Domestic cats were not the usual affair of Level Four. His counterparts had been quick to question if they were kneazles, and once established that the job did not involve any, decided they would take their chances with the paperwork and hope a better opportunity came along.

Ambrose Pepper, meanwhile, was mastering paperwork at a rate that would make his Professors proud. Everything about his apprenticeship was of paramount importance to him. In the past few months he had learned how the senior handlers preferred their coffee to Mrs Lanningham’s top tips for perfect paperwork and to always distract Penny Pickler from Being Division with a polkadot pattern to get out of a half hour debate on diversity. Unlike the other apprentices, he had not been allowed to wield his wand, because he was still sixteen. But as of the 19th, that glorious Monday, Ambrose was seventeen and his walnut wand could legitimately come with him to work and be used.

It was Wednesday, and remarkably, he’d not yet blown anything up, though there’d been enough ribbing from those who had heard his reputation from school. Despite the premise of the job only being to do with Mr Spectre’s pet cats, Ambrose volunteered maturely, and reported for duty to the Division Head. He quite expected it would be something like wrestling some potion down their necks while he tried not to get clawed, and that Mr Spectre was just suggesting it to the trainees to give them more low-risk jobs to do.

Half an hour later, Ambrose and Balfour popped into reality in the Hebrides, several hundreds of miles from the office in London. Ambrose’s left hand released his senior’s right arm on arrival, and he gulped in lungfuls of fresh, damp Scottish air. In his right, a basket carrier full of three calico cats wiggled in his grasp. He carefully set it down with soothing noises, unaware of the fact he was making them.

“Forgive the inexperienced question, sir,” Ambrose asked, with all the respect that he might approach his old Defences Professor but without the fear, “but why is it necessary to come out here for your cats?” He knew for a fact that Balfour lived on a decent estate near Edinburgh with plenty of fresh air for cats to roam.

His cats were not well. Their noses were dry, their tongues white, their eyes glazed over. They did not eat as much of their tuna and they did not ignore Johann with their usual pointed vigour. It would have been nothing to check them over in the usual way of pets... except, as only a handful of people knew, The Fates were not harmless calico felines. Balfour had to pretend they were because it was quite illegal to keep Sphinxes.

Not a good look for the head of Beasts Division.

The wet winds of the Hebrides whipped about them as grey clouds rolled heavily eastwards in the troubled sky. Oh, he loved it here. It was one of the isles upon which they once kept a Hebridean Black, who had passed in the notorious dragon epidemic. Now its high knolls of rock and sparse grass were largely unoccupied: great swells of hard earth that rose to steep bluffs or fell steadily to flat plains. A perfect place for the creatures to resume their original forms, not least because it was not monitored by the Ministry. He'd made sure of it.

Impatient and uncomfortable, the cats yowled when Ambrose set down the basket carrier. Balfour reached into his waxed jacket to draw his wand and gesture at the opening.

            "...but why is it necessary to come out here for your cats?"

The carrier door swung open and out leapt the cats one at a time: a blur of white, black and orange. Glimmering golden-green eyes. They immediately swarmed around Balfour's feet making pitiful mewling sounds. He leaned down to scratch one of them behind the ears.

"I'd rather they didn't frighten the wildlife on the estate," Bal answered opaquely before glancing at the young wizard with a serious expression. Ambrose was one of the good ones. "No sudden movements, alright Pepper?" Not the brightest of fellows - which made his attempts all the braver.

And he was Francis' son. To be trusted. Aye, Balfour could trust him.

"These are Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos. They are Sphinxes," he nudged at the cats lightly and they walked off towards the distance with tails in the air. "I saved them from poachers when they were very young, and now they live with me. I need you to keep calm and composed. Can you do that? They might ask you a riddle."

Balfour doubted it would be a difficult one, if the Fates were ill. But it would be an opportunity for Ambrose to exercise a weak point of his.

Ambrose observed and listened in mild confusion. Why would cats frighten wildlife unless it was songbirds and rodents?

“No sudden movements, alright Pepper?” Ambrose gave a compliant nod, brow furrowed.

“… They are sphinxes.”

