A Boy and His Trauma and His Dog by DeathJunkE

[ginger_lust]

Title: A Boy and His Trauma and His Dog
Creator: deathjunke
Rating: R
Pairing(s)/Characters: None; Ron, Harry, Remus, Sirius, Dursleys, Millicent, Blaise, OC
Genre: Gen, Non-Magic AU
Warnings/content: Highlight to read (trigger warnings apply) *Angst, Adult Language and Situations, Child Abuse, Sexual and Physical, Mention of Minor Character Death, Non-Con, Animal Cruelty, Hints of Slash, Non DH Compliant*
Medium/Word Count: 11,950 words, 1 vid, 1 image
Summary: Sometimes in life you get stuck in a rut. It’s all about and trying to pick up your baggage and move on.
Notes: This project was a pain in the ass. I had the idea and a story line and it started flowing then I got a block. Block ended and I made progress but my computer crashed. I lost almost half of what I wrote, my original story line and most of the detail in my flash. After that I didn’t know how to move the story to where I wanted it to go but I was lucky and it took on a mind of its own. It didn’t go how I originally had planned but overall I’m not too upset with the direction it took.
Prompt:
"I've been roaming around always looking down at all I see.
Painted faces fill the places I can't reach.
You know that I could use somebody"
- Kings of Leon, Use Somebody

Let us begin…

Back in Ottery St. Catchpole, my family lived in a large house with six bedrooms, two baths and six acres of land, two of them woodlands. With seven—no, six children and Mom and Dad, it had always felt small and crowded. You couldn’t sleep, shit or shower without another person on top of you. The house always seemed to be cluttered even though none of us owned much. We all had to share everything, hair brushes, denims, jumpers, bikes, toys and books, wear hand me downs and even share beds at times.

I hated being the youngest boy. Everything you got was almost always older than you were, faded and sometimes patched up before you got to wear it once. I was always picked on by every other brother and I was always forced to do grunt work: weed the garden, feed the chickens, clean the coop, clean the lavs and when you ask why they'd say “Because, Ronnie, we do everything else”. Needless to say I spent as much time as possible away from home.

I joined the school's chess club and track team despite the jeers of my older brothers. I played chess with the seniors at the local nursing home who refused to stoop as low as Bingo. Then when I was sixteen, I volunteered at community centers and animal shelters. I cleaned out puppy cages and fed the manky cats that were taken from old lady Figg’s place once she died.

Two years from my first day of volunteering was when I found the first thing that belonged to no one but me.

I met her when I was prepping cages for incomings from a dog-fighting bust. She was limping and bloody and had deep gouges in her side. She snarled and snapped and growled at every handler from the end of the three-foot control pole, sleek muscles rippling frightfully beneath her short blue-black fur, her green eyes wild with fear and fury. While the ring's owner was taken into custody and the trial held, I heard the employees taking about putting down the more aggressive dogs.

When I approached her in one of the isolated kennels, it was behind my supervisor’s back. She growled at me as soon as I entered the room and backed away, her head low and tail lashing agitatedly from side to side. It was pretty stupid now that I think of it—just entering the room with what was supposed to be a feral dog, the only thing between us was a chain link gate.

I sat in front of the cage and just talked, about stupid things really. I told her about my brothers. I told her about how Bill was studying archeology up north, about how Charlie was offered a full scholarship if he’d play on the University’s team. I told her about how I saw Percy sneak a girl into his room three weeks ago.

By the time I got to the Twins' escapades, she had stopped growling and was simply sitting in the back corner of her kennel eying me suspiciously.

It took about three months for her come to me, tail wagging and yapping happily at me whenever I walked into the room. We had grown accustomed to each other, she liked my voice and presence and I liked her affection and attentiveness. She tried to lick me through the wire shapes on several occasions and I obliged her by pressing my hand flat against the gate so she could lick but not bite—not once did she try.

It turned out that my disappearances weren’t as unnoticed as I had originally thought. Apparently there had been a camera in the room with me. My boss Tonks had given me a thick leather lead, a basket muzzle and a pat on the shoulder and led me into the room.

Tonks was patient with me as she went through the steps it took to train a dog to a muzzle and lead and then told me that I had to come to her office so that I could fill out the paperwork that would get me a paycheck. I got my first job when I was sixteen and fell in love with a Great Dane Doberman mix.

It was a lengthy process but finally the dog didn’t fight me and learned to accept her muzzle and the treats that came after I had fastened it. The trial was over and the ‘hopeless’ cases went under euthanasia. Six dogs out of thirty were saved and five of them were puppies under six months.

Only my dog was stable enough to handle or had the hope of rehabilitation.

By the time spring break rolled around six months later, my dog was socialized enough to be moved from the isolation unit and go for walks with the other dogs. We spent most of my hours in obedience training, and the rest of the time she was muzzled and following me about as I worked with the other animals, cleaning cages, grooming cats and chasing after puppies.

One morning when I had come in, I had just latched her leash to my belt loop and began my usual duties when Tonks called me to her office.

“You’ve gotten rather attached, Ron,” she said nervously, fidgeting with the spikes of pink hair that fell into her eyes. “It makes me feel terrible to tell you this… but your girl—” she gestured to the dog that lay content by my feet, her tongue lolling out of her mouth and relaxed.

“What about her?” Now that I look back I just wonder how stupid I could have been, as it was obvious what she was trying to tell me.

“Ron, She’s not adoptable. We can’t give a family a dog that aggressive and we can’t shoulder the extra expense.”

“Why is she not adoptable? She’s completely docile.” I rubbed my hand along her flank and over her head. She tried to lick me through the bars of the muzzle and my eyes burned. “Watch, she doesn’t attack anymore.” I unbuckled the harness and as soon as she was able she covered my fingers and wrist with affectionate licks, pressing closer to me.

“Ronald, she’s only that way with you. She’s skittish when you aren’t in sight. She won't let anyone else walk her and fights the other handlers. She’d never do well in a family, especially one with children, and it would take her so long to get used to someone else that fostering her isn’t even an option at this point.”

It was too much.

I couldn’t let her die. I’d already dropped the ball during another life or death matter and doing so again just wasn’t acceptable. Mum wouldn’t even notice, she was too wrapped up in her grief, Dad wouldn’t condemn a roach to death let alone a dog so there was no worry there and as long as I kept her out of Fred and George’s way it would be alright. I had a job, my own bedroom and lots of space for her so there wasn’t really a question or it.

“Then I’ll take her.”

