Ivy Doom's training for the Slytherin Quidditch team had already lasted a full week.
Over the course of that week, beyond the wind-conjuring and hail-dodging drills, he had invented an array of other magical training regimens.
These included goalkeeper reflex drills with self-launching balls, resistance training against a relentless barrage of Bludgers, and—much to the players' initial delight—brutal body-checking exercises. But since Ivy's chosen sparring partners were the castle's animated suits of armor, the so-called "gentlemen trolls" quickly grew to despise these sessions as much as all the others.
On top of that, Ivy used weather-control charms to conjure extreme conditions, testing their mental resilience and toughness.
Thunderstorms, blizzards, howling gales—he unleashed them all. At one point, he even considered simulating a meteor shower, recalling that Dungeons & Dragons spells included a certain third-circle incantation perfect for this: Melf's Minute Meteors.
The spell allowed a caster to conjure six tiny meteors, floating in orbit around them for the spell's duration. Each meteor could be fired at will, and upon striking its target or colliding with a solid surface, it would explode in a fiery blast five feet wide, scorching everything caught within.
And with his Metamagic Mastery, Ivy could twin the spell—summoning twelve meteors at once. More than enough to rain down a "miniature meteor shower" on the pitch.
But this particular idea was promptly vetoed by the horrified Madam Hooch.
Yes—because Ivy's conjured environments were so dangerously excessive, the professors collectively agreed his training had to be restricted, before something irreversible happened.
Today it was Madam Hooch's turn to supervise, as she rotated through her flying lessons. Already, this was the third time she had personally stopped one of Ivy's reckless "ideas." The so-called troll gentlemen looked at her with the wide-eyed relief of condemned men spotting a savior.
"Mr. Doom!" Madam Hooch forced her voice to remain calm. In all her decades, she had never witnessed a wizard casually attempt to conjure meteors. More terrifying still, this wizardling before her was only a first-year.
"I cannot allow you to keep tormenting these trolls—students, I mean," she caught herself, nearly slipping into Ivy's nickname for the team. She had to admit, though—his description was uncomfortably accurate. "If I'm not mistaken, Slytherin reserved the Quidditch pitch today for tactical drills. Yet I see no trace of tactics being taught here."
"Ohhh." Ivy's eyes lit with sudden realization. He flipped his training schedule back a page. "So that's what was missing. I had the wrong plan in hand."
To be fair, there was undeniable joy in building one's fun on the suffering of others—especially when one had such a reasonable justification for it.
"Well, since tomorrow is Saturday," Ivy looked up at the battered troll gentleman, his voice magnanimous, "you're dismissed. Go rest. Don't forget to visit Madam Pomfrey for treatment! She'll understand."
At these words, both Madam Hooch and the players breathed a collective sigh of relief, fleeing the pitch like prisoners granted a royal pardon.
Ivy had long since resolved never to use the first-circle spell Find Familiar—and especially not to summon a cat. He knew all too well the sinister allure of those creatures; anyone who fell for their charm was doomed.
And Ivy Doom, bearer of the lofty ideal to "push magic to its absolute limits," could not afford to waste focus caring for a cat.
Still, despite his iron resolve, every time he scanned his spell list and saw Find Familiar resting there, an unbidden shiver of temptation stirred within him.
To prevent some impulsive moment of weakness from ever producing a feline familiar, Ivy decided he needed another creature to take that slot.
It would have to be something that shed no hair, remained clean, required no feeding or… less savory care, could assist in magical experiments, and—most importantly—produced no slime, filth, or other repulsive byproducts.
After much consideration, two possibilities stood out.
The first: undead.
What if… a ghost cat?
Ivy stopped the thought immediately. A spectral feline would combine all the charms of cats with none of the drawbacks of mortal flesh. Its sinister allure would be magnified a hundredfold—he feared he'd no longer be the master of such a pet, but its thrall.
And, besides, this was Hogwarts. Necromancy was hardly a suitable choice here.
That left option two: a construct.
Through clever arrangements of cogs, gears, and levers, a brass automaton or doll could be fashioned—a perfectly obedient magical companion.
Better yet, constructs could be entirely custom-designed by their maker! With the Craft Wondrous Item approach, Ivy might even create something bizarre and surreal enough to match his style.
The only problem: undead and constructs might not truly qualify as wizard familiars—meaning they wouldn't grant shared vision or the ability to cast spells through them.
Perhaps, though, the all-knowing Tome of Destruction would have the answer.
And indeed, after plunging into its endless sea of knowledge for the rest of the weekend, Ivy struck gold.
Among the countless feats, he found one that caught his eye:
Strixhaven Mascot.
Through long study, you have mastered from Strixhaven's grimoires the art of summoning a Strixhaven Mascot to serve at your side.
Mascots are construct familiars, their form reflecting the mage's college of study:
Spirit Statue Mascot (Quandrix)
Art Elemental Mascot (Prismari)
Fractal Mascot (Quandrix again in some texts, but distinct)
Inkling Mascot (Silverquill)
Pest Mascot (Witherbloom)
The Spirit Statue Mascot embodies ancient wisdom, spirits of bygone eras shaped by dust and magic into enduring shells. Wizards believe such guardians are their best assistants in the study of history.
The Art Elemental Mascot is a "living artwork," a fusion of elemental magic and artistic expression. To create one, a mage must master elemental spells, weave them into an aesthetically crafted shell, and infuse it with their own creative essence. These mascots combine destructive elemental might with an emotional allure that captivates living beings.
By the time Ivy reached this passage, his decision was already made. After all, what could be cooler than a chosen Evocation prodigy crafting living beings from raw elemental magic?