After dinner

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No one else would come with him on his little adventure.

They were stupid and rude and mean and boring. Linus wondered why nobody liked to have fun as much as he did. He had a thirst for adventure and discovery that his friends, apparently, didn't have!

Red faced, perky-eared, and huffy, the first year ventured into the forbidden forest. His backpack full of rolls, sausages, and jacket potatoes from dinner. Carrots were the offered vegetable that night, and Linus hated carrots, no matter what people said about them being good for his eyes. Linus didn't see how eating carrots would affect his vision, and when people talked about eyes and carrots he just imagined people with carrot eyes. Linus did not want carrot eyes.

He started his adventure (while angry at his friends), with a heart full of hope. Hope of meeting centaurs and unicorns and becoming friends with centaur and unicorn ponies. Especially the centaur ponies.

The first twenty minutes of wandering the woods was uneventful, there were no portraits here to stalk him. Just plants and trees and cute little cuddly bunnies.

Ten more minutes into his trek, he had come face-to-face with a hungry, hungry hippogriff. Linus' first instinct was to throw his bag at it-- and the hippogriff caught it deftly in her beak and flew away. Unbeknownst to him, he was lucky that he got away unscathed. All he knew was that he did not want to tell his mother why he needed a new bookbag. Only now was he beginning to regret his decision. It was time to turn back-- all he had seen so far were bunnies and neat plants that moved around and a scary hippogriff. But he hadn't tried one thing. Just looking wasn't working!

"Centauuuurs! Come out! I want to play!" He called out, cupping his hands over his mouth. If his words were heard by the centaurs, they were very much ignored. "CAN I BE YOUR FRIEND?!"

Still no response. How rude. He heard some howling, and the fine hairs on his arms stood on end.  Wolves. How could he forget that there were wolves in these woods?!

He immediately turned around, and began to run. Soon, every tree looked like the same tree, and all the trails looked like the same trails. Linus thought he was running in the right direction, but then he tripped over a root (That hadn't been there before. He swore the tree tripped him!), and promptly faceplanted into the ground.

"Unnngggghhh." He groaned, pushing himself up to his feet-- his face and entire front covered in dirt and leaves. As he looked around, Linus realized he was utterly lost. Food for the wolves.

He was going to die. But not without a fight! Linus took out his wand.

His breathing grew shallow and quick, and there was this twisting feeling in his chest that began to swell.  Linus tried to hold it back, his shoulders shaking and bottom lip trembling.  And so he began to run once more, wailing loudly-- tears streaming down his face. His wand arm flailed about; he was prepared to fight, or die crying.

After promising to stop by the staff party that night (or, in the very least, check it out! For how could she not?), Shona waved off, heading for the nearest view of the forest because it was gorgeous, whatever one might say of it, and also, well. She could do with some fresh air.

…Okay, fine; maybe a lot of fresh air.

After a little over a month, Hogwarts was great, the werewolf had found—ruddy fantastic, even, if one had to be native about it. It was a magnificent castle, a wonder books could never do justice, with its spiny towers and shifting staircases, its cavernous halls and charming portraits. And the people inside it were… diverse and many, each and everyone of them their own smell flavor. Individually, they were a book, bits of their life hinted in scents; together, they were practically a living a thing—strong, practically sentient, as the more figuratively alive were, but not unpleasant, necessarily. Merely… strong. Compelling, even, and certainly gave no end of excitement.

But it was also unfamiliar, and in that—lonely. No matter how friendly some of them were. Here, Shona was alone, in a way she hadn’t been for a long time. Back home, she had family. But here? Her closest– her pack, steadfast no matter geography– were as close as London. And while she had done what she could to make her own space at the castle—still it seeped in, the strangeness. Not-home-ness. No matter how much a robust Herbology professor might remind her of an aunt, or a deputy headmaster’s snark might remind her of another– a counselor, who reminded her of some very dear cousins– a perimeter she circled these days, until the very trees themselves became familiar– it wasn’t home.

Leaning against a boulder– one tall and looming like a member of Stonehenge –Shona closed her eyes and simply breathed. Here, she was unanchored. And it sucked.

It took her a moment to realize that the faint wailing wasn’t a far-off wind, but crying. Shona’s eyes shot open. Pushing off from the wall, she stepped forward; her head twitched to the side as she tried to place it…

The forest.

