Chapter 335: The Second Soul Revenant
Perhaps every cat has a tail it must eventually tame.
For a long while, the black cat focused entirely on the trick of living in harmony with its own appendage. Watching this, the corner of Harry's mouth twitched upward; he realized with a start that much of his suffocating anxiety had begun to evaporate.
"Mr. Kneazle," Harry began again. Now that his dread no longer clouded his reason, he finally found the words for the thought haunting him. "I can speak Parseltongue."
The black cat released its tail and turned its gaze toward him, offering a slow, human-like nod.
"Voldemort can do it. Slytherin could do it. I must have some sort of horrible dark power in me... I'm going to become someone terrible. The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin. Everyone knows that Slytherins are... well, they aren't good people."
Harry lowered his head, a crushing weight of fear and aimlessness wrapping around him like a physical shroud.
The black cat leaped onto Harry's shoulder. With a precise movement of its paw, it batted away a cluster of grey mist—the manifestation of fear—clinging to Harry's temple. In the Lands Between, these mist-clouds were constant; any wizard who delved deep into their own soul was bound to encounter them. If left unchecked, they could mislead a person, or worse, begin to dominate their personality.
"Slytherins are not all like that, Harry," the cat said. By then, it had flicked the fear-mist far into the distance.
After all—this was his domain within the soul realm.
"You mean..." Harry watched the mist drift away, wide-eyed. Within that cloud, he had seen a flickering image of himself wearing a cruel, mocking smile. This place could turn terror into something tangible, yet the Great Spirit of the Castle could banish it with a flick of a paw.
"Slytherin has produced many great individuals," the cat continued. A look of ancient, quiet remembrance flickered in its vivid green eyes.
Harry didn't doubt the creature for a second.
"But you are not a Slytherin. The Hat saw those qualities in you—the ones Salazar Slytherin prized in his hand-picked students: rare gifts, Parseltongue, resourcefulness, a determined will, and a certain... disregard for the rules.
"Yet, the Hat placed you in Gryffindor. Do you know why? Perhaps you should consider that."
The black cat projected an aura of profound mystery. It seemed to know everything, to understand the very foundations of the world, yet it carried not a shred of arrogance. Harry felt it was a Sage—much like Professor Dumbledore, but perhaps knowing even more. It was, after all, the spirit of ten centuries of Hogwarts history.
"It put me in Gryffindor," Harry said, his voice hesitant, "because I asked not to be in Slytherin..."
The black cat nodded, its eyes warm with satisfaction. Harry felt a sudden surge of encouragement.
"Exactly so. And that makes you very different from Tom Riddle. Harry, it is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities."
The cat's satisfaction seemed to deepen. It reached out to another cluster of mist, pulling it closer. Inside the swirling vapor, Harry saw a vision of himself pulling the Sword of Gryffindor from the hat.
Harry froze, his heart hammering against his ribs. "I—but—Sean did that! I didn't..."
"Harry, this mist comes from your own soul. It is your own aspiration." The cat guided the vision, showing Harry his own face—proud and resolute. "As for your doubts, it is not for me to answer them... Never let anyone tell you what you can or cannot achieve.
"Remember, Harry: the life you want is the one you choose for yourself. If you have an ideal, you must defend it. If you have a dream, you must realize it."
Harry was utterly transfixed. He opened his mouth to speak, but his lips merely trembled; no sound came out.
"Goodbye, Harry."
The cat's tail swept the vision into Harry's hands. Harry could feel the mist of the dream-world rising, signaling the end.
"Will I see you again, Mr. Kneazle?!" Harry shouted into the fading light.
"In the world of the soul, there are no accidents. You called for me seventy times tonight, Harry. But I tell you this: you were really calling for yourself."
The cat's final words echoed in Harry's mind as the dream dissolved.
Harry snapped his eyes open. Dawn had arrived.
The world outside the Gryffindor windows was a blanket of stark, brilliant white. Snowflakes were pressed against the glass. Harry felt an unprecedented sense of fulfillment—a quiet, steady resolve that made him feel "whole" in a way he never had before.
Meanwhile, in the Dream World.
The black cat continued to prowl through the Lands Between. It had been here for three minutes now—an exceptionally long time for a living wizard.
Suddenly, trails of mist began to leak from its dark fur. The vapor first coalesced into a magnificent, predatory shape. It looked like a cross between a mountain lion and a panther.
Then, the mist fanned out, forming a shimmering, web-like network of threads. The cat intuitively understood that these were Connections—the anchors that prevented a soul from becoming lost in the void.
These threads stretched out toward different locations: a small stone cottage where a Transfiguration professor lived; a dark, cold dungeon; the student dormitories; and even the Headmaster's office.
As the mist dispersed, the cat's form began to blur.
Three minutes and three seconds.
Back in the Ravenclaw dormitory, Sean picked up his wand from the nightstand. With a flick, a small notebook zoomed into his hand. He meticulously recorded his time in the soul realm, his heart racing with excitement.
He had caught a glimpse of his second Soul Revenant. If he wasn't mistaken, it was a Wampus Cat.
The Wampus Cat: an XXXXX-class magical beast. It resembled a cougar or panther native to the Appalachian Mountains. It was capable of walking upright, could run faster than an arrow, and its eyes possessed the powers of hypnosis and Legilimency.
The Cherokee people had studied the Wampus Cat extensively, as they shared the same territory. Only the greatest Cherokee warriors had ever successfully harvested Wampus hair to use as a wand core. Isolt Sayre, one of the founders of Ilvermorny, had famously used a Wampus hair wand. Her adoptive son, Webster Boot, had even named one of the school's houses after the creature.
Sean scribbled these details into his notes. If his second Revenant was indeed a Wampus Cat, he would be able to maintain his human intellect during the transformation. The prospect of innate Legilimency and hypnosis was incredibly enticing.
The only problem was: where on earth was he going to find a Wampus Cat to harvest the materials for a biscuit?
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