Maybe every cat has a tail it needs to tame.
For a long while, the black cat just kept trying to figure out how to coexist peacefully with its own tail.
Watching this, the corners of Harry's mouth slowly lifted. He realized, with a jolt, that a lot of his gloom had melted away.
"Mr. Black Cat,"
Harry spoke again. Now that his worries weren't drowning his reason anymore, his thoughts finally lined up.
"I can speak Parseltongue."
The black cat lowered its tail and turned to look at him, then gave a small nod.
"Voldemort can too. So could Slytherin. I must have some terrible dark magic in me…
I'm going to turn into something horrible— the Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin. And everyone knows Slytherins are… bad people."
Harry bowed his head. A huge knot of fear and confusion was wrapped around him.
The black cat leapt lightly onto Harry's shoulder and hooked its paw into the fog gathered over Harry's head— in the boundary realm these fog-clumps were always there. Any wizard who dug deep enough into their own soul would eventually encounter them. They mislead, and worse than that, they could twist and steer a wizard.
"Slytherins aren't all like that, Harry."
the black cat said, as it flicked the fog away.
Down here— this was its boundary.
"You mean…"
Harry stared, amazed.
Inside that fog-ball, he'd seen himself grinning cruelly. This place could turn his fears into something visible— and the great spirit of the castle could banish them with a flick of its paw!
"There have been plenty of great Slytherins too."
The emerald eyes held a very human look of reminiscence.
Harry didn't doubt it for a second.
"But you aren't in Slytherin. The Hat wanted to put you there, yes— it must have seen some of Slytherin's talents in you.
Some of the qualities Salazar Slytherin prized when he hand-picked his students. Some of his rare gifts: Parseltongue… resourcefulness… a strong will… and a certain disregard for rules."
The black cat's voice was calm.
"But the Hat put you in Gryffindor. Do you know why? Perhaps you can think about that."
There was a strange, quiet majesty about the cat. It seemed to know everything, to understand everything— yet it wasn't arrogant at all.
Harry felt it must be a sage, like Professor Dumbledore: humble and easy to approach.
Perhaps… even more knowledgeable than Dumbledore. After all, this was the spirit the castle had slowly shaped over ten centuries.
"It put me in Gryffindor,"
Harry said hesitantly,
"because I asked not to go to Slytherin…"
The black cat nodded. There was a very human satisfaction in its eyes, and Harry felt oddly encouraged.
"Exactly. And that, Harry, is what makes you so very different from Tom Riddle.
What truly shows who we are, is the choices we make. That's far more important than what abilities we happen to possess."
The black cat said, satisfaction deepening in its gaze.
It guided another fog-clump toward him. As it drifted over, Harry saw himself reflected inside, drawing the Sword of Gryffindor.
Harry froze where he stood, unable to move.
"M–me? But that—that's what Sean did— I… I really…"
He stammered, heart hammering like a deer loosed in his chest.
"Harry, this mist came from your soul. It's what you desire."
The black cat shifted the fog, and inside Harry saw his own proud, steady expression.
"As for your doubts… I can't answer them for you.
Don't let other people tell you what you can or can't do.
Remember this, Harry: the life you want is your own choice. If you have an ideal, fight for it. If you have an ideal, pursue it."
Harry was completely stunned. He didn't know what to say. His lips opened and closed, but not a single word came out.
"Goodbye, Harry."
The black cat used its tail to lift the mist and set it gently into Harry's hands.
He could feel all the other vapors of this strange world rising away.
"Will I see you again, Mr. Black Cat?!"
he shouted.
"In the world of the soul, meetings are never accidents.
Tonight, Harry, you called me seventy times. And I can tell you this: Harry, you were calling yourself."
The cat's last words faded from his mind.
He jerked awake. Dawn had come.
The air was icy; everything outside was white. Snow plastered itself thickly over the Gryffindor common room windows.
Harry felt a fullness he'd never known before— a quiet, steady sense of resolve that made him feel… complete.
Elsewhere, in the dream world—
The black cat was still moving through the boundary. It had been there for three whole minutes now, which felt like an eternity to it.
It had never stayed so long before.
Thin wisps of mist were drifting out of its ink-dark fur. The vapors gathered first into the shape of an uncanny animal.
Something between a cat and a leopard.
Then, the fog loosened, unraveling into fine threads like a web.
The cat simply knew what it meant: a connection, the key to not losing oneself here.
Those threads of mist stretched away in all directions— toward the stone cottage where the Transfiguration professor lived, toward a dimly lit dungeon, toward student dormitories… even toward the Headmaster's office.
As the mist spread, the cat's body grew indistinct.
Three minutes and three seconds.
In the Ravenclaw dormitory, Sean picked up the wand lying on the windowsill and gave it a small flick; a slim notebook flew into his hand.
He automatically jotted down how long he'd remained in the boundary, then felt a bright, barely contained excitement.
His second soul-familiar seemed to be taking shape. Unless he was very much mistaken, that shape was a cat-leopard.
A Wampus cat— a XXXXX-class magical creature.
Its size and appearance resembled a cougar or a puma, native to the Appalachian Mountains. It could walk upright, run faster than an arrow, and its eyes had both hypnotic and Legilimency-like powers.
The Cherokee had studied the Wampus extensively, since they both originated in the same region. Only Cherokee warriors had ever successfully harvested its hair for wand cores.
Isolt Sayre had used Wampus hair to make a wand.
Isolt was one of the founders of Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; her adopted son Webster Boot even chose "Wampus" as one of Ilvermorny's four Houses…
Sean wrote down everything he remembered, then began to think.
If his second soul-familiar really was a Wampus cat, then he'd be able to retain his reason while transformed.
Its Legilimency and hypnotic abilities both felt… extremely useful.
The only problem was:
Where, exactly, was he supposed to find a Wampus cat… so he could make a magical creature biscuit out of it?
~~~
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