11 March 2010
4:15 pm
Thread begins not in the greenhouses but on Hogwarts's ground floor corridors.

A kind colleague had advised she find Mr. Woodward.  They'd done so with incomprehensible amusement and had placed a strange emphasis on 'Mr'.  She couldn't recall ever having laid eyes on the gentlemen, nor hearing much about him. Her time on earth had, however, given her the inclination not to trust rumors or act upon prejudice so she allowed any inkling of doubt to remain only curiosity.

She had been advised he'd last been seen repairing a door knob down the Transfiguration corridor, and so she headed there.  As she was often clad, she wore a witch's work clothes: worn boots, calf-high hem on her robes and a thick apron.  Her sleeves were rolled up, a heavy vest warmed her. 

Branwen saw no sign of any wizard at first, though a few girls passed by her in a giggle.  She rounded a corner and suddenly her breath caught in her throat.  There was...was...a..."A lion!" she breathed to herself.  A lion!  Magic was a peculiar thing and all those who'd grown up surrounded by it knew better than muggles how little to trust one's eyes.  So despite the initial shock of seeing a beast of the African savannah, she assumed it must be some sort of enchantment. 

"My word, that's quite a convincing ruse!" she called out from some distance away, unable to keep a slight tremble from her voice. 

"Steady now, hold it steady. Just one more twist and...there."

When Felinus lifted his head for a better look at the knob, Mimzy the house-elf gave a squeak and clung to his mane, letting her screwdriver clatter to the floor. Felinus chuckled fondly. House-elves did not have the general knowledge required for such day-to-day detailed repairs, but Mimzy was one of a few who'd proven exceptionally good at following his directions in lieu of his own opposable thumbs.

Felinus had just concluded that their work for the afternoon was indeed complete when a somewhat shaky yet powerful voice from up the hall startled them both. "My word, that's quite a convincing ruse!"

Felinus's ears flickered towards the voice before his body followed, Mimzy giving a little yelp before tangling fingers in his mane to keep from falling off his neck. The announcement came from a woman he didn't recognize at a glance, taller and older than most, dressed in work clothes that already carried a fair layer of dirt. Felinus noted that he may need to take a broom to the corridor this evening before he lowered his head, allowing the house-elf to roll off him onto the floor. "Thank you, Mimzy. That will be all for now."

With a happy, nervous, "Yessir Master Woodswards!" and a, "You be calling if you needs me, sirs," Mimzy tugged on her tea-towel and disappeared back to the kitchens, leaving the transfiguration hall clear save for Felinus, the woman, a few passing students. Felinus approached the newcomer, whom he presumed to be one of the new hires, with soft steps and his tail keeping time with the ticking of a nearby clock.

"No ruse, madam. I'm afraid this is but my current personage." He paused well enough away to avoid threatening the woman and inclined his head to her in a four-legged bow. "Felinus Woodward. Hogwarts caretaker, at your service. Would you be the Madam...Strangely?"  When he'd first heard the name he'd assumed it to be a sort of cruel joke, but to be fair this was the wizarding world and he was a lion named Felinus. Anything was possible.

"I am," she confirmed.  Even as she did she took down a mental note to remind herself that she'd just seen something she'd never seen before.  A house-elf mounted atop a lion holding a screwdriver and fixing a doorknob. A peerless image that she was sure she'd never forget.  It had always been a reputation that Hogwarts held many mysteries and she was almost pleased that she'd discovered yet one more.

"You're an Animagus, then.  Very good.  An accomplishment that not many of us ever master."  Mr. Woodward approached her, padding on his giant paws, and Branwen folded her arms over her chest in a sublte gesture of subconscious protection.  She'd only ever seen a lion in a zoo.  They were intense in such intimate proximity, even if she knew it was only a wizard.

"You must have been delighted to discover you had such a noble form waiting inside you.  I always feared I'd harbored the visage of a garden snail and well, I never really pursued the skill."

