three; damaged.

ainslee.

I know it's late. I know that because the common room has turned into a wasteland; cold, abandoned, dark.

I've grown accustomed to this, actually. I'm a nocturnal recluse, and though I have had my shooting stars' worth of wishes to change, I find myself in the quiet inhospitality. It's times like these that I understand my place, my past, my present, and my future.

My past, the hardest of these to explain, is where I cease to exist. Sounds odd, I'm sure. But it is the only time in my life that I can honestly say I wish I had been dead rather than go through some of the things I went through.

Of course, I was perfectly fine after being placed into foster care, but by the time I was ten – let's just say that my innocence was stolen from me in the form of my virginity. Stolen.

I'm adept to hiding things like that from myself, the majority of the time. Memories, I mean. Material that I can recall.

My background as a witch comes from my "father," I have no misgivings. He always was a strange sort-of bastard. Making peculiar things happen around the house.

Once, he actually sent a heavily framed photograph of my mother (long deceased, the lucky bitch) flying into my forehead. Ah, that wasn't the worst of what he ever did to me though. No, most certainly not. However, at the time, I didn't grasp the concept of how he made things happen like that. Supposed I was scared of him then.

If I were to face him today, more than likely a few inches above him, cold, hard and strong…I would kill him. Without a second thought, I would destroy him. Call me whatever you wish, I know I'm heartless. I don't care.

A noise from nearby the portrait hole startles me from my midnight views; when I look up, I see nothing.

Carefully, I set my journal down on the table beside my favorite chair (closest to the windows; to look at the night sky) and stand shakily. My legs are failing me, they have gotten less sleep than my poor brain has.

A single shadow sprints across the room toward me and I barely have a second to react; I throw myself on the ground and a large, black dog streaks past me.

"What the…what the bloody hell?" I sit up on my elbows and stare at the huge animal; it reminds me terribly of a shaggy Great Dane.

Gradually, I come to my senses.

No one in Gryffindor owns a dog…I think I would know by now if someone did. Especially this one.

But he doesn't seem horribly unfriendly; he's just sitting there, tongue lolling out of his mouth, looking at me.

"Whom the hell do you belong to?" I mutter absently, reaching out my hand. He moves forward, nuzzling my fingers with his snout. "How did you get in here?"

Automatically, I feel very silly. I'm talking to a dog. Something clicks in the back of my head though.

Dogs are man's best friend. Besides, you're not talking to yourself this time.

I frown.

The animal commands my attention, abruptly nibbling on my pinky. I pull it away. "Don't do that," I rap lightly on his nose. "I wonder how you got in here. It's a bit difficult for a dog to speak up with the password."

He barks as if to agree with me and I place my hand to my forehead.

"I'm talking to a dog," I mumble, lying down on the wooded floor. He curls up beside me and I groan. "I wish you would bite me or something. Then I wouldn't feel like an imprudent fool."

Instead of biting me, he turns his head to lick my cheek.

"I really do hate animals, you know," I try to convince him (and myself). "Hate them. My dad had this repulsive mutt before that I used to kick around…"

He doesn't seem to believe me, I notice dryly. Instead, he's continuing to lick my face. I exhale deeply.

I raise a hand to push him away, my sleeve sliding down my arm. My eyes hit the spot where internal pain has turned to external with nothing but a razor blade; I grimace when I realize that blood is seeping from the bandage.

I sit up and pull it off a bit, dabbing the cut with my fingertips.

The stupid dog climbs to his paws and wanders closer, as if inspecting my arm. He pushes his nose close, sniffing at the blood. Then he recoils like I've slapped him.

"What's your problem?" I ask, pulling the bandage back around my arm and tugging my sleeve down. "It's just a cut."

Sad grey eyes turn upwards to rest on my face and I feel very anxious.

"What the hell is wrong with me? A damn dog is giving me a guilty conscience," I carelessly shove the dog away from me. "What d'you want, anyway? Are you here to be pain in my arse? Hm?"

This is futile; it isn't as if the damnable animal is going to answer my questions. But for some unattainable reason, I don't feel as crazy talking to the dog as I would talking to myself.

"I have my own basis for doing it, you silly creature," I say, a bit more gently this time. I don't suppose I owe the dog an explanation of any sorts but I feel comforted at the fact that I have something to get my thoughts out to. "I finally comprehend my own humanity when I do it."

My fingers idly trace a number of various scars, breaking the skin and marring it darker. They make my skin feel incredibly heavy, what with so many of them. Crossing, vicious, marked arms. And my heavy skin.

Heavy, heavy, heavy…

I close my eyes and a rough tongue crosses my cheek. Scrunching up my nose, I swipe dog slobber from my face. "Oi, that's disgusting!"

The pictures dancing in my eyelids are rather soothing; random stars and spots, a rainbow assortment of colours. I yawn vaguely, lying down again.

"You know, I can't just call you 'dog'. If you're going to hang around me, you need a name," I speak forgetfully, not quite sure what words are coming from my lips. I'm in a terrible state of exhaustion and I'm drifting a bit, losing track of thoughts. "Midnight, perhaps…no, no, that's completely unoriginal…"

Had the dog been human, I would have mistaken the slight snuffles emitting from his body as laughter.

"Snuffles," I yawn again. "Yes, because your breathing sounds indistinctly like familiar laughter…"

I feel his tongue dash across my nose this time but my arms are too sore to push him back.

"Don't mind Snuffles much, do you?"

A yip of approval. Oh good, the no-longer-nameless agrees.

"All right, Snuffles. Tell you what. I'll give you a decent conversation—," I pause and breathe out loudly, "—if you find me some equally decent humans to speak with as well. Deal?"