That night after I finished my rounds, I passed her cage and she looked up at me with questioning gray eyes. Her tail was wagging, ever hopeful at the idea of a walk. I knelt down to her level—which wasn’t all that low considering that she reached my waist on all fours—and scratched under her chin before I pushed the muzzle onto her snout and fastened it there. “If I’m taking you home I reckon you’ll need a name, darling.” I attached the leash and led her away from the shelter. She woofed lightly and fell into step beside me, her tail wagging so hard it cut the air with a whistle.

I called her Diesel from that day on.

--

Time only brought us closer. Diesel slept in my bed at night, keeping me warm and waking me from my nightly terrors about sickly sweet chemical scents, screaming, squealing tires and the soft pink hand that held on to mine like a life line, tearing away skin and scarring the back of it.

She waited for me to come home from school under the big peach tree in the front yard. Then we’d walk to the animal shelter and she’d play with other dogs and watch over puppies as I tended to my responsibilities.

After graduation I pulled together all of my money and left Catchpole. That little town was painfully redundant and predictable, every block and person holding an old memory. It left me thinking too much of unpleasant things: my crumbling family, the smell of gerberas and the lonely weight of my continued progression.

--

When I moved to my new apartment, I had come with a large duffel bag, a shoebox and a Kennel-Aire XL Travel Dog Carrier. It had been very different from the home I came from, as when I first walked in I thought it would be too small.

There were two bedrooms (one windowless and more akin to a storage cupboard) with a shared bathroom, a decent sized living area and a tiny kitchen/dining area that had just enough room for two folding chairs and a small card table. Eventually, I realised that it was more than enough space for Diesel and me, and we came to call it home.

The days always started off well: at three a.m. Diesel and I went for a two mile jog around the neighborhood before walking over to the local 24 hour deli to order a bacon sandwich and a coffee, light and sweet.

From there we headed back home. I showered and fed Diesel and got ready to go job hunting.

One day when we were on our morning run, I found a hideously grotesque sofa out on the kerb. It was the color of mashed peas and covered in plastic as if someone had just cleared out their dead grandmother’s house. I looked at that monstrosity and decided to take it back with me. I pushed and dragged it the eight blocks to my apartment building and through the lobby. It was after I angled it toward the stairs I realized that there as no way that I'd be able to get this huge thing up the stairs on my own.

I guess you could call it luck that at that moment the girl who lives on the second floor opened her door. Millicent's larger than life. I swear to god she's just as tall as me, maybe shorter by an inch or so, and built like a tank. Her body's built thick, thick thighs, thick arms, nice round ass. Not fat, just fleshy and soft and somehow almost all muscle.

She's positively lovely, even if she doesn't think so. Her face is round, almost moon-like, but her cheekbones are fine and her eyes are sharp and clear. When she lets her hair out of that bun she looks good. But she doesn't believe me.

She thinks all men are full of shit. That's why she fucks women, but then she says women are too finicky and don't know how to say what they mean, so she fucks men. She alternates genders to keep herself sane she says, but I think she just likes the variety.

Either way she came through her door and looked at poor hopeless me and tossed her purse back through the door and shoved her keys in her pocket before slinking down the stairs and gripping the under side of the sofa, looking at me and nodding. "On three, alright."

"Gotcha."

"Three," she said, pulling up from her squat and bringing the couch up with her. We climbed the flights slowly, Millicent directing our movements until we reached the third floor and my door. "This you?"

"Yeah." I tossed my keys up to her. "The one with the green cover."

"Oh, that's your name on the mailbox then...Weasel?" she intoned, not in the least bit insulting, her mouth poking out a bit as she tried to remember.

"Weasley." I bent again to grip the sofa. “Ronald Weasley, Ron for short.”

"So Weasley, where did you pick up this nightmare?" She placed her end of the sofa down on the hardwood, wiped her hands on her khakis and flicked the protective plastic on the sofa.

"Up on Craig Street. It was on the kerb."

"With good reason."

"Yeah, it is rather ghastly."

She chuckled and held out a hand. "Millicent Bullstrode. Apartment number two."

"Ronald. Better yet, just call me Ron. Apartment three."

From there things took off well. Millicent worked at the local delivery service as manager and offered me a part time job when one of her guys started college and had to cut back on his hours.

It saved me quite a bit of time and the hassle of filling out job applications. The job was simple. Load the trucks and drop off packages down a select route. Do it quick and do it well. It wasn’t difficult and left me with time to visit the local animal shelter and see if they needed a hand.

I got a job there too, part time.

--

Life became easier, in a way.

I was no longer haunted by flashes of memory. Every time I passed the park I wasn’t forced to see a little girl on the swings. When I passed a post box there was no bright-eyed redhead mailing off a letter to her pen pal in Peru as she tried to learn Spanish.

The days became monotonous with little spurts of pleasure shot through there and again.

The days always started off well, with my usual jog with Diesel ending at the all night deli. Except now, I ordered two bacon sandwiches and two large coffees, one light and sweet, the other black with sugar.

On the way up the stairs I passed off a bacon sandwich and the black coffee to Millicent, who appeared at her door unfailingly. As always, she wished me good morning in her t-shirt and knickers before closing the door.

After a meal for Diesel and myself and a shower, I got ready and met Millicent at her car by five. Half an hour later we were loading boxes onto lorries. At about one I caught a ride with the local carpool and went home to pick up Diesel and walk to the shelter.

A man named Hagrid, an absolutely massive son of a gun, runs the shelter. I reckon he’s almost seven feet tall and looks like a lumberjack. But he’s got a way with animals, especially the hard cases. He has a giant boar hound named Fang (poor dog’s blind and afraid of every thing he hears).

I think that’s where I feel the most human, if you get my meaning. When I’m at the shelter I feel more acutely, my mind and all of my senses are invested in whatever animal I’m working with.

I don’t really know how to explain it well. It’s like unless I’m working with an animal or talking to Mill, it’s as if I’m watching someone else in my body. Having all the conversations, moving all the boxes, showering and all that other day-to-day rot was like a numb feeling, like I was stuck in the same position and lost all feeling.

I headed back home just as the kids were released from school. Diesel greeted me at the door eagerly, prancing with her leash in her mouth, tail whistling though the air in uncontainable glee. I’d throw my bag onto the ugly green sofa and fill my water bottle before Diesel escorted me out of the door for our evening outing.

That's the way my life had gone for so long that now when I look back at those three years, it all seems like one incredibly tedious day, punctuated by the growing menagerie of pets in my apartment. During those years, holidays passed in a haze of overtime and pet sitting for co-workers who wanted to go out of town to see their families.

My own kin didn't know when I left nor had I given them any information about where I was, either. All I sent was an annual letter to my Mum telling her that I was alright, and yes, I was eating well, and no, I won't be coming back anytime soon.

