Erwin clapped Draco on the arm. "Enough sulking. Get some rest." With that, he turned and headed back to his room, leaving Draco utterly baffled. No one to back him up? What was his boss playing at—just a quick slap on the wrist, followed by a hasty heal? Since when did Erwin pick up such odd habits? Draco rubbed his stinging arm, fighting back tears. It bloody hurt.
Erwin knew that all too well, which was why he never tested spells on himself. As for picking Draco as the guinea pig? Simple: the boy knew him too well to be caught off guard. A young tree needed pruning to grow straight, and kids learned best through tough lessons. Regardless of what anyone else thought, that's how Erwin saw it.
Back in his room, Ebony lay quietly by the bed, tail thumping softly as Erwin entered. It bounded over, nuzzling his legs with eager affection. Erwin scratched behind its ears. What a prize! This creature had inherited every trait of a flawless magical beast—a real stroke of luck. Suddenly, all his hard work felt worth it.
"Can you shift into other animals?" Erwin asked.
The dog barked twice, conveying the limits: no magical creatures without a blood bond, but ordinary ones were fair game.
"Try a black cat, then," Erwin suggested. Dogs were loyal, sure, but a sleek black cat had that cinematic edge—mysterious and cool.
In an instant, the dog morphed into a glossy black cat, stretching languidly before leaping onto Erwin's lap with feather-light grace. No jolt at all. Erwin grinned. "Perfect. From now on, you're Ebony."
The newly named creature purred contentedly, unperturbed by the hasty moniker. Erwin ran his fingers through its silky fur, then pulled up his status parchment. A new entry glowed in the companion section: Rare Beast: Ebony. Erwin frowned. "Rare Beast"? What kind of lazy sod named a species that?
He filled a basin with water and gave Little Black a thorough scrub, the cat bearing it with saintly patience. Once dry and settled on the blanket, Erwin moved to the window. "Watch this—Alohomora to open, Colloportus to lock. I'm off to bed. If you fancy a midnight wander, just activate the tracking charm I've set on you. I'll sense it and come running."
Little Black nodded wisely. Erwin climbed into bed and drifted off almost immediately.
Once his breathing evened out, the cat padded to the sill, hesitated, then pushed the window open with a paw. Mid-leap into the night, it shifted—not into a phoenix's blaze, but a shadowy version: ebony feathers trailing faint, invisible wisps of dark flame. The night sky swallowed it whole.
Up in the Headmaster's office, Fawkes let out a piercing cry, jolting Dumbledore from his paperwork.
"Easy there, old friend," Dumbledore murmured, peering at the phoenix. Fawkes paced its perch, feathers ruffled, eyes darting uneasily to the window. Dumbledore followed its gaze but saw only stars. After a tense moment, Fawkes settled, though confusion—and a flicker of wariness—lingered in its gaze.
Dumbledore shrugged it off. Even phoenixes had off nights.
The next morning, Erwin stirred to find Little Black curled at his feet in cat form, snoring softly. He scooped it up and fetched fresh toiletries from his enchanted ring. "First pet for me, but you're a quick study. Watch how I do it—you'll figure out a form that works."
Little Black tilted its head, baffled. Hygiene rituals? No one had mentioned those to a magical beast. But it adapted fast, shifting into a nimble golden monkey to mimic Erwin's routine: scrubbing, rinsing, even a mock tooth-brush with a twig. Erwin beamed. A clean companion was a happy one.
Refreshed, Ebony reverted to cat and nestled in Erwin's arms as he opened the door. A cluster of hidden prefects waited outside, ready to greet him—until they spotted the cat. Expressions soured instantly. In the wizarding world, black cats screamed bad omens, pets of Death itself, harbingers of doom. Black dogs weren't much better.
Erwin caught their stares and smirked. "What's the fuss? Superstition? Remember: 'misfortune' is just code for weakness. A real wizard faces the shadows head-on. I expect you lot to do the same."
The prefects shared uneasy glances but straightened. "Yes, Patriarch!"
That day's class was Transfiguration. Erwin set Ebony on the desk; Professor McGonagall arched a brow but said nothing. Top students got leeway, after all. And perhaps the shared feline form sparked a kinship—McGonagall's eyes lingered on the cat throughout the lesson, her Animagus instincts humming.
Afterward, she detained Erwin. "That cat—yours?"
"My pet," he replied simply.
She nodded, satisfied, and waved him off.
Before long, the weekend rolled around. In Diagon Alley, at Cavendish's Magical Supplies Shop, Cornelius Fudge fidgeted by the counter, nursing a cup of tea poured by old Tom.
"When's Mr. Cavendish due?" Fudge pressed, glancing at the clock. "I'm on a tight schedule!"
Tom smiled placidly. "Patience, Minister. I've sent word to the master. Tea while you wait?"
...
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