Most who met her noted her forthright and bold way of stating her opinions and observations without much preference for small talk or courtesy.  Some appreciated it.  Others did not. 

"The utility of such a form is obvious, but when it comes to matters of dexterity I can't imagine why you'd not return to normal and access your fingers."

In the part of the feline brain where he still existed, the human Felinus Woodward gave a wry smile. Such expressions couldn't be expressed by a lion's maw, but a hint of that somewhat dismissive amusement flickered in his dark eyes. "It is my experience that those in possession of such 'noble' animagical forms are also the sort to expect them long before they appear. If there is any room for doubt then it is wisest, as you say, not to pursue the technique."

Still, as always, he could count his blessings. Much better to weather his current situation in a somewhat capable form than that of Madame Strangely's hypothetical garden snail.

Felinus sighed, his tail flicking behind him. "I take it that no one informed you of my condition. I am afraid, ma'am, that I am currently unable to resume my human form. For the time being, this is my 'normal.' It has been for over half a decade now.'"

Had he been speaking with anyone else, Felinus might have gone on to explain that hows and whys of his experiments, his ambitions, and his partial success, stressing that it all had been the result of over-reaching, not incompetence. But, he suspected that the new Herbology Professor would not be inside the castle in the middle of the day unless she had a reason. That reason took priority over small talk. Felinus cleared his throat.

"Now then, I assume you were looking for me. Is there a matter with which you require assistance?"

"Ah," she said without sympathy.  She now understood the deception her other colleague had played upon her.  He hoped that news of her ignorance would prove entertaining fodder for the staff room, she thought sarcastically.  A warm welcome indeed, but she supposed some were not above childish hazing. 

All the better, however, to have heard the story from Mr. Woodward himself rather than hearsay. 

And then they got to the point.  Wonderful - a beast after her own heart.

"Certainly right, Mr. Woodward.  It's the matter of greenhouse 4.  I can't speak to Professor MacDonough's troubles or lack thereof with that one, but it's overgrown with black nettle.[1]  If you've any familiarity, it's a ghastly weed with no use, and I simply can't tolerate the abundance.

"I had hoped that a wizard in your position could assist me in burning it down.  Can you still cast spells, Mr. Woodward? Or shall you be bringing your screwdriver?"

Again, forthright and perhaps insensitive, without a trace of malice in her tone.

1.	AO Canon.  Spiky, stinging vine, which can apparently grow very quickly if it has a mind and defends its territory.

Felinus curled his lip, exposing the sharpest fangs right at the edge of his mouth -- a sign of amusement, not aggression. "No spells, Professor. But I am familiar with the weed and these --" He flexed the digits of his front paws, their claws click-clacking against the stone. "-- are not for show. A screwdriver will not be unnecessary. Please, lead the way."

And oh, they were a formidable-looking pair as they made their way back out to the greenhouses. For all her relative friendliness, Professor Strangely was tall and imposing and still unfamiliar enough that the students gave her space, all of which was only emphasized by the presence of the feline caretaker at her heels. Felinus kept stride behind and to the left so that the Herbology Professor might feel less like she was being stalked.

When they arrived at entrance of Greenhouse 4, Felinus paused and took in the scents with a few long, deep breaths. Like all nettle, the offending black weed had no distinct scent to a human's nose, but all Greenhouses at Hogwarts had a certain balance to them when properly cared for, and he could pick up the overabundance of one sharp aroma in the otherwise even musk.

He wrinkled his muzzle and snorted to clear out the scent. "Your greenhouse, ma'am. How shall we approach our plan of attack?"

"I was thinking fire and brimstone," she said with a touch of vengeance.  She could see the black nettle had overcome some very tasty purple potatoes that the kitchens would have benefited a great deal.  She loved their purpley blue color when mashed and mixed with garlic and butter.

Without Mr Woodword's casting ability she had to think her strategy differently and consider his unique capabilities.  Perhaps...perhaps the counter to fire was the option.

