Rowan hadn't meant to end up here. She had come to Diagon Alley for a new quill. Her old one had snapped in half during a particularly tedious Charms essay, she had been gripping it too hard, frustrated by the mind-numbing repetition of the assignment, and the quill had simply given up. She had stared at the broken pieces for a long moment, then thrown them in the bin and decided she needed fresh air and a new quill. Instead she found herself in this weird place full of fluffy beings. The Magical Menagerie smelled of sawdust and an earthy faint scent like a dragon had sneezed somewhere in the back and no one had quite managed to air the place out. An old couple ran the shop, the wife with her grey hair short and styled, the husband bent over a crate of something that squeaked and squirmed. They didn't look up when Rowan walked in, and she didn't wait for them to notice her. She drifted toward the back, past the kneazles and the crups and a tank of something that looked like a rock with eyes, her hands shoved in the pockets of her jeans.
The cat was in the corner. Chartreux, she remembered seeing it in a boring book about cats in one of the donation boxes at the church. Blue-grey coat, thick and woolly, copper eyes that watched her the moment she stepped into his line of sight. But it wasn't the coat or the eyes that caught her attention. It was the way he kept looking behind himself, over his shoulder, like he expected something to sneak up on him at any moment. Rowan crouched down in front of the cage, suddenly intrigued and slightly amused. The cat stared at her as the girl smiled.
"You look like you've got some serious issues." she said.
The cat tilted his head. She reached through the bars and let him sniff her fingers. He didn't flinch or hiss, neither did he sniff, he just sat there, golden eyes to green ones.
"Right," she said. "You're coming with me."
She stood up, carrier in hand, and walked toward the counter. The old woman looked up from her knitting. The old man straightened his back with a soft groan.
""Found one, dear?" the woman asked, peering at the cat through her spectacles.
"Yes, indeed." I wasn't even looking for one, she thought, I was looking for a quill !
The man named a price. Rowan counted out the coins from a worn leather pouch she called "purse" while the woman wrapped the carrier in a piece of brown paper and tied it with string, and Rowan took it without a word.
Out on the cobbled street, the cat's copper eyes watched the world through the mesh door. He kept looking behind him still, which made Rowan let out a soft chuckle.
"You need a name," she said.
She thought about it for a few seconds. "Orpheus," she said. "Because you can't stop looking over your shoulder. Also because it's ridiculous and I think it's funny."
The cat blinked. "Don't judge me," she said. "You're the one in a carrier."
Yes, I need a quill ! She thought. Instead she turned left, away from the quill shop, and headed toward the Leaky Cauldron. The cat didn't complain. She supposed that was a good sign.
