The Red Reign Challenge: This Christmastime
The
Twelfth Night : A Faerie Tale
by I Got Tired of Waiting
January 5 : God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman
He awoke as restless as his slumber the night before. Deciding to stay home for the day, he sent Ossie flying under the bed with a disgruntled yowl as he cleaned the small cottage from top to bottom, the cat emerging only long enough to take some lunch and to bat the broom bristles as he swept the kitchen floor.
After an early dinner, he moved into the sitting room, disappointed he could see nothing under the tree. About to turn to his chair, a rustling sound caught his ear and, as he peered under the low-lying boughs, there came a flash of light. Within seconds Ossie appeared, nudging a small bottle from the back. When the cat rolled it to him, he picked it up, hefting its surprising weight.
Turning it to read the label in the dim candlelight, he finally made out: 'Draught of Memory PQO'. Holding it carefully, he made his way back to his chair and fell into it heavily. "Why on earth...?" The magical signature he could feel tingling along his palm didn't lie; this Draught was specifically made for him. He rolled the heavy bottle in his hands, trying to fathom why he should be gifted with a Potion designed to pass on a memory from one person to another. It couldn't be an accident, for its properties demanded it be made to him, using something personal so no other could benefit from it. He wasn't an apprentice to some great wizard needing to pass on craft secrets and difficult techniques, nor was he bound to a wizard romantically, the gift one of sharing. No, he wasn't a wizard at all.
However... "Who is PQO and why would this person have sent me a memory?" he asked the cat sitting primly at his feet. "And what is your part in all this?" The cat said nothing, but licked his whiskers as if trying something tasty.
As he contemplated this latest mystery, Ossie jumped in his lap and nosed the bottle, eventually forcing it near his face. "You think I should drink it?" he asked suspiciously. With a decisive meow, the cat pushed the bottle closer to his mouth with his paw. With a flash of decision, he worked out the sealed stopper and downed the draught in one long swallow.
At first nothing happened, and then the new knowledge assailed him. In a daze he retrieved the items from the mantel and the box still lying under the tree, taking them into the kitchen. Arranging everything out on the table, he poured the Oil of Possibilities into the Pensieve. He then pulled out the yew, now a bare twig and dropped it into the liquid. As it slowly settled near the bottom of the stone vessel, he uncorked the pipette and set the Phoenix feathers atop the thick liquid as well. Holding his breath, he watched the yew straighten and split in half lengthwise, the feathers floating into the hollow revealed. With a snap and a flash of ruby light, the yew closed, sealing the feathers within it.
Ollivander's memory. PQ Ollivander evidently, as no one knew his given name. Coming back to himself, he could only stare at the new wand floating in its pool of possibilities. Could it be real? Could someone really be giving him a second chance? It took all of his will to reach into the liquid to take the wand in shaking hands; he cried in disappointment when no magic answered him. Which, when he thought on it later, shouldn't have surprised him so; they'd made certain his compliance when they'd snapped the old one.
With a heavy heart, he abandoned his shattered hopes at the table and returned to the sitting room, flinging himself into his chair. So far beyond despair he couldn't breathe, he was only half-aware when Ossie leapt into his lap. A velvety paw placed on his cheek finally caught his attention. When he finally looked at the cat, he noticed that Ossie was carrying the ribbon in his mouth which moments before had still been around his neck. Taking the vial of Phoenix tears in hand, he wondered if there was something else he should have done, something not in the memory.
Taking the cap off the vial he thought a moment before dispensing one drop on the wand he still clutched. Despite a faint stirring of magic, nothing happened and he sat back, again depressed. When the paw again met his face, he watched listlessly as Ossie opened his mouth, dropping something into the vial of Phoenix tears. When he realised it was the key, hope blossomed anew as the pearly liquid dissolved it, swirling into an iridescent orange. He sniffed the resultant potion cautiously, but for once he hadn't a clue what he'd made.
Again Ossie urged him to partake and, deciding his life couldn't get any worse, he drank the new concoction. Within moments a sickening dizziness overtook him, but it was nothing compared to the violent wrench that followed, turning him inside out. Slowly his power and control returned, tingling and burning him like blood returning to limbs long deprived. As the potion reversed that which had imprisoned him, the geas weakened and quietly died as the new wand roared to life. Amidst a shower of vivid silver sparks, he let out a whoop of pure joy; he was a wizard again!
Gathering Ossie to him with one arm, he danced about the room, his wand waving. Flick, the fire burned right, and he was finally warm as the magic swirled about the hearth. Swish, a dozen brightly lit candles hovered around him, and he could see... really see where he stood. Wand at his side, his elation faded as incredulous eyes tracked the peeling paint, the damp staining the ceiling and floor, the tiny grimy windows set crooked in walls so draughty, it was no wonder he'd been cold all the time. And he understood. With the geas destroyed, so were its custodial benefits; he now viewed the ramshackle cottage as it truly was. Deflated, he sat in his decrepit chair, wincing when it sagged beneath his weight.
Their weight. The cat, still clutched in his arms, worked his way loose and, between long raspy licks to his nose and cheeks, meowed in a playful tone, his tail swishing sharply back and forth in what could only be construed as happiness. Butting a furry forehead against his chin, Ossie then pressed their noses together, whiffling air into his face. Almost cross-eyed, they stared at each other until he smiled, realising Ossie had the right of it.
"It doesn't matter, does it, boy? They lost." The smile became a grin. "I won. I can set it to rights."
A careful nip to his nose later, the cat jumped off his lap, sauntering towards the bedchamber. Looking back at him saucily over his shoulder, the feline gave him a fang-baring yawn, and suddenly the efforts of the evening caught up to him. As all yawns are infectious, he gave one of his own as he staggered off to bed, the exhaustion creeping up on him faster than he could shed his clothes. Eyes closing in sleep before he'd really settled in the bed, he murmured a good night and a vague thank you to the cat curled snug against his side, the wand never leaving his grasp.
TBC