Quite often I think myself a bit cruel, but I just couldn't stay in Catchpole. I'd have killed myself if I had. The guilt was way too much for me to handle. The guilt is what woke me that night.

As I lay in bed, sprawled out on my back with Diesel’s massive head and paws on my chest, my mind wanders the hundred and forty-three miles to Catchpole.

To be specific it was Chudley Park.


I was small, once again the runt of the family. Nine, and too grown up and embarrassed to hold my younger sister's hand as we walked home, grinning around a pair of iced lollies. I had mango and Ginny always favoured strawberry.

We ambled carelessly down the road. My hand was tucked into the pocket of my jacket and Ginny was twirling her fingers around her fine red-brown hair, adding sticky drops to the already messy pigtails. She flashed her gap-tooth grin at me, her eyes were closed because her cheeks, round and pink, pushed up her lower lids when she smiled. "Ronnie, thank you for the lolly. That was really nice," she snorted. "I used to think you didn't like me."

I looked down and shrugged trying to be nonchalant. "I like you just fine." I saw a flicker of light in the corner of my eye and crouched down to pick up what ever was shining.

That split second was all it took.

My sister shrieked and I bolted up. A man had his arm around her waist and was dragging her into the van. I lurched forward grabbing her outstretched hands and pulling with all my might as Ginny thrashed wildly. Another man came from nowhere and kicked me but I wouldn't let go. He slipped a wet black sack over Ginny's head as I scrabbled and bit and screamed.

"RON! RON! HELP ME, RON!" she shrieked as we were being separated.

The men were wrenching our fingers apart, but every time a hand was untangled we found a grip elsewhere. My death grip on her jacket was all that connected us, so I tried to grab her somewhere, anywhere with my other hand, but she couldn't fight anymore and her body went limp. I grabbed at the black cloth and ripped it off of her head, and how I knew that was what made her stop fighting, I don't know.

The first man shoved his foot into my kneecap making it snap backward. I shrieked in pain until the back of my head hit the kerb and I stopped moving...

I awoke to Diesel pawing at my chest while whining in distress. As I came to, I noticed that I was shaking with cold sweat pouring off of me.

I must have been screaming in my sleep because the other two dogs, Rex and Ghost Face, were restless and shifting around the foot of the bed, growling and whimpering alternately. They were distressed and tried to get on the bed to see if I was alright, but every time their heads peered over the edge, Diesel would flash her teeth and snarl.

Eventually I pulled myself back to reality and looked at the clock. The annoying thing flashed bright red numbers at me. It was only one a.m. and I knew I wouldn't be sleeping anytime soon. I was too alert and too afraid to close my eyes once more so I kicked off the covers, put my feet on the floor and rubbed Diesel's massive neck and scratched the underside of her jowls. She laid her head primly on her crossed forepaws when I pulled my hand away.

I rubbed behind Rex's little ears, careful of the stitches that were a little less than a finger width away. The poor dog only had three legs, a birth defect that made the breeder try to cull him from the litter using a butcher knife. Rex wasn't my dog but rather Diesel's.

Yes, my dog has her dog.

When she saw him at the shelter he was barely a week old, a squirming little brown lump of puppy. She curled around him and began to lick him. Hell, she even started lactating somehow. It seemed as if she was born to be a mother, born to take care of someone or something.

I stood and went to the kitchen figuring I'd get an early start on the day. I swept up the three water dishes on the floor and rinsed them before putting them back down. While Diesel and Rex drank, Ghost Face followed me into the living room, watching as I cleaned and filled the bird, rabbit, iguana and cat's water dishes with the same open curiosity that he watched everything with.

Ziggy, the rabbit, pushed up against his cage trying to catch Ghost's attention and get groomed through the bars. Ghost obliged him and slid his tongue through the bars lapping at the bunny's face.

Ghost's gentleness never ceased to amaze me. Usually strays aren't so accepting of small animals but he was. It still rankles with me that I own a poodle; but the fact that he's almost all black, his snout and the area around his eyes are a pale gray, makes me feel better.

Ghost Face was an accidental acquisition. He somehow managed to climb into a delivery truck unnoticed and wasn't found until Theo Nott finished his routes. Theo brought him to me so that I could take him to the shelter the next day but he never exactly made it there.

I finished feeding everyone and dressed in my jogging pants and a hooded sweatshirt. I knew that I needed a run and some alone time with Diesel. I grabbed her lead and waited for her to nose Rex good-bye and flick her tail at Ghost before I closed and locked the door behind me.

As always, Diesel pranced around my legs as we walked down the block. She whined and wriggled impatiently waiting for us to get to the open lot three blocks down. Once the lot came into view, overgrown, unkempt and only fenced in on three sides, we broke into a run.

Diesel was a streak of black. She moved so quickly and sharply some times I thought she just teleported. Her muscles were sleek and defined under the gloss of her coat. She was lovely even under the yellow street lamps.

I ran beside her and pushed at her shoulders gently, before she knocked me down and started to lick my face. I laughed whole-heartedly, like I only did with her. We wrestled and roughhoused for damn near forty minutes before I flopped down on my back and gave in, Diesel beside me, licking and nudging my hand until I pet her.

"You know, I bet Tonks never thought anyone would be able to play with you like that and stay in one piece." I scratched behind my girl's ears and cooed at her. "My dear, I think you or Ghost needs to get fixed."

I received an indignant look.

"Well yeah you're not crazy about him now but you might decide he doesn't look too frilly one day."

Diesel stood up with a snort and ambled over to a tree in the far corner of the lot and squatted to pee.

"Yeah, me too."

I hefted myself off of the ground and brushed off my pants. These were fit for laundry now and I was due for a bath. So I whistled and found my girl at my side the next moment. It was short order to brush any dirt off of me and run my fingers over her short coat of fur.

There were no bugs and regardless she'd go fetch her brush the minute we walked through the door. As much as she was big and rugged, Diesel was a real girl. She loved nothing more than to be brushed and petted.

I clipped the lead to her collar and we strolled through the streets, bypassing the deli because I had left my money in my denims. As always, we walked the street unobserved and unnoticed. It was rare to see anyone up and about now unless they were in the party district of the city. So I was shocked when Diesel stopped short and began to sniff the air and growl deep in her chest.

It had been almost five years since I'd heard those kinds of noises from her. She was so docile now that it was actually hard to equate her with the snarling, terrified fighter she’d been. She pampered Rex, tolerated Ghost and she even was affectionate with Machiavelli—the ungrateful standoffish puss he was—and let the birds pick at her ears without fuss when they flitted about the apartment.

"Diesel?" I tried to calm her as she pranced agitated and stressed beside me. I placed my palm on her neck to calm her. "Deedee, sit." She whined and sat for a moment tense and still before she stood and sat again. It was a war between instinct and order.

