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English
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Published:
2018-11-19
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948
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1/1
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Up to No Good

Summary:

After blowing up his Aunt Marge, Harry escapes Privet Drive and comes across a dog in the alley between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. This time, he doesn’t fall and the Knight Bus isn’t summoned.

Notes:

A rewrite of the scene when Harry first sees "the grim."

Work Text:

Harry tore through his trunk. It was dark, the summer night was cool, and he needed...needed...he just needed. Money, food, shelter for tonight and a plan for tomorrow. More than anything, he needed a better family that didn’t drive him to go rogue and blow up an aunt, but he wasn’t likely to find that in his trunk. The Ministry or school board or perhaps even Muggle police would catch up to him if he lingered for much longer here in the alley off Magnolia Crescent, he had to -

 

A presence behind him. He whirled around, staggering against his trunk and only just keeping his balance.

 

It was a dog. A colossal, hulking beast with matted fur and yellow teeth peeping out of its gaping maw. Harry lurched in a panic, swinging his wand round in front of him, and suddenly the monster was cowering, whining, with his ears back and his starved belly low to the ground. Harry felt like a right arse. The stray was probably just as scared of him as he was of it.

 

“Hey…” he said on a quavering breath, holding his wand out of sight for now. He kneeled on the gritty pavement, pulling the sleeve of his shirt over his hand and offering his fist. He wasn’t keen to lose any fingers if the mutt decided he was dinner.

 

The dog shuffled forward without hesitation, but kept his belly low and his ears back. His eyes flicked from Harry’s fist to his face constantly as he scooted closer and closed the gap. Harry forced himself to remain stock still as the huge animal raised itself up into a sitting position, towering over Harry where he crouched. The dog checked his face once more - as if asking permission - and then sniffed his hand eagerly.

 

“That’s it…” Harry murmured, scanning the dog for signs of aggression. He didn’t know what those signs were, exactly, but he saw no resemblance to Aunt Marge’s dog, Ripper, so he reckoned this one was friendly. “Good - er, boy,” he added after a brief glance down under.

 

A long, hot tongue slid over his fist then and Harry opened his hand in welcome. His sleeve uncurled slowly from where he’d clenched it tightly. The dog immediately shoved his large head against his palm, demanding an ear scratch.

 

Harry snorted. “Oh you’re not scared at all, are you? You’re just a little trickster looking for attention...” The dog beamed at him, licking his hand eagerly. “Well, I haven’t got food for you.”

 

Undeterred, the dog crowded him, filling Harry’s view with grimy fur that stank like rot. Harry sank his fingers into the vile pelt anyway. The dog was just a sack of bones and stench, but he was warm. It felt nice to have a living being press close to him like this, like he wasn’t -

 

“I’m an outlaw now, boy,” he explained. His throat felt tight and scratchy. He pushed his face against the filthy fur, inexplicably hoping the dog wouldn’t think less of him. “You’d best be off before they take you in with me.”

 

The dog made no attempt to move. He panted contentedly under the steady ministrations of Harry’s hands. Harry couldn’t remember the last time someone sought his touch, much less looked him in the eyes with anything other than contempt or disgust. Hermione hugging him goodbye at the train station, perhaps...

 

This was nice.

 

A siren in the distance. Harry was yanked from his reverie and thrust mercilessly back into reality. He stood, pretending for as long as he could that he was only holding the dog for balance. When he finally wrenched his hands away, he felt utterly empty and bereft of comfort. The dog remained by his side, staring up at him with trusting blue eyes.

 

“I haven’t got food for you…” he said again. Harry lifted his hands to show they were empty - or to keep himself from stroking that fur again. “Go find a nice family or something. I’m no good for you.”

 

The dog cocked his head curiously, then pitched forward in search of more pats. He busied his traitorous hands by fiddling with the tatty cuff of his sleeve. Harry frowned fiercely, hating himself for turning away the poor creature, but forcing out the words anyway:

 

“You don’t want anything to do with me, I promise you that. Nothing but trouble.”

 

The dog growled lowly and Harry blanched, hearing the echo of Ripper. He stumbled back, his calves hitting his trunk again. The once-distant siren was closing in, barreling down the street behind him. He was trapped.

 

But then the dog ducked down, ears going flat once more in the perfect image of submission. Harry swallowed. This was a tricky little blighter, far too smart to trust, but how could he say no to those pining blue eyes? He sighed, sinking down to sit on his trunk. His adrenaline had long since gone; he was tired.

 

The dog approached, whining softly. He licked Harry’s face and left a great smear of slobber over his glasses. Harry wrinkled his nose and made to push the beast off him, but held him closer instead. Try as he might, he couldn’t tear himself away this time.

 

The siren cut off and Harry darted a glance over his shoulder to see an ambulance pull up across the street. He let out a breath. So it wasn’t the police this time, but that didn’t mean the Ministry wouldn’t be after him.

 

Turning back to consider the loyal mutt, Harry asked, “Shall we go on the run together, then?”

 

It was the strangest thing - he could swear the dog grinned.