The pebble was small, almost triangular in shape. She rolled it between her thumb and middle fingers a few times absentmindedly before switching it to her index finger. A large amount of dusty dirt had come off and onto her hand, turning it from its natural pale state to a murky grey.
She stopped moving the pebble around. Closing her eyes and straining her ears, she listened intently. She could hear the bustling sounds of nature that often seemed to fade to silence. The pond lapping at its banks, the bees buzzing near the poppies off to her left a ways, a butterfly or two flapping around the cornflower she adored more immediately to her right, the wind blowing softly through all the foliage: the ash trees, the elms, and the very imposing beech tree. She let all of these soft sounds fade into the silence once more, except the wind in the beech tree directly behind her.
Behind her. She could hear it again. Softly, quietly. The very faint rustling of something against the fallen, dying beech leaves which coated the ground. A tail, in fact. In addition a faint panting came from near the beech's massive gnarled trunk. She let herself indulge in a smile as it slowly spread across her face. He was back again. How many times was this now? She had stopped counting around seven.
Then she began to worry. Was he waiting for her to leave? Was she in his way? In his spot? she agonized. This was her spot. It always had been. Well, it had been long ago. But it was quickly becoming hers once again. That didn't mean it was her spot alone though. She didn't own the pond, the miles of confusing, indistinguishable forest, the clearing, or any of the countryside here. It was tucked away, hidden. Immensely tough to get to and easy to lose your way, even if you had been successful in the past, hence it was greatly unvisited. The clearing nearly belonged to her, or so it had seemed that way until recently.
Her… companion of sorts, a rather ghostly and shadowy companion, mind you, and a dog no less, had begun to join her over the past couple weeks. Four days straight in fact earlier that week. Not every day, but often. It was odd. Almost alarming, but he always kept his distance, stayed quiet and out of sight, never letting himself be known, or so he thought. I guess that's considerate. Or it could be creepy. And dangerous. And bad. I don't know, she muddled. Or he could just be shy and unsure. Or he could just be somewhere he's not meant to be and doesn't want anyone to know. Or he could be so depressingly lonely he isn't even sure how to approach a person. I bet that's it. …I don't know it could be a million things. Damn.
She pushed it all from her mind and decided to be as positive as possible for once. Her eyes still closed, she basked in the sunlight, smiling once again, listening to the slow and even wagging of his tail, rusting against the leaf-coated ground and his light but quick panting. He must be dying off heat, she thought, he does have a black fur coat after all.
She realized the pebble in her hand once more and took to rolling it between her index finger and thumb for a moment. I should just get on with this, she thought, just say something. The worst that happens is I scare him away. He leaves and I don't see him again. He'll leave soon anyway; it's nearly two… Oh, he's just a bloody dog! …but he's a person. I need to say something before I get more emotionally attached to him.
She had barely even seen him. She had mostly just heard him: his tail wagging, his breath as he panted. Those were the normal sounds. They were comforting sounds. Sometimes she heard his foot as he scratched behind his ear. This always made her smile and try not to giggle, as he tried to do it quietly or when the wind blew or a bird sang so as to not alert her to his presence. But even though she always looked to just be watching the water, throwing stones, dipping her feet in the water, or staring at the clouds, all of which she enjoyed doing, she was really just listening. She was listening to nature, but ever since he had begun arriving, she had listened for him and to him. And then there was her least favorite sound of his. It was quiet but distinct. It always made her shoulders slump, her face fall, and her lungs sigh. It was the sound of his panting ending, his slow, disciplined tail-wagging stopping, and his weight shifting to raise himself up to leave.
She had seen him too though. Not often but it had happened. Twice, was all. She hated hearing him leave, so she had left before him sometimes. Not always by choice even. Works calls, after all. She would put on her shoes, gather her things if she had any that day, and stretch, twisting around towards the beech tree, catching a couple glimpses of the large, shaggy, fit, black dog, even as he quickly slunk back to hide. Then she would always look back towards the cornflower for a last time, and head to what had been her left from her typical seated or supine position, and make her way home. She would walk just far enough until she was sure he couldn't hear her Disapparate. She sometimes swore she could hear him sigh as she left, and even though she didn't like to hear him sad, if he was sad about her leaving, well maybe that wasn't the worst thing.
She closed her eyes for just a moment more. He only had a few minutes left today; she was sure of it. She took a deep breath and shifted her weight to one elbow before reaching her arm backward and lazily launching the pebble out into the pond.
She and he both watched it the wind carry it farther than her arm would've on its own. They separately watched the rings ripple out across the entire pond, slowly and evenly. There something about the symmetry of the ripples in the randomness of nature that felt nice to him. Everything over the past year seemed crazy, and lately he had felt so confined. So near freedom but it was just out of reach. The last year had been exhausting and unpredictable and exhausting, and the twelve before that had been as bad as could be. But he thought this would turn around. After returning to the house he grew up in though he realized it was almost as bad, just in a different way.