"What do you think of this, Mr Woodward:  I'll freeze the lot of it until it's all of ice and icicles and we can tear it down by hand and claw without getting pricked."

She looked back at him from the greenhouse and found herself still slightly unsettled at conversing with a lethal-looking creature.  She'd have rather not, poor man trapped like that, but the bias still lurked.  "I just can't get used to your appearance," she stated bluntly.  "You'll have to forgive an old witch, but I'm sure I'll adjust in time."

Ice. Excellent. In truth, the fire and brimestone sounded equally fine, but the practicality of ice appealed to him. After all, one wrong move with the flames and the blaze could spread. Ice would be so much easier to control.

"I think that sounds like a plan." The words rumbled from Felinus with something resembling a purr. Destruction appealed to the animal in him, the same instincts that lead him to shred pillows in his office and take daily runs in the woods. He rolled his paws again like a satisfied kitten, getting a good grip on the grated floor as he prepared for the pounce.

Branwen's blunt admission brought another twinkle of a smirk into his eyes. "There is nothing to forgive. If anything, weariness only proves that your instincts are sharp as your mind. On your mark, then."

Felinus hunched low, the purr deepening into the rumble of a growl. Ahead, the black nettle snapped its thorny vines at the empty air. The moment the freezing charm had been loosed, Felinus lept. His roar rattled the glass plating of Greenhouse 4.

Branwen smiled at the kindly caretaker, and then took his cue.  She stepped back into a casting stance and raised her wand above her head.  She set off the spell with jabs and stabs, jets of frigid magic hitting the nettle as close to the roots as she could.  When the spell hit, the ice spread like frost on a pond, branching and crackling. 

The nettle appeared to recoil and shudder! But the ice was nothing compared to the fearsome reaping of her colleague!  At his mighty roar, Branwen paused in her casting because she was startled by his wildness.  But the moment passed soon enough and she continued with her work.

"Oh, bother! There goes a table!" 

One of her casts had struck the wooden work table and froze it solid. 

But the nettle was coming down in crackling shards, all thanks to Felinus's quick work. "After it, Sir Woodward!" she called.  "Mind the thorns!"

Felinus enjoyed his job. Fixing doorknobs and sweeping floors was more than a person in his position could reasonably dream to hope for. But he had not realized how much he needed something like this, every now and again. Vicious and bloated as the vines had become, the battle more than satisfied the lingering instinct that called for him to hunt, attack, and kill.

He reared back from his initial attack, tossing his head to scatter broken ice-shards and frozen vines clear of the He bounded to one side to get clear, but the space between tables was not made for a lion; he crashed into the frozen table, which snapped in two.

With perfect timing, a vine answered Madame Strangely's warning by snapping free of its frozen comrades and catching Felinus across the muzzle. The thorns left bleeding scratches on his nose. A beastly howl erupted with the shock of pain. He caught the still-writhing vine in his teeth and ripped it clean, scattering potting soil over the icy floor.

His tongue now suffering from minor pricks, Felinus spat the vine out and snarled at the wriggling plant as though that could scare it off. He backed up to better judge his next attack. He coughed. Tasted awful, that stuff. Purple-black juices stained his maw.

"How much deeper does it go?" he asked Branwen in a low growl. If he misjudged the next jump he was liable to crash through the greenhouse's back window.

"We're just nearly there," she assured her beastly companion with a twinge of hesitation at his battle scars.  This was getting messy, but she was thankful for the help.  It'd likely been far more bloody without his help.

"You can see the support column - the back wall is only a few feet beyond."

In what could have been desperately rude, she reached out and patted him on his fuzzy head.  She was grateful and this was all incredibly strange.   But one did what must be done!  She took her stance and cast again, trying this time to double- or triple-douse the weed in ice.  They might be harder to break this way, but less prone to bite back!

It wasn't long before sun was pouring in through the fogged up windows.  Before the black nettled had blocked the light coming through, and the shards of ice and black thorns were now twinkling on the floor in soggy heaps.  With a sigh, Branwen put her hands on her hips.  She looked at the horrible mess and decided it was extremely satisfying to see this all sorted out.