A splutter caught in Ambrose’s throat at this information. Mr Spectre wasn’t serious was he? How could sphinxes look like normal cats? What by Merlin…? Thankfully his boss was forthcoming with the background to save Ambrose drawing breath to ask. Instead he cleared his throat as inconspicuously and smoothly as he could, avoiding sudden movement.

“I need you to keep calm and composed. Can you do that? They might ask you a riddle.”

“Yes sir.” Ambrose replied, as if this was the most normal thing to be asked. Inwardly he was anxious about the word riddle, but the keeping calm and composed in the face of danger was what every detention had prepared him for. He might write Hogwarts if he survived this, and thank them.

“One question,” Ambrose hurriedly asked, recalling detail of his knowledge of sphinxes, “what are they guarding?”

Ambrose was taking it all in like a real champion. He felt a little proud to have the young man on level four - that was exactly the sort of attitude to take in Beasts Division. Nothing was too weird, you just had to roll with whatever came. Or get out of the way when it was necessary. Balfour glanced over his shoulder at the Fates.

"Whenever you're ready!" he called out at them as they spaced themselves apart in the distance. "Not too quickly, mind." It had been a while since they last took their original forms.

            "...what are they guarding?"

Balfour turned his back to the trio and smiled at Ambrose, who was asking a logical question. The first one that should come to mind because where there were Sphinxes there was also bound to be treasure. In this case, however, he felt mildly bashful in giving a truthful answer.

"Well. I suppose you could say they're guarding me," he admitted and rubbed the back of his neck. "They've never really had to do anything to that effect. Surprisingly."

It was even more surprising if one knew about his proximity to the likes of Ira Almasy in the past. Bal wondered if the Fates considered Johann and Feliks their treasure now, as well. Would that be worrying or sweet? He heard a noise behind him but didn't look around yet, only noting that they were finally transforming - that their lithe feline forms were growing in length and height, becoming leonine in nature.

"You'll be fine as long as it doesn't look like you want to hex me. Now, the first thing you should do is be polite and introduce yourself." Balfour reassured Ambrose before finally turning to face the trio. "Darlings," he smiled broadly and sympathetically. "Look at you. You're all grown up."

The three Sphinxes were not more than fifteen feet away, sprawled across the rocky earth in various languishing poses. Their tawny fur and dark skin was slightly ashen, probably due to their illness and the grey Hebridean light. Each young beast wore their hair in different braided styles: locks of emerald green, silvery white or a deep blood red.

They eyed the two wizards with golden gazes, a loud purring in their broad chests.

“You, sir?” Ambrose asked somewhat rhetorically, due to his surprise, and then took half a step backwards as the scattered cats began to grow, and expand. Their paws enlarged, their bodies widened and lengthened and their shadows in the grey Scottish light expanded across the heather. Their tails thickened at the end like a lion’s. Ambrose was struck by the thought that it must be cold for them in Scotland, given they were native to Egypt and Greece, though he understood nights there could be quite cold.

“… the first thing you should do is be polite and introduce yourself.”

Mr Spectre turned round to the three sphinxes and greeted them like growing children. Ambrose’s jaw had dropped in surprise, his eyes like saucers at the sight. Mr Spectre kept three half cat half human beasts as house pets to sit on his lap and play with toy mice? He’d only ever seen drawings of sphinxes in books, and had to draw one or two for projects during his OWLs. He’d never seen one in the flesh, and it was hard not to stare.

Ambrose reverted to the only way he knew to be polite to potentially lethal beasts and bowed to each of them taking care to ensure his hands were still visible.
“H-hello,” he greeted, “it’s l-lovely to meet you all. My name is Ambrose Pepper. I-I work with your trea- I mean, Mr Spectre.” It was all well and good someone suggesting you shouldn’t look like a threat. He didn’t want to look like dinner either. If the sphinxes were unwell, maybe their diets were suiting them as domestic cats - Felis silvestris catus as Ambrose had memorised.