He had finally taken to running. Something he had never found useful or fulfilling or enticing growing up. Sure he had been athletic, and he was beginning to get that back now, though surely he still had a long way to go. He had played Quidditch, and he had run as training for that, but he had never just run for its own sake, even in his secondary form. But as he had spent a week in his old house that he had hated so much, nearly rotting away, he had to get out.
He couldn't just walk out, that was the whole point of him staying at his old, protected, hidden house. But his secondary, canine form. His unregistered form. That had a chance. And indeed it had worked. He had begun running to feel the wind on his face and through his fur, to feel freedom once again. He had ached for it. Longed for it.
He had found the clearing in his first week of running. On his third time there, he had stumbled upon her. Her. Who was she? She was… just her, he thought, the young, simple, beautiful muggle. He didn't know much else. She dressed well, to him at least. He wasn't very up on women's fashion. Never had been but being confined to a cell for twelve years, on the run for another, and in hiding for a few weeks didn't provide for the best situation to educate himself on the subject. She's young, maybe twenty-two, but probably twenty-three if I'm was putting money on it. Perhaps twenty-four, but not over that, surely, and pretty too, he mused. He didn't often get to see her face, as she stayed near the edge of the pond usually, or a little farther back, but near the cornflower always, and he always made sure to keep his distance. He had to pant to keep from overheating and passing out. He didn't want to accidentally turn human, as he always did when injured as a canine. So he stayed in the shade near the cool trunk of the beech tree, making sure to pant quietly.
He hadn't caught her everyday since he had first found her. He didn't even know if she came here everyday. But he did. He had contact with, three people on a semi-regular basis. He longed for daily interaction. He was a sociable man, after all. And he liked her company, if you could call it that. She didn't even know he existed but he had grown strangely attached to her. Is this creepy? Am I stalking her? I mean, she doesn't know I'm here… Maybe this isn't okay. Maybe I should forget her, he thought, …I can't do that. I just can't. I would never scare her, or hurt her, or do anything. …but I am watching her. No, I'm not. I'm just watching the pond. She just so happens to be in my line of sight. So what? Oh, hell, who am I kidding. I'm here for her. She's just so… Who is she anyways? That's all I want to know. Honestly. If I just knew her name, I'd leave, he promised himself, …as if that's not going to make me want to know more about her.
He had first laid eyes on her about three weeks ago, and twelve times in total. He was slowly beginning to learn her schedule. Shit. I am a stalker, he realized, as he had recently been able to see her four days in a row. He had nearly figured out her schedule. As his was, well flexible, to say the least, he had begun organizing his runs around when she was at the pond. For example, she came early on Thursday, but never on Friday or Saturday, or if she did, it was well before he had been able to drag himself out of bed, say 10am or so. But who would come that early anyways? Especially on a Saturday. But Mondays? Mondays were good days. Who knew he would ever come to love Mondays? She was always here on Mondays, and usually for a while, too.
The only problem was that most days she came in the early afternoon, as she had again today. The sun was rather high, as it was early afternoon once again, and almost two o'clock now. Two o'clock. He had to be leaving soon. His schedule was flexible that was for sure; he rarely had any commitments, but he did one have unflinching commitment. Every Monday night he had dinner with those three other people he saw on a semi-regular basis. He was expected at 4 o'clock to help and visit, so if he left by 2 o'clock he had enough time to finish his run back to his house, cool off (it was very hot in the sun as a black dog), shower, change, and wait to be brought to dinner.
She knew this. Not about dinner, of course, she didn't know anything about him except the fact that he was an Animagus, a black dog, and unregistered. She had checked. She had meticulously read through all of England's records for the past century, even though she was certain he couldn't be that old. He was too concentrated on staying hidden, even though she had picked up on him, and spry to be a century old, and that would be if he had become an Animagus at birth. No, he couldn't be more than… fifty. Right? she thought. He's got to be of age, surely. Becoming an Animagus, without the help of the ministry for regulation? That's complex. Oh, I don't know. Just say something. Clearly he's not about to. And he'll leave in… she checked her watch. 1:57pm. Yikes! Get a move on, would you?!
She saw the ripples from the pebble hitting the edge of the pond on the side nearest her. She sat up, slid her sandals back on and stood. She turned towards the cornflower and then past it to gaze up at the top of the beech tree. She tried to suppress a grin as out of the corner of her eye she saw him slink around towards the back of the tree trunk, as secretly as possible. She inhaled once more hoping some burst of confidence would come with it. It didn't. Looks like I'll be doing this on my own then. Thanks, nature, she thought.