After a few moments I sighed and we kept moving. She would calm down once we got home and I wiped her down and brushed her into bliss. She, as always, walked at a heel, the leash was slack and I slipped my hands into my pockets.

Needless to say I wasn't expecting her to dart forward so suddenly, snapping the leash and running at top speed from me.

It took me a second to really grasp what was happening, as she had never run from me before. Sure, when we played she darted off and then came back and pranced about trying to get me to chase or wrestle but this was different. When I began lead training her in Catchpole, she didn't do much more than refuse to move and pace uneasily from side to side, her chest heaving with indignation and nervousness.

But this ...escape?

It was primal, adrenaline-based and frightening.

I ran after her, following what I could see of her dark sleek body around corners and down an alley. It was dark, it was dirty and she was growling fiercely. She barked sharp and deep as I entered the alley. She was crouched down and readied herself for a kill.

It was amazing to see her in that moment, not only a predator but also a warrior. The scars that were usually hidden under her short scrub of fur were pronounced in the eerie glow of the lamplight. Her teeth were bare and wet and her lips curled.

Then just as suddenly as she started, she stopped. She moved to allow me passage, calm now that she had found the source of the blood and knew it wasn't a danger. I walked past her without a second glance to see what she had been so strung up about.

I never expected to see a kid, dirty, bruised and covered in bleeding cuts. He looked at me with a pair of huge green eyes, staring straight at me for a split second before they rolled up. I lunged to catch him but the kid pitched forward in a dead faint before I could get to him.

I was terrified and apparently hallucinating because instead of a boy with black hair in front of me I saw Ginny’s body sprawled out on the front porch of our house. Naked, with bruised thighs and wrists, scraped face, shoulders and knees, her lips and skin blue with a bouquet of orange and red gerbera flowers placed carefully on her chest.

"On guard, Diesel," I snapped before running out of the mouth of the alley. It was panic. Pure panic that made me scramble to a pay phone and start dialing numbers. Somehow it was Millicent on the other end of the phone, groggy and irritated.

"Who the fuck is this? And what the hell are you calling me for?" she groused before telling her partner for the night to go back to sleep.

"It's Ron. There's a kid in an alley and he's hurt I don't know what to do. There's blood and he's passed out."

"What the hell?"

"I don't know what to do!"

"Calm down, I'll swing by and we'll take the kid to casualty. Where are you?"

I managed to force out the street address, return to the kid's side and not break down until I saw Millicent's green pick-up pull up with a dark skinned man in the driver's seat.

Millicent jogged into the alley, her companion a few steps behind. She crouched down beside me and gestured to the guy she was with. "This is Blaise, he's the nurse I told you about."

"The one at the cafe?" I questioned as he stooped over the kid and checked his heart rate and his eyes.

"No. The one that I'm fucking."

"Oh, nice to meet you then," I said to the guy who just nodded before lifting the kid up. I took the boy from him and clicked to Diesel.

"Same here. Thanks for the coffee."

"It was nothing."

It was an odd conversation to have at that point in time but hey, that's life. What better way to break the ice like coffee passed off in a hallway and an emergency call?

We all climbed into the truck, one of those four door jobs, with Millicent and her nurse up front with the kid held in my arms and Diesel at my feet.

The nurse started the talking. "There's a lot of bruising and a few scrapes but nothing worse. The fainting was probably a mix of fear and adrenaline.”

Diesel chuffed agitatedly as the truck wound through the streets. She wasn’t used to riding in a vehicle, having only been in one twice to date. Once when she was moved from the dog-fighting warehouse and once when she came to the city with me.

When we were halfway to the hospital the kid began to stir. He rubbed under his glasses with the back of his hand and cracked his green eyes open. He squirmed trying to get off of my lap as he became more coherent.

“Um...ah.”

“Relax kid.” I managed, “We’re taking you to hospital. I’m Ron and up front is Millicent and her nurse.”

“Blaise,” the guy offered.

“Look,” he said, his eyes as wide as he was pale. He must have been young because his voice hadn’t cracked yet. “I don't need a hospital. I – if you drop me off on Third Street, I’ll just go home.”

“It’s almost two in the morning and how old are you, twelve?”

“I’m fourteen,” he snapped indignantly.

“Right, fourteen,” Millicent interjected from the front seat. “That’s still too young to be out at this time not to mention injured. What happened?”

“I got mugged.”

“So we’ll have to ask the nurses to make sure that a police report is filed.” Again, the Man-Nurse is on top of things. I think I really like this guy.

“It won’t do any good,” he said too quickly to be kosher. “I didn’t see who did it and I don't remember where I was.”

“I found him on Chauncey and 28th.”

“Right,” said Millicent. “Blaise, give me your mobile. Kid, what’s your number? We’re going to call your folks so that they can meet us at the hospital.”

I felt bad as his eyes flashed to every door as if looking for an escape route. He trembled and wrapped one arm around his midriff and chewed his lower lip. “I-I, I’m not sure. We moved recently and the number is new. If you drop me off on Third then it will be alright.”

Something just didn’t sit right with me. This whole situation was funky.

We pulled up in front of casualty and Blaise got out to get everything in motion and Millicent moved to the driver’s seat. I cracked the back window a little bit and eased out of the truck. The kid shied away from my hands when I tried to help him out. Much to his chagrin, I slipped my hands under his armpits and hefted him into my arms like a child.

He was light. Too light, as he couldn’t have weighed more than 85 pounds.

“I can walk just fine! Let me down and let me go home,” he hissed, squirming violently.

I wrapped my arms tighter around him, ignoring the tantrum and bent my head to the window of the truck as Millicent motioned me over.

“I’m going to find some parking and then I’ll get us some breakfast. I’ll be about fifteen minutes.”

I nodded and walked through the glass doors of the hospital with a hyperventilating teenager trying to escape from my arms. I knew something was wrong but I didn’t bother asking what. He wouldn’t have told me anyway.

By the time we got to the desk, he had worked himself up so badly that the nurse behind the desk had to attach him to an oxygen tank.

When you work with animals that have been mistreated you can just sense it. The terror in their eyes as you approach them or their standoffishness when you offered help were telltale signs. Humans, for all we brag, are in fact, animals, and in that respect, no different.

I sat beside the kid with a hand across his lap. I knew he’d bolt the second I gave him a chance. I had a clipboard propped on my knee and a pen in my hand. “So what’s your name?” I probably should have asked earlier but I didn’t think of it until I got the forms. “So?”

“I don't see why you need to know my name,” he wheezed behind the green plastic mask. “I’m not staying here.”

