Author's note: Good luck taking this headcanon from me and shoutout to my friend's dog that I spent the day vibing with for inspiring this puppers. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the canon, world, and characters portrayed below and you can tell I'm not J.K. Rowling because #transrights

Content Warnings: Refers to abusive childhood and trauma

Things We Couldn't Do Before

"I got a dog," Harry blurted when Ron opened the door to their flat. He looked down from his best friend's face to the floor where, sure enough, a black dog was sitting at Harry's feet. His paws, nose, and the tip of his tail were white, as if he'd been dipped into a paint can, and there were silvery grey hairs spread through the black parts of his coat. The fur around his eyes was so long, he seemed to have bangs and, sitting tall and handsomely as he currently was, the dog reached a few inches over Harry's knees.

"I… okay, yeah, that's a dog," Ron said, looking down at it.

"His name is Miles," Harry said.

"Right," Ron said.

"I didn't name him, the shelter did. But I'm going to keep it that way because he's seven years old, so it might be tough for him to, you know, get a new name," Harry explained.

"Sure," Ron said, eyes still fixed on the dog. He was incredibly calm and gentle-looking, perfectly content to sit at Harry's feet. Harry did not look so calm; he looked a little anxious as he held the dog's leash loosely.

"So… you got a dog," Ron said. "Are we allowed to have pets in our building?"

"I have no idea, but I got a dog," Harry said. "I know this seems rushed—"

"Because it is, yes," Ron said, leaning against the doorframe. "But I say that without judgement, so go on."

"But it's not," Harry said. "Petunia thought dogs smelled and Vernon thought they made messes and nobody cared what I wanted anyways, so I never even asked for a dog when I was little but I always wanted one. And this is the perfect dog—look at him. He's an older guy, just needs a place to hang out and someone to hang out with. I can do that. And I think it'd be good for me, to have something to take care of that isn't… well, the world."

"You can totally do that, yeah," Ron said—biting back the fact that the dog would probably need some food.

"It's over now, you know?" Harry said. "The war and the Dursleys and the prophecy and the Horcruxes—all of it, it's over. So we can do things that we couldn't do before, like get a dog."

"We can," Ron said. "And you did."

"I did," Harry said. He looked down at Miles. "Apparently he's a Portuguese water dog. I don't know what that means, though."

"We'll figure it out," Ron said with a shrug. They always did, didn't they? If they could figure things out when raging maniacs were hiding shards of their souls in random magical artefacts, when the adults in their lives were incompetent and/or liars, when a coup d'état forced them undercover, and when prophecies were flying around—well, they could figure it out to give Harry something nice for a change. Like a dog. That's why Ron was there, wasn't it? To make sure that Harry got some nice things too, every now and then.

"We just can't tell Hermione until we do," he said.

"Oh yeah, definitely not," Harry said, nodding vigorously.

The dog barked in agreement.

WC: 538