He glanced from one to the other, unsure which was Clotho, Lachesis or Atropos. How did one begin to diagnose an illness in a sphinx? He wasn’t sure he knew the normal body temperature, pulse or appetite off hand without consulting books. Mr Spectre would know, otherwise he wouldn’t be keeping them, would he? Did they just need more red meat and sunshine, or … conversation?

“How, how are you all feeling?” Well, they were meant to be able to speak, but he really hoped they didn’t only reply in riddles… otherwise they could be here a very long time.

If he had been momentarily concerned for Ambrose's reaction, Balfour's worry now narrowed in on his darling cats Sphinxes instead. He approached the trio while the young wizard introduced himself using nervous but appropriate manners. Clotho, with a whining sound, rose on all fours and bowed her head down so that Bal could gently caress her head in both hands - fingers digging past her silver white braids so that he could get a better feel for temperature.

She was very warm, warmer than her species typically was. A fever maybe?

            “How, how are you all feeling?”

"Wellll, we are well..." purred Lachesis, who had joined Atropos in slowly circling young Ambrose - the pair of them treading quietly on their paws, distinctly setting the boy apart from Balfour. Their voices had a strange echo that seemed to speak in a different and more archaic language, barely audible.

"Tell us-" Atropos narrowed her gaze, tilting her head to the side. "If we have a head and a tail,"  she began her riddle. "But we are not a creature, then what are we?" the other Sphinx concluded.

Balfour drew his wand, ready to cast a charm that would help diagnose his darlings. He glanced over his shoulder for just a second, in time to watch Ambrose pause falteringly. It was an easy riddle - they were playing with him. The Fates would have given Johann a much trickier one.

            "Coin?"

Whew! Atropos and Lachesis blinked slowly, settling down with weariness in their shoulders - right between Ambrose and Balfour, who had returned his attention to Clotho. "Alright, Pepper?" he laughed cheerfully. "I'm going to use a charm that's meant to detect fevers - do the same with either of them, just follow my cue." Standing straight in neutral posture, he began.

"Deprendo Calor!" The tip of his wand lit up with a white glow and he slowly brought it closer to Clotho's tan face. "Let's see what's wrong with you, eh?"

Relief flooded Ambrose’s thoughts as he guessed correctly. He had survived a sphinx’s riddle! Wait until he told his family - oh. No.

“Alright, Pepper?” Ambrose dismissed the realisation and seized upon the glee instead. He had a job to do! He was being responsible and trusted by Mr Spectre, his boss. He nodded obediently and enthusiastically, humming in agreement. “I’m going to use a charm that’s meant to detect fevers-”

An ugly twist formed in Ambrose’s stomach, which he hadn’t felt quite so keenly since he had taken his practical OWL exams back at Hogwarts. A new spell, and he had to cast it on a sphinx. He’d rather answer more riddles, truth be told. No, he had to concentrate, he could do this. He wouldn’t let the sphinxes down nor Mr Spectre.

“Deprendo Calor!” Ambrose watched intently, young brow furrowed in deep consideration.
“Dee-prendo-cah-lore…” the younger wizard echoed slowly, the words awkward on his tongue. “No, that’s not right, Deh-pren-doh-cah-lore.” Not a long e, but a short one. Deprendo, what was that…? Calor though, heat! Ambrose’s mind went straight to the bottles of gas the muggle neighbours used for their barbeque.

“You’re looking for heat?” Ambrose asked, deciding to be sure of what he was attempting to do so he could visualise the outcome when he tried. He watched as Balfour brought the wand towards the face of one of the three of them, and the white light at the tip of his wand began to shift in colour.

            "You’re looking for heat?"

"Aye!" Balfour called back as he drew his wand closer to Clotho, who blinked slowly at him. "Warmer colours, like orange or red, and it's a fever. Cold colours and she's clear." The white light at the tip of the wand flickered for a moment before glowing yellow... and then orange.... and very nearly a full-on crimson. A grim look came into his expression as he ended the charm with another flick. Fever it was.

He reached up once more, a hand on either side of the Sphinx's face, and kissed her cheek ruefully. The poor darling was well and truly ill! They would all get fishy treats when settled back in the manor.

