The Wolf

It is a foggy morning. Dew has gathered on the grass and my breath fogs up the air. While there is no snow to shape the white winterland I used to know growing up, the efforts of the world to still turn white don't go by unnoticed.

It is on such a morning, as I'm bringing out the trash, that I spot it. A wolf. Standing completely still on the edge of the forest is a pale grey wolf. It's eyes are wide and round, an animal's. And we're caught in each others gaze. I marvel at the close encounter, astounded at the once-in-a-lifetime experience, before the wolf will surely turn away.

Another breath of fog leaves me and the wolf elegantly sits down, it's gaze never leaving mine. I do not wish to scare it off, however, it cannot stay. I walk back inside backwards, clutching the emtpy garbage bin to my chest and slide the glass doors shut. The wolf doesn't move. Since there's nothing I can do, I turn back inside. There is a pull to remain observing the wolf, a childish fascination with all things wild and rare, but I am an adult. As such, I have plans for today.

I finish eating my breakfast, get dressed and head to my floo, shooting one last look into the garden, curious to see wether the wolf is possibly still there. The edge of the forest is dark and continues on indefinitely into the woods. I shrug off the dissappointment. It's not like the wolf hasn't got better things to do of its own. We're both adults.

Merlin, Hermione's last talk kind of got to me more than I want it to have. Green floo powder already clenched in my fist, I turn to my bungalo, taking in its empty space. A table, mismatched chairs. The living room has an air of someone who just moved in. It would be more fitting to see heaps of unpacked boxes which still contained personal items. But there were neither boxes nor personal belongings to unpack. It was indisputably a house, yet not a home. Perhaps the wolf was a sign that nature is ready to take back this shell of a house that clearly isn't being used by humans.

I throw the floo powder into the fireplace and step inside.
"Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.", I enunciate, and the world spins around me in dizzying green swirls.

+++

It is a cold and soggy afternoon. A few days have passed since I saw the wolf. The sun must have not set yet, hoever the clouds have blocked out any light, already turning the world grey and blue. But mostly grey. I am comfortably seated on my new armchair in front of my warm fireplace. That is something that normal people would have in their homes, especially if they have a fireplace. Now I'm only missing a couch. Maybe I could get a rug too. A coffee table. I'm obviously describing the picture in the prospect I'm holding. But it isn't a bad idea. Seeing as I have no experience what it means to have my own things and my own place for them, it really isn't such a crime to seek inspiration.

I leafe through the ikea prospect with a pen in my hand, circling one piece of furniture after another. So far I've got three beds and one lamp... despite inspiration I kind of suck at this. How do you make a home? What goes inside it? -The things you care about, the things you love. The things that feel like they belong to you. But I barely have that. My wand belongs to me, my friends are a part of me. And that is where my list ends.

'What kind of colors do you like?', Hermione had asked me. 'Red.' I had replied. Upon her prompting I gave it more thought 'brown, grey. Gold.', I expanded.
'That's just the colours of the dorms.', she said, smugly and pitying at once.
'What colour relaxes you, makes you happy, makes you feel calm and safe?', she continued interrogating me.

And I don't know. I just don't know. How do you even find out that sort of thing? I like the things I can get. I like it when people let me have things. But now I have to give myself what I want. And that is much more work than being given what you're told you like. Mrs. Weasley always seemed to know which are my favorite treats. Hogwarts always had a place that felt like mine. I'm just afraid that I don't have those things within me, like Hermione says I do.

I give up on furniture hunting for the day. It was bound to be a failed attempt from the very start. My gaze shifts to the glass doors to my garden and I peer into the wet, dark forest. It is green, blue. Mostly black. My lawn is muddy and honestly looks spectacularly neglected. Uncle Vernon always paid such obsessive attention to detail when it came to his front lawn. I wish I had set it on fire at least once.

Then I spot it. pale grey fur, pressed against the glass of my doors, formerly hidden from my view by my armchair. The wolf's back rises and falls with each breath. The fur is only barely wet and I realize it must have sought out the protection of my portruding roof the minute the downpour began.

What does a bloke do when a wolf is sleeping a few mere meters away from them? Admittedly separated by a pane of glass, however I wasn't too confident the wolf couldn't break through if it desired to do so. No, seriously, what do I do? I stand up, gathering my blanket and slowly approach the wolf. Kneeling down right behind it, I watch as it continues to breath and sleep. Perhaps I should have scared it off the very first time I saw it. It shouldn't feel so comfortable to come close to me. I gently rap my knuckles against the glass to wake it.

One ear twitches, so I take a breath in preparation before I bang my fist against the glass once. The wolf springs up in startled surprise, swiveling its head around and looking directly into my eyes. Holy shit, it's really, really close. The wolf lifts one paw to the glass and I flinch back, landing on my arse, fully expecting it to shatter simply beause the wolf wills it to. When it doesn't I shake my head at my self. The wolf remains seated as such, one paw on the door, gazing calmly into my eyes.

Is it fucking asking to be let in?
I shake my head as if I'm communicating with the animal. It paws at the glass, ears lying down flat and I shake my head stronger and make a cross with my arms. How do you say 'no' in wolf language?
I attempt a shooing motion with my hands and the wolf's ears straighten up again.

"Go, go.", I say, waving my arms more empathetically.
The wolf finally sets its paw down from the glass. However it decides to get comfortable and lays down again outside.
First I gently knock against the glass.After this illicits absolutely no response, I start pounding against it in earnest.
Suddenly the wolf barks, snapping at me in obvious annoyance and I walk back again.
See, Hermione? I am not unreasonably stubborn.

I decide to give up. It is quite clear that the wolf will not break through the glass door and merely wishes to spend the night dry. Who am I to deny such a completely reasonable demand? I let the wolf sleep just outside of my bungalow and head towards my own bedroom. (1 bed, 1 closet, a lot of dirty laundry)
I'll head to the public library tomorrow to look up animal behaviour.