Figaro barked out a laugh, his first impression that Moira was joking. But then she just ... left it hanging there. Figaro looked away from his handful of rejected crab grass to search for some sign on Moira's face that she was pulling his leg.

Nothing.

"Kurby isn't an Aur--"

"You're not a mur--"

"..."

For a moment the same uneasy tension hung in the air, the same feeling from back in the house when they were joking - joking? - about being dogs or animagi or whatever.

Suddenly, Figaro gasped and reached into his hair with both hands. It had just hit him. It all made sense! Damn, he felt dim. It explained a lot about her: living out in the middle of nowhere, guarded, socially isolated.

"Moira," he whispered. "Are you a werewolf? You're a werewolf. Holy shit. That sucks. Aw, that git!" 

Figaro's face fell into a snarl of disgust. Who would come rolling up to sweet Moira's cottage and accuse her of murder. He didn't actually believe she was stabby. This wasn't the first time lately that Kurby's name had come up being a royal arse.[1]

His track record with werewolf friends was not stellar. From joking about Fauna being a werewolf in school because she'd kissed Ollie (there had been a song), to accidentally outing Zelig to the whole school... yeah, he'd learned a couple of things the hard way. This time he nodded slowly.

"I support you," he said totally serious. "I won't tell anyone." He held up his hands in a sort of voila. He'd done it. He'd not been an arsehole.

1.	Oct 8, 2011 - Mop It Up

Figaro worked through everything with half sentences. Seeing his outrage on her behalf was an odd experience for Moira. Others caring for her, between her family and friends, had a sense of normalcy but empathetic anger was less common. Being a private person she didn't go blabbing or crying about all her problems or injustices and instead dealt with them in solitude when possible.

Leaning her arm more on the fence and watching his path to a logical - if flawed - conclusion she couldn't help but smile at him. While some of his mistakes at Hogwarts had reached her attentive ears, his promise of secrecy and support was endearing in his earnestness.

"I believe you and appreciate that but I'm not a werewolf. I am, actually, an animagus. A wolf not a cat. The investigation was of an attack in the middle of the day. They suspected a direwolf but wanted to explore this possibility." Moira gestured at herself then paused. "Bagnold didn't know who I was until he saw me." Not that it helped. Kurby's parting comment when he left was still one belonging to a bawbag.[1]

Absently she scratched an Aethonan's head, watching Fig for his next reaction; relief, disbelief? Even from all her observations people were still hard to predict sometimes.

1.	Don't Cry Wolf

A smile from Moira, that was an unexpected reaction. Figaro opened his mouth to react three times before he sort of sighed and dropped his hands.

"Wha-hat?" He was relieved and stunned.  "Well, okay. That. Makes more sense than my thing."

He crossed his arms and fidgeted from foot to foot. He shook his head and bit his lip. This was the big secret? It was a good one. And now, remembering, he laughed.

"Aw, and you let me just go on like that back in your room! You sly minx! The whole time. Psh! You're a real funny guy, MacBoid. Damn. Damn. You're good."

She was good. But she'd played her hand and now he had her figured out. She wouldn't be able to hide behind her mysterious vibe, anymore. He nodded, still clearly impressed by her clever evasion. He had a thousand questions about this daytime werewolf attack thing, or whatever it was, but they had more pressing issues.

"Well? Let's see it." He waved a hand.

Moira couldn't blame Fig for wanting a demonstration. He wasn't disbelieving but such a feat needed to be seen by non-animagi to be better understood. The witch considered for a moment, deciding if showing him would be the best course. They had come this far. She stepped away.

Her transformation from human to animal was almost effortless. In the blink of an eye the woman was gone and a large white wolf stood in her place. Lifting her head she sniffed the air and sorted through the scents; Damp grass, mud, Figaro, pegasi, wood, and a rabbit not too far away.

The horses, well used to both Moira's forms, did not startle or move away and instead seemed to further relax.

Lowering her nose she looked to Figaro with blue eyes and tilted her head.

