Note: Pardon my indentation- my first story, and I'm horrible at converting to HTML, so it kinda sucked the first time. I'll get better, I promise. This story can also be called: The Dog With Green Eyes, or even Lady and the Tramp, whatever you want. I just liked "A Lovable Stray" because it's a direct quote. Next chapter will be from Sirius (as a dog's) point of view...
Disclaimer: None of it belongs to me. None of it! Arrgh. Thanks to J.K. for letting me borrow them out of her drawer.
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Days ended late for Madam Rosmerta at the Three Broomsticks. She used an old bartender's charm to send empty butterbeer bottles flying from beneath tables into a large rubbish bin behind the counter. More bottles than usual, she thought, but then today had been another visit from the children, who seemed to down barrels of it like ambrosia.
After gently prodding a few sleeping wizards awake and handing them potions to take in the morning, she swept the floors of the old tavern, softened the lights, and gathered her things from a cupboard near the backdoor. With a final sigh, she locked the entry door and began walking silently toward her cottage at the edge of Hogsmeade.
After a short walk, she gently thrusted the front door open. She smiled at the welcoming familiarity of her own house. If only she had time to enjoy it, she thought. No sooner had she walked into the kitchen to make herself some tea than she heard the annoyed scratchings of her cat Ptolemy on the back door. She muttered some words to him while she put some chicken on a plate for his dinner.
"There you are, you little disturber of the peace--" she said smiling at Ptolemy, but was distracted by a pair of pale yellow eyes moving around the fence of her garden. They belonged to a dog, and a very large one at that, she noted. He followed the line of the wooden rails until he came to the open gate of her back garden, where he turned toward her open door.
Rosmerta reached into the pocket of her long skirt to retrieve her wand-- while she often took pity on strays, this black one had eyes that looked jaded and hungry, and she dare not offer him anything of hers until she knew his purpose for wandering so directly into her own garden. She stood defensively at the foot of her door looking down. The dog sniffed the trash cans near it gingerly, but seemed distracted by a newspaper that lay on the ground. She was surprised when the dog's eyes began to scan the headings very slowly, but she shook her head. No, no dog could read, even with the sorts of magic that she knew existed in the world, and no registered Animagus could go sniffing about freely. Suddenly, the dog lifted his head and looked at her questioningly.
"Sure, take it," she said smiling, and the dog lowered his head to continue. Ptolemy, rather angry to be deprived of his dinner and see his territory so easily trespassed, began to wander in the dog's direction. He held his tail stick-straight into the air with his back slightly arched and sauntered toward the dog threateningly. The dog followed the cat with his eyes, but otherwise paid him little attention. Now within two feet of the distracted dog, the cat began to moan a warning, and Rosmerta could see the hairs over his spine start to lift and shiver. She continued to watch him closely, ready to send the dog flying when the challenges were issued, as Ptolemy inched toward the dog's head. And then suddenly, as if recognizing an old friend, Ptolemy meowed a greeting and began to rub his sides happily into the dog's meaty legs.
"How strange..." she whispered. Looking down at the plate in her hands, she turned around to make another plate for the newcomer, even sparing Ptolemy his usually large dinner for the sake of hospitality (and Ptolemy's fat belly). Once done, she whistled for Ptolemy, who bounded happily into her kitchen. Settling her wand inside her pocket, Rosmerta lifted the larger plate and stepped gently out into her garden.
Walking very slowly towards the dog, which she noticed was still staring at the newspaper attentively, she held out the plate of chicken and placed it near the dog's head. With only a quick glance at the plate, the dog began scarfing the chicken ravenously, and within a few seconds had cleared it. He licked his sizable chops, and then did another strange thing-- he raised his head to meet eyes with Rosmerta, who stood a pace away looking down at him concernedly. He held her there with his luminous eyes, which she examined with interest. They were yellow flanked with deep green- but what dog had green eyes? Her interest then turned to pity. In them great worry she could distinguish, and thanks, and something else she couldn't name. Forcing herself to break the contact, she followed the path of her eyes toward the newspaper on the ground. The dog lowered his, and seemed to resume doing what he had done, yet now was reading the finer print toward the bottom.
"Here", Rosmerta said warmly, "want some more? There's some here." And she reached behind the bins to lift out a stack of several day's worth of newspapers. The dog watched her drop them at his feet. He wagged his tail happily, lifted the top four or five most into his large mouth, and then walked slowly toward the gate of her garden. She watched him, eyebrows lifted in surprise, waiting for the dog to say something, but the dog only paused and turned toward her to meet eyes once more before running off into the dark of the meadows behind the house.