Chapter 7 – The Cat

Damn! I always tell myself I want to write short chapters so I can do it quickly and submit at least one journal, but they always end up being longer.

Whatever, just give me Power Stones. :'(

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A Beast Worthy of Taming

The sun rose like a lazy phoenix over the Scottish hills and cast golden rays through the castle's narrow windows. Luke TianLong Heaven Smith, third son of the Celestial Lavender Tea Clan, limped slightly as he made his way toward the Transfiguration classroom.

Although his body still ached from the previous training and from that strange stairwell that had changed direction mid‑step and tried to claim his right knee for the glory of the architecture sect, he refused to miss a single lesson.

"This young master may bleed," he muttered, "but he shall not falter."

He had already devoured nearly every page of the year's syllabus, yet making a good impression on the professors remained crucial. "A teacher's favor buys one the right to ask inconvenient questions," he reminded himself.

He was the first to arrive, of course, for the early cultivator absorbs the richest Qi.

Sliding into the classroom as if he were a general scouting enemy terrain, Luke allowed himself a satisfied nod. The pain in his muscles had dulled thanks to the modified healing draught Madam Pomfrey had provided after lecturing him thoroughly. The potion had not healed him instantly as true elixirs should, but it had numbed the ache enough to let him walk.

As he scanned the quiet room, Luke spotted a cat perched atop the professor's desk. He paused. He liked cats well enough, yet a dog would have been a finer cultivation companion.

The animal sat calmly and licked a paw while giving him what could only be described as a judgmental squint.

Luke raised an eyebrow.

"A beast," he murmured, advancing with all the poise of a young master preparing to tame a wild phoenix. "You dare lock eyes with this Young Master and remain unbowed? Hmph."

The cat did not blink. If anything, it seemed even less impressed.

Undeterred, Luke reached out with the confidence of one who feared no creature—feline or otherwise—and grasped the cat gently but firmly by the scruff of its neck. He lifted it until their eyes met.

"You are bold, little spirit beast," he declared. "To face me so openly. Yet your valor has earned you a prize. From this day forward you shall be my companion. I find myself in need of a loyal canine but, in the absence of dogs, a sufficiently arrogant cat will suffice."

The cat blinked slowly.

Luke turned the cat on its side and peered underneath. "A female, excellent. Had you been male, I would have had no choice but to contribute to the sausage industry. But worry not, for I shall arrange your cultivation-bound sterilization. A beast companion must focus her Qi instead of scattering it into mewling offspring."

At that, the cat let out a low yowl and writhed fiercely in his grasp.

Luke's grip tightened as he coaxed it to calm. "Be still, my fierce battle pet. You have been chosen, and few creatures ever receive such an honor."

With a graceful flick of his wand, its magic now fully bonded to his spirit, he conjured a small golden cage beside the desk. The metal bars seemed to glow under what he referred to as light-tier celestial warding formations, though in truth they were simply a containment spell he had slightly overpowered.

He placed the cat inside the cage as though performing a solemn ritual. From his pocket he produced a small cloth pouch and withdrew three ginger flavored treats still warm from his robes. He dropped one into the cage and spoke with earnest gravity.

"Accept this offering, O chosen companion. Fortune smiles upon you today, for you have been seen by a Young Master."

The cat hissed and swatted the treat aside.

Luke sighed softly. "Humility is your lesson now."

He raised his wand once more, murmured Somnus felinus, and cast a gentle sleep charm. The cat's body relaxed and its eyes fluttered closed.

"Regretfully," he whispered, "a true beast must also know when to yield."

He crouched beside the cage, peering in with the satisfied air of one who has tamed a rebellious demonic tiger.

"I shall find the perfect name in time," he murmured, brushing pretend dust from his sleeve. "Perhaps Lady Scratchfang… no, that seems too harsh. Something more fitting will come."

An Absent Master

The heavy oak door creaked open and soon first years began to file inside. Hermione Granger paused at the threshold and her eyes widened at the golden cage resting atop Professor McGonagall's desk. A murmur rose as fellow first years entered and all at once six pairs of eyes fixed on Luke and the captive feline.

"Is that Professor McGonagall's cat?" one whispered.

"What is its name?" asked another.

Luke stood as though unveiling a relic from a secret vault. "She has no name. I found her only moments ago," he added with a smile, "her coat shines, and her condition shows that she was cared for by a master."

"Her fur is amazing," a girl said. "She looks so healthy."

"Did you buy her?" another asked.

Luke shook his head and lifted his chin. "No purchase was necessary. Fortune delivered her into this young master's hands."

A ripple of whispered approval spread through the room as more students arrived. Pansy Parkinson admired the cage while others eyed Luke's robes with envy.

From across the room, Draco Malfoy watched with a smirk that was equal parts amusement and disdain.

"Always stealing the spotlight," Malfoy muttered to Crabbe. Word had spread overnight that Luke's family must be astonishingly powerful to secure private quarters and special permission for his mother.

