Shock, jealousy—then only anger.
Filch's face darkened. A first-year out after curfew, and meddling with his cat? He stormed down the corridor, voice rising.
"Hands off my cat! If you've done anything to her, I won't let you off!"
As Filch bore down, irritation flickered in Theodore's eyes. He wasn't one of those delicate Hogwarts newcomers who only knew to bolt at the sight of the caretaker. If he wished, he had a dozen clean, non-lethal ways to make Filch sleep—and forget.
He was just about to act when lines of text rippled across his inner interface.
[While touring the Jade Void Palace, you tease a palace spirit-beast. The palace's gate page glares—turns out the creature is his cherished charge.]
[Though the gate page has no cultivation and is a minor figure, he's lingered long in the Jade Void and can still offer small boons.]
[Acquaintance with the gate page → Talent: Keen Ears, Clear Eyes. As a watchman who patrols the grounds, keen sight and hearing are his trade. Increases your visual and auditory acuity.]
[Close Friend with the gate page → Talent: Crane-Form Lightness. Jade Void nourishes form; even untalented pages pick up a body light as a crane's. Lightens step, refines breath, eases intake of spiritual energy.]
[Life-and-Death Bond with the gate page → Talent: Breath of Yuan. Constant practice has perfected his breath-work. Increases efficiency of spiritual respiration during cultivation.]
Theodore paused, surprised. He knew Filch was a Squib. He'd expected no "read" at all, yet befriending him yielded real rewards—modest on paper, but useful, especially now.
In fact, the latter two would stack beautifully with his current toolkit. Dining on Wind & Drinking Dew, upgraded earlier, plus the Flying-Tiger Drill's basic circulation—and if he added Crane-Form Lightness and Breath of Yuan, his intake rate for ambient qi would jump another tier. A practical, immediate gain.
Winning Filch over, though, wasn't straightforward. Imagine being a magicless man forced to watch children conjure fireworks every day while you mop their mess. Years of effort, and your verdict is still: no spark. Meanwhile, the gifted waste their hours. Bitterness calcifies. Students despise him; he returns the favour.
Befriend Filch? Most kids would laugh.
But everyone has a soft spot. Filch lived alone on the margins; outside his frustrated hunger for magic, he had one anchor—Mrs Norris. Start with the cat, and the door might open.
By now Filch had reached him, glowering. "You. I know your face—I know every face, even if you've only been here a day. Gryffindor. First night and you're already roaming. I'll tell Professor McGonagall and take points from your House! Now—give me my cat!"
He reached to lift Mrs Norris. She slipped a half-step back, dodging his hands, then nudged into Theodore's palm again, blissfully rude.
Filch's eyes bulged. Theodore gave the cat one last gentle scritch, then looked up, expression sharpening with a touch of anger.
"You're her owner?
How exactly are you feeding her?
Look at her—how did you let her get like this?"
Filch blinked. Usually at this point students either ran or argued. Feeding?
But Mrs Norris was involved; that got past his defences. "What's wrong with her?"
"She's skin and bones," Theodore said flatly. "Severe malnutrition."
It wasn't bluster. Up close, Mrs Norris was a mess—stringy coat, poor muscle tone, dull eyes. Expecting Filch to have studied feline care was a stretch; odds were he'd been improvising.
Filch wilted. "Malnutrition? N-no, she's just getting old…"
His voice trailed off. Worry crept in. "What should I do?"
"Start by remembering cats are obligate carnivores," Theodore said. "They'll nibble greens to move things along and beg for crumbs because they smell interesting—but bread and leftovers aren't proper food. Give her meat. Variety: different cuts, organs, rotate the proteins."
He rattled off a simple, precise ratio and schedule. "Follow this, and her weight should rebound to baseline. Her coat will gloss up."
"And this—most important."
He produced a tiny pellet, no bigger than a fingernail—pressed from a careful blend of herbs. Mrs Norris's eyes lit instantly; the scent alone made her rapt.
"Shave a little into each meal," Theodore said, passing it to Filch. "Harmless, mood-brightening, and it supports longevity. Keep at it and she should have a few more good years with you."
"You remember my face," he added gently. "When it runs out, come find me. I'll mix more."
The promise of years put a trembling brightness in Filch's eyes. He tucked the pellet away as if it were phoenix ash. But confusion lingered. Students scorned him; he scowled back. Why would this one help?
"Why?" he asked hoarsely.
Theodore smiled, giving Mrs Norris a final pat. "Because the cat did nothing wrong. If you love cats, we're already friends. If you're unsure, ask me after class."
He tipped his chin to Mrs Norris. "All right—back to your human."
Reluctant but obedient, she brushed Theodore's cheek and leapt into Filch's arms. Filch looked different now—less feral, more… human.
"You must've gotten lost, first night," he muttered. "Not really night-wandering. I won't tell Professor McGonagall. And you—you're a good lad. Not like those mischief-mad Gryffindors—especially those dungbomb-addled Weasley twins. Don't fall in with them—bad lot, the both of them!"
He hesitated, then lowered his voice. "If you need to find a room… something hidden… come to the caretaker's office." A beat. "Just—don't let the others see. They'd give you grief."
Clutching Mrs Norris, he hurried off, eager to try the regimen.
Across Theodore's inner screen, unexpected prompts chimed:
[Relationship with Jade Void gate page: Close Friend.]
[You gain the talent: Keen Ears, Clear Eyes.]
[You gain the talent: Crane-Form Lightness.]
Theodore blinked. He'd expected Acquaintance at best. Close Friend—already? So the "ogre" had a fragile core after all. Maybe a lifetime as the odd man out leaves you starving for the first hand held out without mockery.
He scanned the new entries, pleased. With Night Sight plus Keen Ears, Clear Eyes, two or three more in that family might let him smelt something exotic—Heaven's Eye, Fire-Viewing Pupils, Thousand-Mile Gaze, Following-Wind Ear… tempting.
But what he anticipated most came tomorrow: Transfiguration. He drew out another pellet—the same blend that had turned Mrs Norris to putty—this one the size of a lychee rather than a fingernail.
His mouth quirked.
"Professor McGonagall's cat is no ordinary cat," he murmured. "Show some respect. This dose should be… appropriate."
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