Stellarlune

I was with Harry and Ron, down near Hagrid’s hut on a cool Saturday afternoon. The skies trailed wispy clouds, wrung dry in the cool breeze and after the heavy downpour the previous evening.

Large puddles of water reflected pieces of the sky, and I jumped in one or two on the way, just watching the reflection shatter and the ripples spread. My clothes got a bit wet, even Harry said so, but I didn’t pay it too much mind.

I don’t know why we chose that particular day to visit Hagrid. It seemed as good a day as any, and it wasn’t even unanimously decided between the three of us. It just happened.

We were close enough, lounging around near the Forest on one of our days off and Harry casually brought it up. Ron and I just sort of ambled along.

When we arrived, there was no sizzle and crackle of a fire in a hearth, and the chimney, always so merrily puffing away black smoke, was empty and looked unkempt. Fang wasn’t there to bark, and the heavy rustling of robes we associated with Hagrid was nowhere to be found.

The hut was silent. Completely.

And that, I think, was part of the reason why we stood at the door for so long, simply just looking at the huge brass doorknob with longing.

A small part of me was just waiting for him to push the heavy wood and greet us, his usual voice booming like thunder and a wide, happy grin on his face.

It was Ron who finally plucked up the courage to turn the doorknob. And then we stepped inside.

It was empty, and cobwebs and dust covered everything in a thick layer. I muttered a quick cleaning spell, and watched the dust and grit rise in a singular motion, like a fluid cloth simply lifted off of every surface and simply disappear.

“There. Much better, isn’t it, Harry?”

My voice is a bit wobbly, but I give it a shot and turn towards Harry anyway, knowing that he of all of us was hit worst by Hagrid’s death.

He has tears in his eyes, and almost in a trance, he sits down heavily in Hagrid’s chair, head bowed and breath hitching.

I jerk my head in his direction, a silent plea to Ron.

Take care of him, will you?

His blue eyes soften at my expression, and he moves to comfort Harry, and I, the coward that I am, I barge out the door and run towards the Forest, not able to bear the onslaught of memories that fill my head at the familiar sight and at Harry’s overwhelming guilt.

I don’t stop running, arms tight in front of my face to shield me from bristled undergrowth and low hanging tree branches until I have no idea where I am.

I stop, panting, hands on my knees and breaths coming out in sharp, heaving inhales and exhales. The undergrowth presses up against me from my left, and I stand in a half-clearing, trees surrounding me and extending beyond.

Half because it shouldn’t have been a clearing at all.

Some big, obviously powerful creature has trampled almost all of the growing bushes, brambles and brackles, and they lie flattened on the ground where I stand.

I am suddenly realizing how stupid of a decision I have made.

I am now, for all purposes and intents, essentially a piece of meat for a magical carnivorous being to eat.

My breath comes in pants for an entirely different reason.

My eyes rest on a large, jagged patch of earth in front of me, where all the plants have been ferociously dug up, deep burrows into the ground showing uncanny streaks of red here and there.

Blood, I realize with growing panic.

Shitshitshitshitshit.

I need to get out of here, and fast.

I haven’t even taken the first step when I hear a rustle in the undergrowth.

I see a glint, and even though I promised myself I wouldn’t, not at Hogwarts, my body takes over. Its life or death.

And as cowardly as she is, Hermione Granger will not die today.

Two bright, slitted eyes ringed with a color that of slate grey stare at me, and I stare right back.  A barrage of smells hits me like a freight train, damp undertones of the earth and the soft chemical hints in the medicinal leaves and herbs around me, the bitter magic in the air.

He, for I know it is a he by the tuft of his ears and the ruff to his neck, prowls around me, snarling and spitting, drool dripping off his jaws.

I stand stock still, not even daring to move my tail as he sizes me up. My eyes, however don’t leave him.

He prowls with a feline grace I don’t have, a grace all wolves have and I don’t because I am an Animagus, because they are truly aligned with who they are and do not operate on two separate consciousnesses.

A grace that could allow him to rip me from limb to limb.

In the half-light he could be a dog, but dogs don't move the way wolves do - in choreographed motions, one family of canine "dancers" flowing over the earth. There is an intelligence in his eyes, a wildness, a wariness of our kind. He is a wolf.

And I am in his territory.

Unasked and uninvited.

Heck, I didn’t even know there were wolves in the Forbidden Forest. The centaurs would only allow magical creatures, as far as I knew. Maybe wolves were the exception.

How many more of him are there? How many in his pack?

How many as majestic as he?

With a coat the color of night and a body that bears scars. His paws kiss the earth with a lightness and there is a severity in his gaze.

I stay still. I breathe slow and let time slow down, willing his raised hackles to calm and his snarling jaws and exposed gums to quieten and fade to my presence.

Seconds tick by, and all I can focus on is his flaring nostrils as he takes in my scent. He slinks like he is part of a shadow world, melting into the reprieve the forest offers.

His near-silent paws silence completely, and I lock eyes with him, now directly in front of me.

He is waiting.

For a half-second, I am confused.

Then…

I was taught this.
I remember this.

All that time with my pack, all those learnings and lessons… I can do this.

I crouch, first, tucking my tail between my legs, actively being submissive in the hopes that it will be enough.

It isn’t; his muzzle tightens and he curls up his gums to reveal stained teeth and lets out a low rumbling growl.

I growl softly too, irritated.

This wolf seriously has an ego problem.

Despite how much I hate to do it, I slowly lay on my side, exposing the vulnerable ventral side of my chest and abdomen to the stubborn wolf.

To show that I accept his authority, I roll over on my back.

He sniffs.

He sniffs.

If I could have scoffed, I would have.

I bare my life to this little shit, and he has the audacity to turn up his muzzle, the fucking dung heap.

Reluctantly, almost like it pains him to, he paws forward to stand over me, showing his tolerance of my being on his marked property.

I heave a heavy sigh of relief in my mind.

Now to get back to Harry and Ron.

I haven’t even rolled over yet and back up on my feet when he lowers his muzzle towards mine, his nose a centimeter from my upside-down one.

My eyes widen and I utter a soft growl in warning.

What the actual fuck was he doing?

And then his nose touched mine, and time completely stopped.

Completely.

I had never been the recipient of a gesture such as this, even in my pack. I was always the outsider, the alien trespasser. Nuzzling noses was reserved for the more intimate gestures of family or lovers, and me…

We lay suspended in those split few seconds, even minutes it could have been, me on my back, silver belly and chest bare to the trees and the sky, and him standing upright over me, bowing slightly just to touch his nose to mine.

Frissons of electricity danced between the point of contact, and my eyes, which I had tightly closed in shock (stupid, wolves don’t do that, you’re supposed to be the predator, not the prey) now opened slightly, slitted to see my reflection in his.

I looked every bit the wolf that was bowed into submission instead of the lithe warrior I imagined myself to be.

I jerked my head away, feeling my ears stand erect in indignation before surging to my feet.

Didn’t this stubborn idiot have any manners? What sort of greeting was that?

I paw at the ground uneasily, not knowing how to react.

By the time I look up, he is gone.