"Looks like they're going to need some medicine," the Scotsman released his charge and glanced back at Ambrose. "You check on those two. I'm going to apparate to the estate for just a moment, to pick up what we need. Shouldn't be long. Don't let them bully you alright?" he flashed him a bracing smile--

-- and then he was gone.

Back at the estate, he would have to find his stash of Acromantula poison-infused vinegar. Sphinx fevers generally went away on their own, given both time and rest, but Balfour knew a few remedies to help alleviate the symptoms.

However long he was gone, it might help Ambrose to spend some time alone with a few dangerous beasts. That's how they all learned to do anything on level four, so that nobody counted on having their arses saved by an older handler.

Ambrose’s confidence grew. He had survived a riddle, and now correctly surmised the purpose of a spell in the presence of his boss. He nodded along, repeating things under his breath to help commit them to memory. His lips fell open in surprise at the crimson colour of Balfour’s wand tip, indicating a fever.

“… check on those two. I’m going to apparate… don’t let them bully you alright?”

“Bully? Oh - right. Yes sir.” Ambrose replied, drawing his wand from the pocket of his worn jeans as Balfour vanished with a neat crack of magic. Ambrose’s awe at the sphinxes delayed him realising how alone he was as he raised his wand and straightened his shoulders. The fact that the three of them could tear him limb from limb in the blink of an eye did not pass his mind until much later, and had he not been sworn to secrecy, would have probably crossed his father’s mind much quicker.

“Right then,” the young wizard spoke aloud, as much to himself as to the beasts. “I’m going to check your temperatures like Mr Spectre asked. De…” he licked his lips, noticing the way the lazy but predatory manner in which the sphinxes were observing him. “Hang on. Not done this one before. Deprendo Calor!”

He winced, just a fraction, worried he would somehow botch up the spell, which was why he had turned the wand on himself first. His ruddy cheeks backed up the slight yellow light from the tip of his wand. “Aha!” Ambrose grew an inch taller in his pride. “Ok, hold still. I’ve got this. Deprendo Calor!”

He was happy to see, upon returning from the estate, that Ambrose was well and alive - and practicing his wandwork by taking the temperatures of the other two Sphinxes. Balfour apparated on the isle, just a good ten or so feet away from them, holding three bottles of the infused vinegar by their necks in one hand. His other hand was gloved in Dragon hide, for the purposes of administrating medicine.

"Howsit, then?" the Scotsman called out once he was close enough for the Hebridean gales not to snatch his voice away. "I return bearing solutions to our ailment!" his grin, first directed at the young man, shifted to the closest of his darlings.

Clotho remained where he had left her, one paw crossed over the other, white braids hanging heavy and low to the rocky ground. He set down the bottles, taking one up to cradle and uncork it. "Mussst we?" she hissed, her golden eyes tracking his hands with childish dislike - for they were still young, for Sphinxes, and would go on to live longer than even your average Kneazle.

"It'll make you feel better, faster," Balfour replied, shaking his head as if though dealing with an especially fussy kid. "So you better open up and let me do this. I promise it's worth the taste!" he peered up sweetly at the creature and indicated the bottle in his gloved hand. "Yes? Please? Pretty please?"

A rumble in Clotho's chest sounded like it might be agreement, and so the wizard glanced over his shoulder at Pepper. "Come on, watch me do this and then you'll have a go with Atropos over there."

Balfour lifted the bottle high, his smiling fading into a frown of concentration while the first of the Sphinxes opened her great and clever mouth. As soon as he got the rim of it past her teeth, she shut her jaw with a growl, struggling against the pouring of the vinegar down her throat. He reached up to caress the side of her face with his other hand - not recommended by handlers but definitely specific to this Spectre - ignoring the tension of the fangs pushing through the lining of the gloves.

"Now, now," he murmured, coaxing lovingly, "all of it." Clotho's tail flicked angrily behind her and nearly clipped one of her sisters.

Orange! The spell successfully turned on the sphinx, and Ambrose had to hold himself from leaping a foot in the air through joy.