Shona clenched her jaw, thinking fast. Despite the pull on her heartstrings, there were things that mimicked little ones, and for a cry to come from the forest… It wasn’t completely innocuous, to the magizoologist. (She’d been to the Philippines, once; there were things there you wouldn’t believe.)

But on the other hand… The only thing that came to mind, wouldn’t be found here. And they cried like babies. This one wasn’t all that different, but it was enough. And so it was with that thought, that very thought, that Shona ran. She ran and ran and ran, until a leap had her vaulting over a log… and landing on four legs.

The ground blurred, then, in this form; like this she was faster, more agile—and better blended in, for those unfamiliar with packs. The forest was already dark, practically black with its fog and cover, but it wasn’t sight that led her. She could hear for miles, even in a forest as thick as this one, and with its denizens quiet about their business (or far away, as it were) it was even less of an issue. And even if it weren’t…

She was a werewolf, one who embraced what she was without losing sight of who she was.

The crying grew louder. But so were other things, tiny sounds– crunching leaves, snapping branches –growing not in volume, but in direction. Aw, hell–

Skidding to a stop, Shona threw back her head and howled, all challenge and warning rolled into one.

(She’d pay for that later, she knew.)

As the last of the echoes faded, she listened for the panicked breathing, the hiccoughing and thudding heart, and set off again, pressing on with even more determination than before until there it was, a figure in the distance, stumbling through shrubs and past trees, a trace of salt in the air—Linus.

Frog kid. Audrey’s kid.

Shona raced ahead—shifting while she did. It meant she slowed, but if she could speak… “LINUS!” she shouted, vaulting over another log, another boulder. Dark hair billowed from behind her; she’d forgotten to pull it back. “LINUS, STOP.”

Linus heard a powerful howling noise and was startled into silence, though he couldn’t seem to control the tears streaming down his face or the heavy breathing. He pointed his wand towards the howling noise, but he couldn’t think of any spells that would help! None that he could focus on in a pinch! So he kept running, hyperventilating and nearly out of breath.

He skidded to a halt, however, when he heard a familiar voice calling his name. Linus looked around, only to see Professor Donovan!

The large-eared gryffie was usually happy to be caught doing something against the school rules, as it usually meant the focus was on him. But this was a different sort of happiness, tinged with absolute relief. Shona was a wolf herself, she would know how to get out of the woods. She would know how to fight anything dangerous and scary that wanted him to be their next snack.

Linus stumbled before running towards his new hero. He threw his arms around her and buried his face in her shirt.  “Idon’twannabeeaten” He said, almost unintelligibly. He held onto her tightly, as if he was trying to squeeze the life out of her.

This kid. This kid, seriously.

Watching him stop– quiet– with something powerful and tight knotting up her chest, Shona couldn’t help it as her shoulders slackened with relief, the awful knot in her chest loosening just a bit. He’d listened to her; that was– that was good. That made catching up to him that much more easy–

(Not that she didn’t think she couldn’t have, had Linus not stopped, but—there was a ravine not too far from here. He would have fallen into it soon enough, if he had kept on going the way he had, and she wouldn’t have been able to catch him in time. Just thinking about it–)

Pushing off from the log, Shona jogged towards him, just a few steps to catch him before he flung his arms around her. He was only eleven, small and skinny at that, but his grip was tight—tighter than it ought to have been, and it made her throat close up, kind of, just thinking of why. For that, she stooped over him, wrapping her arms around him, too, rubbing circles into his scrawny back.

When she finally drew away– peeling him off of her as one might a clingy monkey or child – it was only so that she could fall to eye level, putting her weight onto one knee and drawing him into a hug again. It was, maybe, a lot more tactile than a properly detached authority figure should be, but—she had always been tactile, Shona, wanting to give touch and be given it in return. And she had five younger siblings and six nieces and nephews to show that an abundance of physical reassurance, hugs, went a long way. “You’re not going to be,” she murmured, cupping the back of that bony, silly head into her shoulder with a pale spread of her hand. Her voice was low, soothing, with only a slight lilt of amusement to maybe– hopefully– lighten the mood. “You’re much too stringy anyway.”

It went without saying that whoever tried–she’d eat them first.