As a canine creature, Moira was able to read people much easier. Emotions could be hidden with practice but their scents still changed based on what they were feeling. If too much discomfort by or pressure from her occurred she would know and could quickly change back. Since he was expecting it, the wolf doubted there would be.

Everyone had seen transfigurations before. Everyone had seen a mouse warp and twist and drop its hair to become a tea cup, or a shoe start jumping and flapping until it was a bizarre facsimile of a basset hound. But Animagi were far rarer and, in Figaro's opinion, far grosser. Figaro had seen it up close one other time, when Raine Almasy surprised him and the onlookers of the Tetrawizard Tournament, transforming into a lynx (or something) in the middle of challenge.[1] It wasn't enough to really prepare him for seeing it again.

Even though his brain knew it was Moira and not a real wolf, his instincts got the first say.  Figaro backed off and laughed nervously.

"Merlin's balls...! What the hell...!" he said in a wow'd, high pitched marveling. "That's so cool..."

Still a few feet back from her, he sort of bent and turned to get a better look. She looked exactly right. I mean, he didn't have a wolf on hand to compare, but all physical trace of Moira was gone. He had to admit, she looked as deadly as a real wolf. Maybe it wasn't that far-fetched for the Ministry to just pop in to make sure she hadn't mauled someone.

"That's amazing. Can you smell me? Do you hang out with other wolves? Do you want to bite me? Are you naked?"

He put his hands in his hair and grit his teeth in a still-amazed grin. They could not waste this.

1.	Nov 21, 2009 - Glory

Figaro's examination was less thorough than Raine Almasy's search for distinguishing features had been when Moira registered at the Ministry[1]. Had Sasha not dragged her along with him that day her registering at all was questionable though she would have gotten around to it eventually. Probably.

Once he was done, high-pitched exclamations and all, Moira sat back and stared at him in a dumbfounded manner. Those were his questions? Now she did kind of want to bite Fig for reasons that had nothing to do with a wolf's nature.

True, not everyone could be knowledgeable about animagi. Adopting the senses of the animal and not just the appearance might not be obvious. Figaro also asked if she was naked. She had fur! If she lost her clothes during the transformation then why would she change with him around?

Moira the wolf continued to stare at him.

1.	Oh Paperwork

Moira the wolf just sat down and continued looking at him. No answers to his questions came, and for a long moment, there was silence. Just the wind on a damp afternoon; a horse snorted. Figaro crossed his arms, his awe beginning to fade into awkward. Um, what now.

Figaro wanted to pet her. He narrowed his eyes, not at all sure how to ask that.

Can I pet you? No way that didn't sound weird.

Is it okay if I touch you? That sounded worse somehow.

Should he hold his hand out like when you want to be polite to a new dog, but that would sort of imply he expected her to sniff him. Yea, that wasn't going to work. It wasn't that he wanted to pet Moira, he wanted to pet a wolf, but every time he visualized himself doing it, scratching the wolf behind the ear, he pictured himself scratching human Moira and he couldn't fathom she'd appreciate that.

"Can I - " he found himself just starting to ask. "Can I pet you? You can say no if that's weird. If it helps, you can pet me. No. That would probably not help. I mean you can, but I doubt you want to. Can't you talk like that?"

Were she not currently the wolf Figaro wanted to pet, Moira might have laughed at the situation. Had their places been reversed, he a chihuahua and she a person, the witch would have wanted to pet the dog too. The biggest difference between them being she likely wouldn't have asked, knowing it was an actual person.

His last question she could answer, at least. Opening her mouth she let her tongue hang out and a sound. A sound, not quite a whine, emitted from her throat. Pulling her tongue back in she closed her jaws shut again. No, she didn't have the capability to talk as a person while being a wolf. An animal incapable of speech suddenly talking. Even Moira wouldn't react calmly to something like that.

If it looks like a wolf and it sounds like a wolf then it must be a wolf. Wasn't that part of the point?

After a few more moments of internal debate Moira finally flicked her ear and reached forward, lowering her head in agreement. Was this weird? Most definitely. Could she blame him? No. So long as he didn't make it weirder than it already was.