“Humour me.”

He crossed his arms and resolutely looked the other way. He was determined to be as difficult as possible. So I did what came naturally to me, having had five older brothers and having been one my self. I pulled him onto my lap and ignored his indignant protests then rifled through his pants pockets until I found what it was I was looking for: a student ID card.

Next to a picture of him with a shy smile lay the information I had wanted: “Harry James Potter. Birthday; July 31. Height 4’ 7.5”

“That’s personal! Give it back!” He twisted about, furious like a spitting cat.

“Sorry kid. I need to fill out these forms so that they’ll check you over.”

“I don't need to be checked over! I'm fine! This is nothing new!”

I looked at his small pink mouth, pursed in agitation, and then it hit me that he was so angry he didn’t even realize what he was saying. I admit it was rather low for me to take advantage of that, but I had to know the situation before I could be of any use to the kid. “Your parents do this?”

He snorted. “They’re dead, end of story. Can I go now?”

He was so hurt and bitter that I flinched and looked away. Emotions that intense were just what I hated to deal with. From the corner of my eye I saw Blaise wave me over so I tucked the kid under my arm and forced him to walk with me.

“My friend got a private room for us. The doctor will be here in a moment.”

I nodded and bullied the kid towards the bed. He stood next to it doing his best to look displeased with me. “Take off your coat so the doctor can have a decent look at you.”

His eyes flashed as he snarled at me trying to figure out if there was a chance he could run past me and out of the door. “Why are you doing this?!”

“Because you obviously need the help, now take off the coat or I’ll take it off for you.”

He was reluctant and it showed in every way, his face red with fury. His eyes glinted cold, his muscles tense and bunched. He shucked his jacket and then I saw why he had been so averse to removing it.

The child was as thin as a rail and covered in bruises, some fresh and purple, others yellow or chartreuse, all of them overlapping. His t-shirt was filthy, threadbare and had splatters of blood along the front.

"Happy now?" The words flew like bullets.

"Ecstatic. How did you get all those bruises?"

The doctor waked in then and immediately called into the hall for a nurse and a social worker. "Okay," she glanced at the chart, "Harry. I need to ask some questions. Do you want your..." She trailed off and gestured to me.

"I'm leaving." The moment the words came from my lips I wanted to pull them back.

Harry looked up at me with devastated eyes, like a puppy dropped off by the Good Samaritan that fed and housed him for week. "I'll wait in the hall," I amended and closed the door behind me, eavesdropping. It only took five minutes of persistent questioning until I heard things flying and crashing every which way.

Without really thinking I burst into the room to see the kid hurling plastic vials at the poor woman. I was behind him in two strides. I grabbed his wrist firmly with my left hand, snatched the second with my right and placed them both in the same hand before wrapping my now free hand around his tiny waist. It was little work to haul him off his feet and sit him on the examination table.

He winced and jerked when I set him down. I saw the flash of pain and for just a moment I saw Ginny's flower covered body.

"I think he's been r-raped. My dog found him in an alley way."

The kid tried furiously to escape my grip, tugging his hands and jerking wildly.

I propped a knee up so that he couldn't move forward as I handed the woman the ID card I had pinched from his pockets. "He wouldn't tell anyone who his guardians are or how to contact them."

She nodded and carefully stepped toward the boy. "Now please, answer a few questions for me. I can't pull up your medical records without parental consent."

He stared at his knees just as he had since he stopped struggling in my grip. "They're both dead. Hostage situation in a robbery when I was two."

"Okay, who do you stay with?"

"My aunt."

"Her name?"

He wouldn't answer and pretended we didn't exist after that.

"Call the school, you'll get voicemail but it will tell you the principal's name. From there use a phone book," I ground out. I know it wasn't her fault but honestly it wasn't rocket science.

The doctor left and the kid and I sat in silence. I never moved from in front of him and his wrists were still in my hand. After the first twenty minutes he rested his forehead against my chest. I said nothing when he started crying, as there was nothing to say.

It was half an hour until the door opened again. A terminally skinny woman stormed into the room and a morbidly obese man toddled behind her. The man's face was thunderous and the woman looked twitchy.

"Boy!" the fat man blustered.

I felt the kid stiffen and the beginning of tremors. He did not move, though.

"Boy! Get your arse up! Let's go, as I've not the time to be chasing you about!"

The woman turned her nose up at me even as she thanked me for finding her, and I quote, "attention seeking, delinquent and fatherless nephew." She reached forward to wrap a claw-like hand around the boy's arm but I just hauled him up into my arms instead.

The kid looked at me with shocked green eyes. I let go of his hands and they found their way to my shoulders. The fat man ranted loudly and carried on.

"Sorry, he's not going anywhere until he's been properly examined." Those small hands gripped fistfuls of my clothes and their owner buried his face into the nape of my neck.

"Tell them," he whispered into my ear, "that you've already called Remus Lupin. His name is on my school forms too."

"I've already had the doctors speak with Mr. Lupin."

The couple was caught between panic and anger. The woman's face blanched and the beast turned a mottled red color that looked at bit like ketchup. "What for, there was no reason to bother the man. This little miscreant just needs a bit of time alone."

It must have been code for something because the boy started openly sobbing into my neck, shaking like a jackhammer.

"Time alone to think about how running off inconveniences others."

With a quick nod I brushed past the couple and carried the boy with me into the waiting room. I kicked the side of Millicent’s leg to wake her and jerked my head toward the door. She got the message and shook Blaise awake. We left before anyone could question what was happening.

--

When I returned home I walked through the door, held it open for Diesel, who pranced in behind me and set the kid down on his feet. Then Rex and Ghost Face came up to us but Diesel subdued them both with rather brutal nips to the flanks.

"You need to shower," I told Harry as I steered him to the bathroom. "Throw those clothes into this plastic bag and I'll bring you some new ones." He nodded and walked in. When he went to push the door closed I stopped him. "If you fall or hurt yourself I won't be able to get to you. Leave the door open. I'll be in the other room anyway so you can undress in peace."

"Why are you doing all of this? You don't even know me." He was genuinely perplexed, and I hate to admit it but I was too.

"Because I am."

--

As soon as my house guest stepped out of the bathroom, I bullied him into one of the folding chairs in the kitchen. He looked bewildered when I pulled a pan from the cabinet, greased it and set it on the stove.

"I can do that," he said, standing and about to step over to the stove.

"You can do what I asked and sit down." I cracked four eggs into the pan and slid a few chopped sausages and mushrooms into the mix before adding some milk, stirring it and shifting it to the back burner.

