front of the fireplace and, taking the old wand, box and all, he tossed it into the fire.

Standing, he turned away, determined to let it burn without him. He picked up the cat and, as he moved into the bedchamber, he said, "You're right, my friend; it's time to start a new life."

Much later, the cat tucked in his arms, he fell asleep, dreaming of sparkling embers dancing healing magic around his soul.

TBC