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

January 4 : The Magical Mystery Christmas

He came back to the cottage in good spirits. The job for Miss Parsons at the village library had been easy and rewarding; shelving and cataloguing two cartons of new arrivals had earned him a goodly wage and netted him two new books to read. The only downside had been enduring her simpering flirtation; the old girl had taken a shine to him, but if it gained him so much, who was he to discourage her?

However, once he'd expressed such a sentiment, Ossie replied with unexpected displeasure, the hard bite to his ankle not really painful, just startling. As he'd resolved the morning Ossie had accidentally scratched his cheek, he stilled the impulse to jerk his leg from this latest display of feline strangeness. A few heartbeats later, the cat let go with a prolonged growl and, holding his tail high as he stalked away, sat sulking in the corner by the stove. After satisfying himself that nothing was damaged, he fed the still-grumbling cat a bowl of milk and a bit of fish he'd set aside from the lunch the old librarian had insisted he eat. Seemingly mollified by his offering, Ossie ate with gusto and then purred around his ankles while he cooked his supper; if he didn't know better, he'd have thought the cat jealous. Piffle.

After drying their dishes, he succumbed to curiosity and peeked under the tree to see what--if anything--awaited him, for there'd been nothing forthcoming that morning. He was not disappointed when he found a largish box in gay wrapping paper and a silver ribbon. What did surprise him was how heavy it was, so he sat on the floor and opened it there, Ossie sitting patiently to the side.

As he lifted the lid off, Ossie snagged a piece of the red tissue paper balled inside and batted it around the room, leaping and pouncing every time it came to rest. He watched the cat's antics a bit, laughing aloud when Ossie flipped on his back and juggled a largish wad with his paws, the back claws ripping into it, sending shreds of paper flying in every direction. With the admonishment, "I'm not cleaning up behind you," he dipped his hands into the box, the weight losing its mystery as he lifted out an old, wide Pensieve. Nestled inside its deep bowl, wrapped in more paper, was a jar filled with a ruby liquid.

"What the hell...?" Hands shaking, he carefully worked the lid off the jar and sniffed cautiously. Hastily replacing the lid, he asked, "Do you have any idea what this is?" He snorted. "Of course you don't. It's a full jar of Oil of Possibilities." He tapped the lid with his forefinger. "I've only seen it once before--a tiny vial we had in the locked potions stores at Hogwarts. It's priceless in any quantity, but this much...?" Ossie rolled over and regarded him with solemn eyes. "We could live forever like kings... should we ever sell it."

Gently he placed both bowl and jar back into the box. "I wonder why someone would give this to me. I can't even use it. Perhaps I'm supposed to sell it--" Ossie worried his fingers and growled, "--or not." He resolutely replaced the lid and, with a groan and grimace, stiffly struggled to his feet. Brushing off his robes, he gave both tree and gift a long stare before settling into his chair with one of his new books, Ossie snug by his side.

Yet his concentration wandered from his reading as he tried to untangle the puzzle facing him. His gaze straying to the tempting box under the tree, he noted with confusion that not one shred of paper littered the floor. He glanced at the cat calmly grooming his tail beside him and sighed in frustration. Finally giving an exclamation of disgust, he shook his head at this newest mystery, gathered his night's wood and retired for bed.

As he stared at the canopy dark above him, he contemplated the possibilities behind his more recent gifts, including a cat who seemed to work his own magic. He supposed he should question the source of such bounty, but he'd lately found that good fortune, if it harmed no one, should never be refused, regardless the source. He certainly was better for it, unless one counted the frustration of not knowing the meaning behind it all... and that just took him 'round to...

The serene gaze of said wild cat, quietly settled on his chest, as much as his soothing purr, eventually lulled his human into a restless slumber.

TBC