Unthinkingly I prepared breakfast for the dogs like I did every morning. Two large slices of liver for Ghost and Diesel, a small cut of beef for Rex, half a cup of brown rice for each of them and a raw egg cracked over it all with the shells in Rex's bowl, since he seemed to like them.

I glanced at the eggs and shifted them a bit before I pulled two bunches of kale, some spinach and an apple from the crisper to chop it up. The kid was twitching in his chair, and he wanted to do something badly—whether it was to watch the eggs or chop up the food for my herbivores. I passed him the knife and went to check the eggs. When I turned around barely two minutes later the greens were shredded and the apple had been chopped.

The pet food dishes were lined up on the counter upside down where they had been drying the night before. I filled all except one and then plated the food for Harry and I.

He was hesitant at first to touch the breakfast but after a few bites he looped his arm around his plate brought his head low and began to scarf down the food.

Now I know for a fact that I'm not the authority on table manners. Mum used to scold me all the time; "Ronald! Chew with your mouth closed!", "take human bites!" and my favorite, "USE A FORK!". I let him be for a few moments before reaching over and putting a hand on his wrist.

He jerked back wildly and looked at me with huge, sorrowful eyes.

"Slow down, mate. I'm not going to take it from you. I just don't want you to get sick. So sit up and eat a bit slower, if you want more I'll make more."

He warily straightened up. His eyes never left my face as he cleaned his plate at a slightly more reasonable pace.

I was done with my meal when I got up and started rifling through kitchen drawers. I didn't have a landline, as it wasn't necessary because I never had to call anyone. If I was taking a day from work I could just go downstairs and knock on Millicent's door and tell her I was going to be out or ask to use her phone to call Hagrid. However, I did own a prepaid mobile for emergency vet calls but I kept it in my kitchen... somewhere.

I was still searching when Harry swept the dishes up off of the table and turned on the tap. I watched him from the corner of my eye, his shoulders had relaxed for the first time and he didn't look ready to bolt. I found the phone and closed the drawer sharply. When he finished and was drying his hands on the dishtowel I passed the phone to him.

"Call this Mr. Lupin."

"I don't know the number," he lied, putting the phone down on the counter.

"I've got a phone book if you'd rather do it that way. But either way he's going to receive a call."

He rolled his eyes and snatched up the phone and punched in the numbers. I pinned the little phone between my shoulder and ear and went about distributing food to the animals in cages. I placed the dogs’ bowls on the floor and made a call to Machiavelli who jumped from the top of the cabinets to the counter in one smooth arc.

While I filled Mac’s bowl with leftover chicken and cat food the line rang.

"Hello, Remus Lupin speaking." I heard the exhaustion in his voice and felt bad for waking him.

"Hi, Mr. Lupin. My name is Ron Weasley." I was unsure of what to say but somehow my mouth went on autopilot. "I'm calling you about Harry Potter."

"What's happened? Is he alright? Where is he?" Immediately he became alert and started asking questions.

"I found him in an alley and he passed out. I got him to the hospital, but something is off with—He's alright, there's not much more than bruises, I swear! I'm going to need you to come here." I gave him directions and the cell number and he hung up. I shoved the little thing in my pocket.

"You alright?"

Harry looked at me with a mix of frustration and confusion. The poor kid couldn't understand why I was treating him like an actual human being. When he didn't answer I herded him to my bed and watched him get under the covers. Diesel sniffed him and leapt up on the bed. When I went to pull her off I was stopped by Harry's small 'no'.

"You sure? She's a bed hog."

He pulled her ears gently and ran his fingers over her neck softly, the smallest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. "She reminds me of my dog Paddy."

"Really?"

"Yeah, he's a great big goof ball. Big and black with too much hair. He's a Newfoundland hound. He used to sleep with me too."

"He doesn't sleep with you anymore?" I pressed lightly, as he didn't seem sad or to speak with that fine reminiscence used by former owners of deceased dogs.

"No, I don't live with Remus and Sirius anymore."

Diesel licked his wrist and climbed further up the bed, nosing at the drawer of my nightstand.

I chuckled and retrieved the brush before handing it to Harry. "She wants you to brush her. She'll bully you and won't let you rest until you do."

He ran the brush over her hair with experienced hands. "Padfoot was a fourth birthday gift for me. My godfather got him to watch over Remus and me; he was a trained service dog even though he was a puppy."

"Remus is blind?" I know it was none of my business but it honestly caught me off guard.

"No, he has severe epilepsy. After fits he could barely move and it was always a risk with Sirius at work."

"What did he do?"

"Kindergarten teacher."

"Ah, sounds like fun."

"He loved it! He didn't need to work but he did because he loved to play with all the kids. Sometimes I went to work with him and I miss it."

"I'm sure.”

He stroked the boar bristles over Diesel's flanks as she lay still, with her eyes closed and her tongue lolling to the side. I smiled and rubbed her side gently. "Give me the brush now, it’s almost seven a.m. and neither of us have gotten any sleep."

"But I'm not tired," he groused as if that would make me dismiss his dark ringed eyes and slowing movements.

"Ghost Face, Diesel—on guard."

Diesel rolled into Harry’s left side, pinning him into place and Ghost paced silently along the length of the bed.

--

There was a knock on the door at about ten in the morning.

I pulled the door open and was surprised to see a man in his mid thirties wearing a tweed jacket and a pair of faded blue denims. His face was kindly and his eyes were almost gold. Though I’m not sure what I was expecting when I opened the door, I was startled by his youth. I was expecting someone much older—my Mum’s age or better. At his side was a humongous black dog with floppy ears, too much fur and big blue eyes.

“You’re Ron Weasley?”

“Yes.”

"Erm, do you mind if I bring my dog in with me? I don't really want to tie him outside, he'd howl like mad if I did."

"If you give me a minute I'll put the cat in the bathroom and send my dogs to their kennels." I was about to close the door when his voice stopped me.


"There's no need for that. Paddy is socialized and he actually likes cats." The man grinned a bit. "Crookshanks hates everyone but he'll love on Pads anyway." I nodded and showed the man in, watching as his dog snuffed about. He must have picked up the scent of his master because he headed towards my bedroom with a perky, wagging tail

We were seated across from each other, our hands wrapped around mugs of tepid coffee. Tears were streaming down the man's face. They'd started when I had told him how I had found Harry and hadn't stopped since. It was even harder to relay my suspicions without sending the man into a shock.

"Harry," he explained, "is the child of two of my best friends. Lily and James left custody of him to Sirius and me. James was very well off and made contingency plans just in case he died. Harry was to have a trust fund that he will be granted access to on his eighteenth birthday, and who ever cared for him would get a predetermined amount of money to compensate for what they would spend raising Harry.

