The Red Reign Challenge: This Christmastime
The
Twelfth Night : A Faerie Tale
by I Got Tired of Waiting
January 2 : A Phoenix in an Evergreen Tree
"Ossie? Ossie, where are you going with my sock? Ossie, get back here this instant! Ossie? Ossie!"
He now had a better idea of how much cats liked laundry baskets. Oh, not necessarily the receptacle itself, but its contents--preferably dirty. No more had one sock, found under the bed, been thrown into the basket, than it wandered off into other parts of the cottage, captured in the mouth of a four-footed thief.
By the time he'd collected all his clothes into one place, making certain they stayed there by the simple expedient of turning the basket upside down and anchoring it with some Muggle Encyclopaedias on top, it was almost noon. Irritated and frazzled, he knew he would get no work that day and would have to dip once again into the bag of Galleons. For five Knuts a load, he could wash his clothes in a local woman's magical cauldrons, for six he could have her spell them dry.
Ossie sufficiently cowed into his spot under the tree, he loaded the basket in peace and set it on the kitchen table while he donned his cloak and scarf. White whiskers attached to a tawny muzzle peeped around the doorway, prompting him to admonish, "Don't even look at it." A mewl of protest the only reply, he smiled in satisfaction and left the cottage.
He returned earlier than normal, smug that today he'd had the Galleon necessary to have the house-elf of her establishment wash, dry, and fold his clothes and bedding, a luxury he'd only been able to afford once before. However, being more frugal than McGonagall, he'd not paid the extra gold to have it delivered, something he began to regret halfway through the long, cold trek back to the cottage.
The door slamming shut behind him with the ferocious wind, he set the heavy basket on the table before hanging his cloak on the peg by the door. A loud growling snarl caught his attention. Given that the noises Ossie was making were far more serious than the norm, he hurried into the sitting room.
The cause of his cat's agitation was immediately apparent, if one believed animals could feel strong magic, as the experts suggested. Whether this was universally true, he knew not, but it obviously was of his wild cat. Staring incredulously, he barely reconciled this fierce beast ready to do battle with the fluffy cat who let him tickle his belly. Fangs bared in a long hiss, his fur standing straight out from his body, Ossie stood guard over a package bearing so much magic, he could almost touch it.
He cautiously stroked the cat until his fur smoothed and gently moved him aside. He picked up the box, strangely unafraid and very excited. Carefully, he pulled the lid off to find, wrapped in red onionskin, a wide pipette with two long red feathers inside. Fresh Phoenix feathers, their magical signature so familiar, he almost looked for Fawkes nearby.
Calm as if nothing had happened, the cat licked the glass and mewled in blatant curiosity. He admitted to some himself, wondering why he would receive such a gift. Aside from the obvious uses the feathers would have should he become sick, he hadn't the ability anymore to avail himself of their other properties. Sighing, he knew it didn't matter for now, so he took the feathers and carefully set them in the box with the yew, noting sadly that the needles and berries were already dead and desiccated.
Without comment he went into the kitchen and made them a simple supper, after which they retired to the sitting room. As Ossie slumbered peacefully on his feet by the fire, he read the next chapter, 'The Salutary Effects of Catnip', without further incident.
TBC