At that moment, the door burst open once more and Ron Weasley and Harry Potter tumbled inside, brushing hair from their eyes and gasping for breath.

"Sorry—" Ron began.

"—we're late!" Harry added. When they saw that the lectern stood empty, relief washed over them.

"No professor yet," Ron whispered to Harry as he slumped onto a desk next to Neville. "I heard McGonagall is strict. This is a bonus."

Harry nodded and scanned the room. He spotted Luke leaning against a desk with a faint grin tugging at his lips.

Of course, this was arranged by the headmaster, Luke thought. No stranger than an inner sect conspiracy.

He allowed himself a brief and satisfied grin. Meeting the chosen one at the first bell was no accident.

Minutes passed. Hermione pulled out a quill. Ron began doodling his name on the desk in front of Harry. Neville adjusted his robes. Productivity had vanished. A bubble of restless chatter swelled until the classroom buzzed like a hive of agitated hornets.

Luke surveyed the growing anarchy and rose from his seat, the room falling silent at his impeccable posture and commanding presence.

He strode toward the Gryffindor trio and halted in front of Neville, fixing the boy with a polite yet coldly expectant gaze.

"Neville Longbottom," he said in a measured, reproachful tone, "you have neglected your duties as Lackey Number One, for since the start of class you have failed to greet your young master."

Neville's mouth opened and closed without a sound.

Luke then turned his attention to Hermione, his expression softening as his gaze lingered on her face. "And you, Hermione Granger," he declared in a low, enchanting voice, "your first appointment is scheduled for this evening, for we shall discuss your future recruitment into the Lavender Tea Clan."

Hermione's jaw dropped, and her cheeks flushed deeply. "I—I don't—"

Before she could finish, the Gryffindor bench erupted in indignation.

"You cannot speak to Neville like that! Who do you think you are? You damn snake!" Seamus Finnigan began, his words tumbling out in outrage.

"That is our friend!" Dean Thomas insisted from across the room.

"Recruit her into your clan? What on earth?" Lavender Brown demanded.

Luke raised one slender finger to still the storm, and his calm voice cut through the uproar. "You ignorant masses fail to perceive the majesty of Mount Tai. Your vision is clouded by petty outrage."

A hush descended on the room. Even Hermione's furious blush softened into astonishment, and Neville stared with his mouth agape. Ron and Harry exchanged puzzled glances, their brows knitting together.

Luke inclined his head as though concluding a royal decree. "Continue your relaxation," he added, "I expect better from all of you."

With that, he pivoted and returned to his seat, his composure as serene as a still lake at dawn. The students remained frozen, blinking as if waking from a dream.

Hermione, for her part, feels a warm flush creeping up her cheeks as she watches Luke. She finds that his upright posture, the unwavering confidence in his gaze, and the commanding assurance she secretly wishes she possessed each morning are strikingly handsome. He moves as if the world bends to his will, yet beneath that veneer of authority she senses genuine tenderness, and she realizes that his scolding sprang from a fleeting pang of sadness, proof that he cares that neither she nor Neville had bothered to greet him at the start of class. After all, only they can claim the privilege of being his friends since the journey on the train. In that moment, his blend of strength and caring vulnerability makes him all the more endearing to her.

"O kawaii koto," Hermione murmured, her face flushing as something awakened within her. At that moment, Luke felt a faint shiver run down his spine.

 The most humiliating day

 This was turning into one of the most humiliating days Professor McGonagall had ever endured. Every year she delighted in surprising the new first years by arriving at the very first Transfiguration lesson in her Animagus form as an unassuming tabby cat, so that the children might learn from the start that magic could lie just beneath the surface of the ordinary. But today, an unforeseen calamity had befallen her.

 It was not the first time a fearless student had dared to approach "Professor Cat," yet she had never imagined that one boy so brazen and so bold would claim that she should feel honored to become his pet. He had inspected her from paw to whisker and announced his intention to arrange her cultivation-bound sterilization, an absurd idea given that she was decades past childbearing, and then congratulated himself on having "rescued" her from anonymity.

 When she tried to dart away with indignation and surprise swimming behind her emerald eyes, he produced his wand and cast a spell to tar her in a little jail. In an instant the great Minerva McGonagall—the Transfiguration professor whose dueling prowess was whispered about from Edinburgh to Budapest and who had held her own against Death Eaters in the darkest hours of the war, found herself powerless beneath the soft sigh of unconsciousness when the kid who barely understood that this was not cultivation but magic, had the audacity to cast a sleeping spell on her.

 She lay curled in a contorted little heap, her pride wounded far more deeply than her physical form. Never in her storied career had she been so thoroughly humbled. She was renowned across Europe as a master of Transfiguration, and yet she had fallen victim to a childish impulse.

 How ruthless and how cunning must this boy be? Surely, he was destined to become a future Dark Lord.

 Undoubtedly, this would be remembered as the darkest and most humiliating day of her life.