“Every relative wanted him but the will stated that Sirius and I were to raise him. We did for some time but then Sirius was arrested. He was framed and we had proof, but the other Potters had enough money to throw at the courts. He was sentenced to fourteen years.

“Not only am I a homosexual but I also suffer from epilepsy. They objected to me raising Harry on my own and demanded to take him.

“I couldn't let that happen, you understand," he pleaded with me, wiping the trails of tears from his face. "Harry is not only all I have left of my friends but he is also the son I never had. I couldn't let some people who would never let me see him again take him.

“So I did the next best thing and arranged with Lily's family to have him taken care of, and they weren't told about the trust, though they would receive the compensation money. I'd come every other weekend to see him and take him to see Sirius. Sirius would make sure he was alright and then sign a child support check for me to give the Dursleys.

“I just can't understand why-- how this happened. My poor Cub," he muttered, looking deep into the black coffee as if it held the secrets of the universe.

"They made me lie."

I looked to the doorway of my bedroom and saw Harry standing there, in too big pajamas with his dog at his side. He gripped the thick fur as if letting go meant certain death.

"They made me lie to you. I'm sorry Remus, but I just didn't want Vernon to beat me anymore or for him to lock me in the closet. I hated it, it was so dark and I wasn't allowed to eat or drink or use the bathroom for days. I wanted to tell but I was so scared—"

I did my best to stay and support them. Machiavelli situated himself in my lap and mewed loudly until rubbed him. I had long ago given my seat to Harry and sat in the far corner of the room and tried to distract myself from the conversation but I couldn't.

"She, she'd take pictures of what he was doing or made me do. Vernon would tell me that if I didn't do it I couldn't see you and Sirius." The boy was talking through tears and clenched teeth, his fingers gripping the chair tightly. Remus pried his hands up and pulled the sobbing boy into his lap.

I took that as my cue to leave.

I headed for the door with clenched teeth and white knuckles. My gut was rarely wrong, but I had been hoping and praying that for once it was.

--

I arrived at Millicent’s door unsure of whether I should knock or not. I didn't know if she was home, if I could talk to her or if I could even make sense of the jumble in my head.

It was too much for me to handle. I didn't know how Harry coped with that entire thing, it must have been hell. To make it worse, the monsters doing this to him had been his own flesh and blood.

It was beyond my understanding.

Family was supposed to protect you, love you, fight for you and hold your hand so you didn't fall or get snatched away. When Vernon Dursley furiously waddled into the hospital room I had known something was wrong.

Everything I knew about family screamed that something was wrong. That if I let Harry go I'd find him in my doorway naked and dead, the scent of sex and sweat sloppily covered by fragrant flowers.

Just thinking it made my stomach turn.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and moved to the stairs, resting my forehead against the cool metal of the railing. I felt the little phone in my pocket and flinched.

Family didn't run out for years with out so much as goodbye.

For a minute I thought of calling Mum. I wanted to hear her fuss about me bringing home strays and putting on jumpers. I wanted to taste her cooking: veal cutlets, mutton, mince pies and tarts. I wanted to feel her wrap her arms around me, as she was always so warm and soft, smelling like the warm cakes that she would undoubtedly have in the oven.

That was all before I let go of Ginny's hand.

After that, Mum was a shadow of herself, fragile, always weeping and afraid to let me out of her sight. When I was near her she never looked at me or spoke to me. She just behaved like I wasn't there, but when I went to leave she'd pull me back by an arm and sit me in the nearest chair before going back to whatever she was doing.

I felt that my own mother hated me and thought I couldn't be trusted to leave her sight. She did that for the first three years. The rest of the time she spent in hyper-focus where nothing else but cooking, cleaning and laundry mattered.

I fingered the phone and thought of calling her or maybe one of my brothers.

It's crazy how sometimes your body acts before your mind can catch up. I, somehow, was holding the phone to my ear listening to the ringing. Someone picked up; I wasn't sure of who.

"Hullo, Weasley residence."

I managed to get tongue tied, and could only stumble over a "Hello, I—" before I hung up and with trembling hands turned off the phone. My chest was heaving and my eyes and nose was burning something awful.

Just then, the door of my apartment opened and Remus peered around the corner of the stairwell. I walked up the stairs slowly and met him on the landing. He looked pale and drawn, his eyes rimmed in red and hooded.

"I need to find another relative to take care of him." He was moments away from tears and I couldn't help but feel bad for him. “The rest of the Potters can't find out about this. If they do, they will ensure that my partial custody is revoked. I can't do that to Sirius or Harry. Harry is a wonderful child and I don't want him to be seen as just a paycheck. So please, I'm honestly begging you, don't tell anyone about this."

I nodded and he gripped my shoulder.

--

My apartment was never quiet. The three lovebirds never stopped chirping while there was light. Ziggy thumped about in his pen at all times tossing his toys from one
side to the next. Rasputin, a massive iguana with severe scarring, thrashed his tail against the glass of his terrarium whenever he saw Machiavelli. And the dogs, though they didn't bark, were very vocal.

Today the usual chatter that made my apartment seem less empty was gone. It was as if somehow every animal knew that something was wrong.

I watched as Harry sat on my ugly sofa with Machiavelli on his lap, the spoiled puss using Harry’s limp hands to pet himself. Remus was in the kitchen making phone calls.

"Ron."

My head shot up to look at the boy on my sofa.

"I'm sorry that I was so rude to you," he muttered. Even with his head ducked and face covered by hair I could see his blush.

I pushed off of the wall and sat beside him, "Don't worry about it. You were panicked and nervous." I left out scared, because what fourteen year old wanted anyone to know that they'd been scared? "It’s alright. I'm not mad or anything."

He hid his face in his hands. "God, Remus must think I'm disgusting."

"I'm sure that's not it." I wrapped an arm around his shoulders and sighed. "He's angry right now. Not at you but at himself and at the Dursleys. He wanted you to be happy and instead they hurt you."

He leaned into me hesitantly. He wanted to be touched but didn't know how to accept it. I pulled him closer to me and leaned on the arm of the couch. It was painful to see him so distraught and I didn't even know him that well. Somehow he ended up sprawled on top of me, his face hidden in my chest.

I pretended that everything was fine.

I threw an arm over the back of the sofa and used the fingers of my free hand to rub between his shoulder blades. He tensed up before he relaxed and settled down into a comfortable position.


(click for full size)

Remus emerged from my kitchen ten minutes later, his expression severe and drawn. "Ron, I've just finished speaking with Sirius and he'd like to meet with you and offer his thanks in person if you are amenable to it."

I nodded and moved to get my coat wondering how everything had gotten so weird in only a day.