Still the wolf remained mostly motionless and silent and Fig wondered if he'd crossed a line. But she made a sort of yippy murmur. Figaro hadn't expected that noise to come out of a creature that big. But hey, today we were learning things. And then, oh shit, she ducked her head.

"Oh. Oh! Is that a 'yes'? Yeah, okay buddy..." Figaro took a cautious step forward. He knew it was Moira, but he hadn't quite gotten used to her looking like a wild animal.

He reached out and touched the top of her head. Her fur was surprisingly dense and a tiny layer of dampness had settled on the top. When he moved his fingers in a light scritching motion, he felt that the fur under was totally dry. He moved his hand behind her ear and found that really soft little patch just behind it.

Then he remembered that it was Moira, and he laughed at the oddness of it. "There you go."

He gave her a last pat pat and stepped back. What was the proper etiquette after petting your friend?

"You have nice fur," is what he went with.

Although Moira had not been sure of what to expect, having a hand on her head was not all that unpleasant. This experience was not something she wanted to further test or repeat but it did help her understand why so many animals enjoyed being petted.

Glancing up at his compliment on her fur the animagus blinked. Well, it wasn't like she'd know if it was nice or not except that it kept her warm and dry.

Enough time had gone by. With a bit of a stretch the wolf transformed back to her natural human state.

Moira looked to her friend and began answering his questions almost immediately. "I have all the senses a wolf has, there aren't any other wolves around here, even as a wolf my mind is my own, wolves have fur they don't need clothes, and as you guessed I can only make the sounds a normal wolf can." There were wolves towards Edinburgh, by the Spectre estate, but Figaro didn't need to know that detail.

Moira the Wolf stretched back long and in just the way she'd changed into a wolf, she began to transform back to herself. Her fur faded away, her paws stretched into long slender fingers, her long brown hair grew re-appeared. Figaro shook his head, impressed. Now that she had her voice back, she supplied the remedy to his curiosity.

Figaro leaned against a fence post.

"So, why'd you do it?" He'd heard the process was long, difficult, and painful. "What do you use it for?"

For Figaro, 'because it's cool' would have been a totally acceptable response. But Moira was deliberate and practical and he suspected there was something more to it, for her.

"Why? It's not obvious?" Moira considered her guest for a moment. Maybe not. "I study and work with creatures more than anything else. I thought being an animagus would give me a better understanding of them." She paused as the small mare nudged her shoulder. "I wasn't wrong, exactly."

Experiencing the world through senses different than her own certainly gave Moira a new perspective. Changing into a wolf the first dozen times hadn't been easy not so much because of transforming but due to learning the world again. The way living creatures, plants and other things too, smelled to a human did not smell the same way to a wolf. Deciphering the scents alone had been extremely frustrating to the young woman at first.

Absently she wondered if Sasha and Raine dealt with the same problem when they first changed, too.

"As for use, I suppose it's a good trick to have if I were ever in trouble." There would have to be no other options left in order for her to use it though. "Otherwise, I go for a run every morning." The runs helped her get ready for the day, keep fit, and let her smell if anything unusual was in the area. Like a Dobhailen.[1]

1.

Dobhailen

Yes, it really should have been obvious. Figaro shook his head and smiled. Moira wanted to be a wolf for self-defense and communion with nature. And jogging. Also, jogging. He might have wondered what kind of trouble she could possibly find herself in that would require fangs, but their Hogwarts cohort had terrible luck. Fig wondered if he should figure out how to turn into a bear ...

Do ye see the white whale, lads! Skin's peeling off! Don't pick at it! The pumpkin greeted the pair as they made their way back towards the cottage. The sun was setting earlier and earlier and even though it was just barely five, the sky was starting to dim.

Moira offered her floo, but Figaro declined.

"No thanks, I like flying," he said as he got his gear together.

"If you don't like it, I think he'll go to sleep if you sing to it," Fig said with a nod toward the pumpkin who was now whispering about moss, mold, and murder. "Or you could punt 'm."

Figaro thanked her for the food, pulled on his goggles, and kicked off the ground. As he made a wide arc around the property to gain altitude he crowed out into the darkening skies.

"Awoooooooo....."

fin