For the Greater Good || Tom Riddle ||

Chapter Thirty-Four: Honest Trifles

Yeah, I stole this from Shadowhunters (which was a Ron x Ginny fix btw, disgusting). Sue me, I dare you. It works with the plot.

"Again."

Her face fell.

"Again!" The order was barked.

She struck out with her arm and a low hum of electricity budded from the tip of her wand, white and buzzing. It matched the sterile white walls of the room. The Puffskein, pink and fluffy, backed into the corner of its cage and visibly trembled. She knew not to look into its eyes for she would only see the fear, the innocence, the plea. And so, she stared at its chest, where she aimed her wand, and she let the Dark Magic do its work.

***

Once there was a girl, a little witch with blonde curls and a panache for mischief. When the girl was nine years old, her mother died, and her grandfather decided it was time to rigorously train her in the arts and ways of being a witch. And so, the grandfather purchased a Wampus kitten.

Somewhat resembling the mundane mountain lion or cougar in size and appearance, the Wampus cat was native to the Appalachian Mountains in the United States. It could walk on its hind legs, outrun arrows, and its yellow eyes were reputed to have the power of both hypnosis and Legilimency. The Wampus cat was fast, strong, and almost impossible to kill—the perfect pet for a blossoming young child discovering her power—according to the grandfather. 

"You'll see, child," he said as he scruffed the young creature. "It will teach you in the ways of magic."

"Yes, Grandfather," the girl replied as she took the kitten in her arms.

At first, the Wampus kitten didn't like the girl, and the girl didn't like it, either. Its sharp claws made her nervous, and its bright yellows eyes always seemed to be watching her. It would slash at her with claws and teeth when she came near: for weeks, her wrists and hands were always bleeding. She didn't know it, but her grandfather had selected a Wampus kitten that had been born in the poor conditions of a magical circus, locked up and tormented, and thus was nearly impossible to tame. But the girl tried, because her grandfather told her the Wampus cat would teach her in the ways of magic, and she was naturally curious.

She visited the Wampus kitten in the white room detached from the main house every day. She would bring it sticks and balls of yarn to play with in its cage, but it always lashed out at the girl's fingers instead. Nevertheless, she continued to stick her hands in the cage. She fed the Wampus kitten from her palm, and at first it would not eat.

Time passed and the Wampus began to get accustomed to the little girl's presence. Eventually, when offered sustenance, it ate so savagely that its incisors cut the skin of her palm. But the girl was glad, because it was progress, and because she wanted the Wampus to know her, even if the cat had to consume her blood to make that happen.

The kitten began to grow, and the girl began to see that the Wampus cat was beautiful. It had fur the color of sand and eyes that seemed to reach into her soul. It was lithe, built for speed, its claws designed to capture its prey and its jaw destined to break necks, but it was also gentle and soft. The girl would watch it bathe itself, its pink tongue darting out gracefully to clean its paws and coat.

She would study it as it balanced on the thin log her grandfather had put in the Wampus' enclosure for its entertainment. Soon, with enough motivation and pieces of meat, the girl taught the cat to obey the sound of her voice. When she had taught it a series of tricks, she decided to show her grandfather.