They couldn’t stay like that for long, though, not here, in the Forest, where things worse than she lived and breathed (and she may have committed a grievous faux-pas), and so before long (perhaps as soon as she’d sensed the first year begin to calm– sobbing easing into hiccups, rabbiting heartbeat beginning to slow), Shona pulled away again, this time more firmly to better look into that… tear-streaked face. Sticking a hand into a pocket of her red, red robes, she drew out a handkerchief—hers, but clean. “Blow,” she commanded, voice still low, but firm.

Although Linus was small for his age, he very rarely felt small. He usually felt strong and brave, like a true lion should. But nothing made him feel his physical size more than being embraced by the wolfish professor before him. It wasn’t unwelcome—it was comforting, soothing. It made forget, in the moment, just how scary and awful being lost in the forest was. He couldn’t possibly be lost with Donovan. She seemed to know this place better than anyone else.

When she finally peeled him off, Linus had to resist the urge to cling to her leg or hold her hand. No. He couldn’t act like a little kid anymore. He had to be brave again. The little lion put on the most valiant face he could—stern, chin forward and eyes facing straight ahead.  “I don’t need to blow my nose.” Yes he did. He paused for a moment. “Fine.”  Linus blew his nose into the handkerchief and wiped his eyes.
 
“I wanted to make friends with the centaur ponies.” He finally said, “They weren't here”

Lips pursed as Linus stared ahead, suppressing a smile because she knew he wouldn’t appreciate it, but it wasn’t much of one anyway because the sight was as cute as it was, kind of, a little heartbreaking. An eleven-year-old shouldn’t have to put on a brave face in a place that would creep out any sane adult.

She was relaxed enough, though, to wince a little at his phrasing. Centaur ponies. As much she loved to mock the creatures– and indeed, see someone call them that to their faces –she hoped that brave, reckless soul wouldn’t be someone she was responsible for. “Oh, Linus,” she sighed. It was times like this she really regretted the fact that her class was only for third years and up.

It’d be easy enough, telling him what they were (proud, arrogant, four-legged super snobs about Astronomy) and their feelings about humans (cynical at best, hateful bastards at worst), but the thought of telling it to this face, with its reddened nose and puffy eyes and unhappy moue, was just—no. (A world of no.) Maybe– maybe later, when they were both safely out of the forest, in warmer clothes with something hot to drink. But until then…

She took Linus’ hands, resisting the brief but ubiquitous urge to nose them; instead, she turned them over, palms down, and gave them a gentle squeeze. “Centaurs aren’t like us,” she tried, the words coming out somewhat stilted as she grasped for a tactful way of putting things it without totally lying. “They… keep to themselves, their own kind, and are pretty careful even with each other. Anyone who’s looking for them—it makes them very suspicious.” In this forest especially. “You’ll just get yourself lost.”

Like now, she was tempted to add but didn’t. She suspected the kid could hear it himself without her help.

“The adults don’t like us.” Linus replied, not completely convinced that the younger centaurs were so cowardly. But, he couldn’t deny that looking for anything in the Forbidden Forest would get him lost… That’s how he ended up here in the first place, red-faced and puffy eyed.  He looked at Shona with wide eyes; he had so many questions to ask her about centaurs! And were there frog creatures in the forest too? And what about the wolves? Why weren’t the wolves trying to eat them right about now?

“Are there—are there even centaur ponies…?” Linus asked softly, eyes, if possible, growing wider.

He hoped that Professor Donovan wouldn’t crush any hopes and dreams of those magnificent little creatures existing.

Shona looked into those hopeful eyes and barely, barely suppressed a wince. She was at a fork in the road, so to speak, and neither path was looking particularly inviting—more so, honestly, given their location. There weren’t any centaurs nearby, she didn’t think, but centaurs had ways of concealment that were still baffling to wizardkind.

The forest was no place to be having a conversation about them.

Lips pursed, Shona stared at him, gnawing on her lip for a moment before letting out a sigh. “You’re going to have to explain to me what you mean by ‘centaur ponies’,” she finally said, opting for the refuge of the third, not-quite-path between the two options. “But on the way back.” Pushing off from her knees, onto her feet, Shona stood. She offered the little Gryffindor a crooked smile as she moved past him—heading off into another direction. Away from the ravine. “It isn’t safe here, even for me.”

As if on cue, the tiny noises picked up again– more cautiously than before, but there was a very definite sense of testing rather than tentative, and Shona didn’t want them to be around for it.