"Shall I tend to that nose?"

The pat on the head earned a startled jerk and a shake, rather as a housecat reacts when a feather lands on its nose. It wasn't that Felinus minded being patted or petted or what have you. It was only that, being fully lost in the mindset of a hunt, he wasn't expecting any such gestures of affection. He could count his blessings that their enemy was not meat-based; otherwise the instinct might have been strong enough to make him take off Branwen's hand.

This confusion flickered only briefly before his mind returned to battle mode. His next few swipes ripped the frozen flora right down to its roots. Ice-encrusted soil and broken pots joined the the soggy floor. Their enemy bested, Felinus paced the floor to release the last lingering bit of adrenaline. He coughed and licked at the air in an attempt to clear the taste from his mouth. It didn't work.

"Hm-mph? No, nonsense, it's only a scratch. There's nothing to ten--"

He cut himself off with an absentminded paw at the wound in question, which evoked an kitten-like yowl of pain. Embarrassed, Felinus lay down among the ice and half-attempted to hide his head beneath his paw. "I...I suppose it is still a bit sensitive. But they're not poisonous, these things. Yes?"

Branwen covered her mouth when Mr. Woodward went from an unfortunate and ferocious wizard trapped in the body of a  beast to a stunned domestic...!

"I think you'll live!" she nearly laughed.  Black nettle wasn't poisonous, just aggressive and fast-growing.  In the cupboard by the door was a bit of first aid.  "Here we are.  Do contain those claws, Mr. Woodward."

She pulled a short stool over - she tried to avoid the crouching and kneeling of the gardener's life when she could - and began undoing a phial. 

"Tell me then, Felinus, how did you find yourself in this predicament?"  she tapped the open end of the phial onto a clean rag.

Felinus wrinkled his nose, which only made the scratches look worse. The contents of the phial, while unoffensive to the human nose, smelled dreadful to his more enhanced senses. To make it worse, he expected that it was going to sting.

"Experimentation." He cleared his throat, making some attempt to retain composure. "I hoped to modify the animagical process to allow for human speech in the animal form. I succeeded, as you can hear, but it left me unable to reverse the transformation. That was six years ago."

Six years of Saint Mungo's, being poked and prodded and coaxed and, worst of all, locked in the animagical mishaps wing on the fourth floor with half a dozen unfortunates trapped between human and beast. The only worse prospect was getting shipped off to a muggle zoo, as had been suggested near the end of his stay. He may no longer be a man, but he had no desire to cast of his civilization either.

"And you, Madam Strangely? What brings you to these hallowed halls?" Like a child soothed by stories in a storm, he hoped that the witch's tale would distract him from the stinging bite of the potion-soaked rag approaching his face.

"Steady then," she said in a firm voice as she placed one hand gently under Felinus's mighty jaw.  She wasn't known for being gentle or coddling, but she had no wish to harm her colleague.  It would sting a bit, but the potion would easily clean the wound and speed up the healing to only a few seconds.  Worthwhile for cuts on knuckles or sores in the corners of mouths - places where the skin moved frequently and upset healing scrapes.

"My sister suggested it," she said as she lightly dabbed the damp rag on the snout slashes.  "She's a bossy - bossier than me - and she thought I should put my research to good use.  I'd instructed adults before, so she thought it'd be an easy transition.  Ha!"

She continued to dab gently, starting from the edges and moving inward.  She imagined it was quiet uncomfortable.

"The students are far more fidgety than I expected, and more than half of them seem to have no interest at all."  She didn't seem personally offended, just a tsk tsk sort of reaction previous generations had of the new ones.  She certainly wasn't accurately recalling her own apathy towards school that most adolescents experienced at some point.

"There.  How's that feel?"  She sat away and looked at her handiwork.  She was no healer, but she'd had nettle scratches more than she could remember.