Keeping her eyes near the top of the tree, her cohort on the edge of her vision, she opened her mouth. "You know I know you're here, right?" she asked just loud enough for him to hear.
He froze. His panting stopped, as did his slow tail. She's not talking to me. She's not. She can't be. She's just a crazy person. That's it. A crazy muggle who's just crazy. After all she's looking way above me. And I'm basically completely obscured. I mean, I can see her, but barely; I doubt she can see me.
She lowered her eyes and looked directly at him. "And I know you're not a dog," she continued with a slight polite smile.
Fuck. Cover's blown. Time to leave. Leave forever. Leave so fast and don't look back; don't come back; don't think back. Okay maybe think back but to the times before this one, not this one. This is terrifying. GO. Dammit, why am I frozen in fear? This doesn't happen to me. I'm a damn dog, for Merlin's sake, not a cat!
She squinted and looked down at the ground in thought. "Well, seriously, I suppose you are a dog, but, to be serious, not just a dog. Not naturally anyways. Seriously, you're clearly an Animagus."
He cocked his head to the side. How on earth does she know? How did she figure it out? And when?
She continued on her nervous ramble. "God, I need to stop saying 'seriously' so much." She took another breath and looked back up at him, noticing his cocked head and widened eyes. "Oh seriously, don't give me that look, it's obvious."
So much for not saying "seriously," love. That's all right; I like it. Not quite what I'm looking for, and not how you mean it, but close enough.
"Dogs don't just sit and watch people. Seriously, unless they're about to give them food or they own them, and clearly those don't apply here."
This is too much. This is bad. I am in so much trouble. Oh, I am so dead. Merlin, she really is adorable though. I've never seen her face for more than a few seconds, and not expressions like this, the polished happiness, the confusion, the nervousness. Wait, do I make her nervous? No, no, anyone talking to a dog who they're pretty sure but not entirely sure is a person would be nervous. Well, no she's pretty sure. She said "Animagus." She wasn't even a muggle. Merlin. This is new. Oh, this is so different. Everything. Everything is changing. This is too much. I need to leave. He rose up off his back legs.
"No, don't leave! Please." She pleaded, as he got up. "Look, it's…" she glanced down at her watch, "1:58. You have two minutes. I know that because we've both been here the past three Mondays…"
Well that answers one question. She's known at least twenty-two days about me. That's almost as long as I've known about her! I thought I was good at this…
"…and your comings and goings don't seem uniform, but on Mondays at least, you always leave before me, and always at two o'clock. How you know it's two, I seriously have no idea, which is very impressive by the way, but more to the point, just listen. I know you have to go, but I seriously like seeing you here. Or I would like actually seeing you, because seriously until now I really haven't," she laughed, but quickly regained her composure knowing he had to leave soon. "I hope me confronting you doesn't scare you away, because I'd seriously like to keep seeing you." She sighed again. "I've got to stop with the 'seriously's, I know. I'm working on it. I mean, really I'd like to see you as a human, and talk with you, but even if it's just in dog form, I'd like to see you again. Maybe I can just talk to you if you won't talk back…"
Huh… Maybe. Maybe this could be okay… I'll probably have to talk it over at dinner. But I don't frighten her. His heart soared. She's not creeped out. Then again she's been coming here to be by me too, so maybe I should be creeped out… No, I'm definitely the creepy one here, if anyone.
"…so anyways, tomorrow I have some things to do, but I'll be here for a while too. I know it's got to be hot with the fur and all, and I'm busy in the afternoon, but I'll be in the morning maybe around, 9:30. Probably stay until eleven or so. That's a good amount of time. So seriously no pressure, but if you'd like to come by, I'll be here then," she paused and just looked at him, noticing his grey eyes. She assumed they were nearly what his human eyes would be like, as all black dogs she had seen before had brown eyes.
Why so early? I suppose if that's the only time she can come. And if she hadn't said anything, I'd have missed her tomorrow. That's not her usual time. And it could be nice not coming out when it's so hot. But that's early. Well, it could be worth it. Besides not being up all hours of the night would probably be good for me.
She was reminded of the other possibility of his frequent presence and shrugged and smiled at him again, almost smirking, "or if I'm just in your way of a great, shady view the pond, I'll be gone by eleven. You can have it the rest of the day and night." She glanced down at her watch once again. 2:01. "It's 2:01," she informed him, sighing. "You better be going to… whatever Monday commitment you have." She yawned. "I'm off to get some coffee. Hope to see you tomorrow," she said with another smile as she craned her neck to see him more easily and waved slightly. "Goodbye."
With a loud, nature-disturbing crack, she Disapparated and was gone from his sight.