“There now!” He exclaimed, pleased as punch. But oh, ho, he hadn’t got to get too excited or cocky about it, as he still had one more sphinx to examine. Ambrose bowed away, and bowed to the third, as if they were hippogriffs rather than mystic cats. A bit of politeness always went down well. “And once more,” he explained, drawing his wand for the third. “Deprendo Calor!”

“Howsit, then?” Ambrose withdrew his wand and turned on the spot, looking his boss up and down, curious and still very gleeful.
“All running hot, sir.” Young Pepper reported, and in a quieter voice, “even myself, truth be told.” He fanned his own face and pulled at the collar of his navy jumper, puffing his cheeks out. The adrenaline was working.

Ambrose picked up another of the bottles, prepared to uncork and pass as appropriate. Balfour was wearing a dragonhide glove. Ambrose wondered if it was to do with the ingredients, less the creature in this case. He lifted the bottle in hand closer to his face to read it but Mr Spectre’s summons took his attention. With an obedient nod, he put down the bottle and instead approached at a close range to take note.

As Clotho resisted, Ambrose was poised, sleeves pushed up to nearly his elbows, wand in hand. He was ready to assist, though if someone had asked him right then he’d not quite have known how, but he was definitely prepared…

“I get the feeling it might not be the tastiest.” Ambrose remarked rhetorically, glancing at the other two creatures as he did. “But it must take a brave sphinx to drink it down without protest.” He remembered his late mother telling his younger brother Tim this when they had taken potion for colds as children. She’d implored Ambrose to be the big brave brother and swallow it down without a fuss so as to show Tim there was nothing to be afraid of. Of course, after, Ambrose had pulled a face, but only when their mother hadn’t been looking.

“You right there, Sir?” Ambrose asked, readying himself to come in to assist, whether it now meant petting the side of a sphinx’s face and hoping he still kept his fingers.

He stepped back to let Balfour retreat when it was done and eyed the state of the bottle after those teeth. Picking up another, still corked, he gestured, “so like that, and then… down in one.. Merlin be willing?”

Mr Spectre was a good few inches taller than Ambrose, who was still gaining his last few inches of growth as a teenager. Ambrose worried that he might not be tall enough to reach. He glanced about and set down the bottle once more, instead jogging over to a nearby crag of rocks and boulders. “Don’t let me down now…” he uttered under his breath, “Wingardium Leviosa!” A small boulder, several inches in diameter and far longer in length, began to part float, part roll back in the direction of Atropos.

“Er, thought I might not reach, sir,” Ambrose explained, losing grip of the stone with his magic as he did. It landed with clack a couple of feet from her paws. “What with needing your chin up,” he explained by way of appeasing the sphinx, “easier to swallow it down quick, avoid the taste.”

With some coaxing, both from himself and Pepper, Clothos was finally able drain the bottle. She released Balfour's gloved arm and snapped her merciless jaws into thin air, disgusted by the aftertaste of the medicine. Balfour pulled back with flourish and laughed lightly at the poor creature, the laugh of a younger man who could never tire of his vocation.

           “... so like that, and then… down in one.. Merlin be willing?”

"Merlin be willing!" he repeated in a confident voice. Ambrose was apprehensive but clearly wasn't letting that get in the way of the matter at hand. Balfour shoved off his glove and relinquished it, impressed by amount of thought his companion had put into this. Climbing on to the boulder was clever - and if nothing else, it showed the Sphinxes that their new 'friend' had their comfort in mind.


The consequent imbibing of medicines went smoothly. One sister had conceded to consume, therefore the other two were less wary and more eager to return to their feline forms. Balfour could tell that they did not relish it out here in the cold Hebridean winds and attended to by smaller, weaker animals such as wizards were. They had lived most of their lives now as fickle little pets, who enjoyed basking on plush rugs before a blazing hearth. Purring.

"I believe that is our task accomplished." Bal announced, clicking close the caged door of the basket into which the Fates had weakly slunk. "Looks like they're knocked out. Still young, you know, it's been a rather long day for them," he rose and reached out to shake Ambrose's hand genially. "Thank you for your help. I knew I'd be able to trust you, Pepper."

Not simply with the secret of his three cats but with the act of tending to them.... no mean feat.