--

I had never been to a maximum-security prison before, so it was a new experience. I had to take off everything except my pants and have all of my belongings searched. My ID was checked several times and then I signed three different forms before I was sent to a room to wait.

Harry and Remus were already there. Apparently they knew the guards, as Remus chatted easily with a large officer. Harry, on the other hand, was fidgeting like mad and trying to untangle himself from Remus' arms.

The door to the room opened and a man with long black hair and gray eyes stood there as haughty as you please while the guard who escorted him unlocked the cuffs and shackles. It was amazing how poised and dignified the man looked even in a horrid orange jumpsuit.

Harry had freed himself from Remus' and flew across the room into the convict's arms. The man swept him up and held him close, laying kisses on his hair, forehead, head and cheeks as he walked over to the table and chairs. Once he sat down, Remus stood up and leaned over the table, tangled a hand in those thick black curls and the two shared a deep kiss.

I couldn't help but feel like an intruder. The guard must have felt the same because he pointedly looked in the other direction. I took a page from the guard's book and I carefully observed the table until there was conversation.

"Sirius, this is Ron. He's the one I told you about."

Sirius looked me up and down with his steely grey eyes and extended a hand to me. I took it, nervous. "Thank you so much." I shrugged, unsure of what to say, but that didn't matter as he just plowed on, thanking me repetitively and extracting the promise that I would call on him if I needed anything.

"And you." He jabbed a finger into suddenly bashful Harry's thigh, "I'm very irritated at you right now. All this lying to me and Moony is over, yes?"

Harry leaned into the man and nodded silently.

"Very good."

"Sirius, what are we going to do? He can't go back with those sick fucks." The way Sirius and Harry both jerked back made me think Remus wasn't the type to swear.

"Ask Andy if she could take Harry until we figure this all out.."

"Why can't I stay with Remus?"

"We've gone over this, Harry. The severity and unpredictability of Rem's epilepsy makes him, by legal standards, unable to care for you. If there was any way to make this better I'd do it." The two men reached out over the table and laced their fingers together.

I excused myself and along with a different guard slid down the hall into a washroom. I ignored the man in the background as I washed my face in the tiny metal sink, first with hot water then with cold. When I was done I just hung my head over the sink, breathing.

"It's hard to watch, isn't it?" the guard muttered at me.

"Yeah."

"You know, I used to be homophobic until I had visitors detail with Black. He’s a decent man despite the whole murder thing.”

The thought running through my head: He did not just say that did, he?

“Some of the men here have wives, children and girlfriends that never even call. Those two though..." He shook his head and sighed. "Every other week, religiously. I wish I could be half as confident about my family as Black is. And Black, he adores that little boy, you should hear him brag to Malfoy, Patil and Diggory, showing them pictures and report cards too. Dead proud father, he is.” The guard spat into the sink besides mine and ran the tap. "You got family?"

"Yeah, my parents, five brothers and a sister."

He whistled in astonishment, and pushed the door open. I followed him back to the room. I was surprised to see Sirius and Remus hissing at each other through clenched teeth.

"Sirius, you're being ridiculous! You can't just ask people you barely met to do things like that!"

"Why the hell not? We are out of options. Andy is on sabbatical in China with her husband if what you told me is correct. I'd sooner kill the Dursleys than trust them with a gold fish. And you can't do it alone or else Child Services would show up the same day."

Remus threw his hands up and refused to look at the man across from him. "Do what you want, you always do anyway."

Sirius turned to me, his grey eyes focused on my mine. "What do you do for a living, Ron?"

I was stunned by the question. I hadn't expected that question. "I deliver packages and work at an animal shelter."

"If you got a better job offer would you be opposed?"

"It depends, as I've my pets to think of, and some of them need a lot of attention. Machiavelli has to be taken in for monthly check ups, he’s got feline diabetes and Rasputin has cirrhosis, so I’ve got to be sure that I have days for vet visits and it pays enough to take care of everything.”

“I’ve got a job for you that comes with room and board. I’ll pay you four thousand a month, and you can bring your animals and everything.”

“Wait…what?”

“Move in with Moony and you’ll act as Harry’s Nanny or Rem’s nurse. I don’t particularly care which.” How he said that with a straight face was beyond my understanding.

“I- I have no medical training!” I blurted.

“It doesn’t matter as Moony can take care of himself and when he can’t Padfoot knows what to do. If you’re going to say you never have taken care of a kid before it's pretty easy—Harry’s rather self reliant an—”

“You don’t have to do anything.” Remus cut over the other man’s voice and quieted him with a sharp glare. “Sirius just has problems accepting that you don’t want to move in with complete strangers.”

--

I was astonished at how efficiently the movers packed and hauled off all of my belongings, not that there was much to begin with. It was strange to see three years of my life packed away so easily. I sighed and slid down onto my hideous baby-crap green sofa and cradled my head in my hands.

I was rearranging my life for people I didn’t even know.

Diesel laid her head on my lap and waited for me to free her from her muzzle. I tossed the contraption on the couch beside me and sighed. She was the only animal that hadn’t been crated for travel yet. I pulled her ears and rubbed her snout gently.

She was all I had left of Catchpole besides my nightmares.

One of the tall movers walked into the room and looked at me hesitantly and I couldn’t blame him. Diesel had been growling at the moving men all day through the basket of her muzzle.

“Uh, you want that sofa too?”

I opened my mouth with every intention of saying Fuck no, that thing is an eyesore!, but what came out was, “I want it. Yeah, I want it.” I stood up and slipped my fingers into Diesel’s thick collar, holding her to my side as she snarled at the men who were taking away the couch.

“Last time it was you and I moving that hideous thing.” Sometime during the move Millicent must have wandered in. She clapped my back with one of her thick hands and sent me a crooked grin, “You’re moving on up in the world. Got a sugar daddy and everything else!”

“Shut up.”

“I’ll miss early morning coffee but I’m glad you’re leaving.”

“What, don’t like me anymore?”

“Nope. Can’t stand you. God damned ginger.” She leaned against me, her side pressed into mine. I felt the tension slip from my body and heard Diesel quiet down. “I’m glad you’re leaving this place. Its not a good place to be, it makes you stagnant.” She shoved her hand into my pocket and pulled out my little phone. This one was new, provided by my employer and on a plan. She punched in her number, saved it and shoved it back into my pocket. “I’m going to call you once a week.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“I expect you to pick up.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“I’ll be lonely without you.”

“What happened to your nurse?”

“I’m fucking his mom now.” Only Millicent. She stood on her toes and kissed my cheek before flouncing out of the empty apartment.

“Real nice girl.” I shook my head and released Diesel.

We walked out of the empty apartment just as we came, three years before.

Together.



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