Another yip. Agreed again. My mind is blanking though; I tend to be unable to have a nice conversation with anyone or anything when I am half-asleep.

"Okay, let's see. Would you like to hear more of my insufferable past? I've never told anyone about it anyway."

Snuffles nudges my arm. I don't move.

"Very well. Assuming you're letting me know that you consent," I still feel very much like a nutter but my own self-will forces me to say more, while my subconscious tries to steal my verbosity away. "My mother died when I was little. My father raised me. He was horrible to me. Did something that I really don't want to say out loud; that would make it real. For right now, if it's locked in my head, it's nothing but recurring nightmares that I wake up with. I live with my foster parents. They're much nicer. But they indulged me a bit too much because, by the time I was thirteen, I was very overweight," I'm rather obliged to pause here for a breath. Then I continue, "My foster brother, Cael, wouldn't let me live it down. Kept on it. Sent me letters and all, telling me I had to lose weight. 'It's rather unappealing'. So I did lose weight. Didn't eat for days unless I absolutely had to. I still do that sometimes. Cael was impressed when I came home, summer before fourth year."

I end my tale for a few moments to dredge up my third year. It had been awful enough without Cael's discouragement; I had felt rancorously despicable.

It's then that I wake up a bit more; I finally listen carefully enough to hear Snuffles' whimpering.

"Are you crying for me?" I mutter, thinking how eccentric the idea is. Indeed, the animal sticks his head against my neck and I'm continually perplexed by this behaviour; it's extremely outlandish for a dog. "Don't cry for me," my face blushes crimson with embarrassment, "I was born to be the way I am."

Eyes still closed, I blindly reach out to tangle my fingers in his shaggy fur.

"No one worries about me. That's the way it should be," my eyelids quiver for a moment and I open them. "It's late. It must be past one. Even the Marauders are gone before I am…"

My thoughts waft in that direction; yes, it was most certainly odd for them to be in bed before I. They were strange ones, the Marauders.

"Trouble-makers," I mumble under my breath, still too tired to be very comprehensible, "those ones. Nice boys though, I s'pose. Excluding the one time Sirius Black tried to hit on me." I laugh wryly at this recollection, "Not quite my type, that fellow."

The dog growls in a low tone, almost resentfully.

"What, did I offend you? Maybe that's who you belong to?" I figure I would know if Sirius owns a dog, but then again, I can't say I'm fairly close with any of the Marauders. "Well, my apologies. I meant no harm."

Snuffles rests his head in the crook of my arm and I manage another giggle.

"You seem rather charming. I wouldn't be surprised if you were Sirius' dog."

Another lick of concord.

"Okay, so maybe I don't hate dogs as much as I claimed," my eyes snap shut, "But really…you have to stop with that tongue of yours…it's kind of gross…"

I'm positive that I'm going to pass out. I'm already halfway there; it's snug on the floor where the fire had heated it until it had died out.

Snuffles gnaws lightly on my arm, obviously unhappy with my dozing off on him. I moan and roll over. "I'm tired, you prat. What do you want from me?" I try waving him off as he grabs a hold of my sleeve, yanking my arm back down. "It's late, I'm done talking!"

It's at that moment, as Snuffles is desperately attempting to force me fully awake, that I hear the footfalls on the staircase. And the whispered voices.

I bolt upright and my eyes wildly race around the room. Who could possibly be down here at this hour?

"Owch, Remus, that was my foot!" One hisses rather loudly.

"Sorry, now shut up!"

I relax a bit. Alright, so I'm not in the least surprised. Just the troublemakers out for some mischief, I suppose.

Then I remember that I'm still sitting on the floor and one o'clock in the morning with a huge black dog.

I leap to my feet, reaching over and deftly snatching my journal from the table. Unfortunately, I have reacted much too late and the boys are at the foot of the stairs, staring at me.

"Er…'lo, boys," I burble awkwardly.

Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew continue to stare at me.

Snuffles scampers to his paws, stretches, and wags his tail vigorously.

"Right. Well, I'm finally off." I avoid their gazes as I head toward the girl's staircase.

"What are you doing up this late?" Peter asks unexpectedly.

I waver for a moment, and then frown. "Had a lot of work to do, and a lot on my mind."

"Aren't you going to say good-bye to your friend?" Remus chuckles.

I turn around to find Snuffles standing directly behind me, panting something awful. Sighing, I scratch him lightly beneath his snout. "'Night, boy."

I don't bother asking them who he belongs to; the answer comes when Snuffles jogs to Remus.

"What's his name?" They exchange looks and I quickly explain, "I've been calling him Snuffles."

"Uh—well, Snuffles sounds fine. See--," Remus shifts timidly, "I, er, just got him. Haven't named him yet."

I nod understandingly. He's an appalling liar. "All right, I'm really off this time," I tip my head at them and take the stairs too at a time.

I'm completely silent as I enter the dorm; Lily'll have my head if I wake her this late.

When I settle into bed, I immediately wonder what had inspired me to ignore the beckoning question in the back of my mind: Why were only two out of the fabulous foursome trotting downstairs for late-night mischief?

I shrug it off coolly. Perhaps they were fetching Snuffles.

I haven't found the ability to concentrate very hard on a single lucid thought prior Snuffles' mysterious appearance. It's actually very difficult to cast my thoughts around on anything whatsoever…maybe I'll find more to think about in the morning…

author's note; yeah, this chapter turned out pretty lame too. i tried to give it all that i could but i spent about three straight days working on it. major writer's block began to plague me about a quarter of the way through blush.

ahh you guys rock; thanks to everyone who has reviewed it means a lot to me!

special thanks to dede; thanks for plugging me and for the great review, you rock