Ariel left the castle at dusk, cutting through the dying light along the edge of the Forbidden Forest, past the fuming greenhouses and the cold, empty Quidditch pitch. It was the only time she could move about unnoticed, when the rest of the castle was at dinner and the grounds were mostly deserted except for a few straggling Ravenclaws who cared more about their star charts than the looming threat of the Forest. Ariel breathed in the sharp, earthy air, the last trace of snow and old leaves sour against the back of her tongue.
She kept her hands in her pockets, eyes fixed on the gamekeeper’s hut below. Hagrid’s massive shadow bent over the fence as he peered off into the distance. She waited until he’d disappeared inside, then skirted the edge of the thicket, boots squelching in the late-winter muck.
Snuffles was always waiting for her. He looked even more ragged than a month ago — coat patchy, ribs stark under the grimy black fur, eyes fever-bright and too knowing.
Ariel didn’t call to him. She never did. He always came.
When she reached the clearing, Snuffles was there, circling the far side of the stump, tail rigid and hackles raised. He didn’t bark or whine. He just watched her, tense, as if waiting for the next blow. Ariel crouched down, arms resting loosely on her knees. She let the silence stretch, waiting for him to make the first move.
After a minute, Snuffles slunk forward, nose twitching at the air around her. He sniffed her boots, her hands. Finally, he pressed his head into her palm, the enormous skull trembling a little under her fingers.
He shivered, then settled onto his haunches, tongue lolling out in a thin, broken half-smile.
She fished a hunk of bread from her pocket, tore it in half, and offered it. Snuffles wolfed it down, then licked her fingers, his pink tongue warm and rasping. He shuffled closer, flopping onto his side, exposing the soft underbelly as a gesture of trust or utter exhaustion.
Ariel traced circles into the matted fur, eyes fixed on the place where the sun died behind the trees.
"You're looking worse," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "I thought you’d be doing better now that it’s warmer."
Snuffles huffed, a wet dog sigh. He pawed at her hand, nudging it toward the hard knot of muscle at the base of his neck. There was a fresh scratch there — deep, crusted with blood, surrounded by old scars and half-healed wounds.
She dug out the little bottle of healing ointment she’s brewed herself. Snuffles didn’t flinch as she worked it into the gash. He just lay there, eyes half-shut, breathing slow and careful.
They stayed like that until the light was almost gone. Ariel listened to the hush of wind through the pine needles, the distant shouts from the Quidditch pitch, the faint, rhythmic thud of her own heart. She remembered what it had felt like, months ago, to think of the future as something she could shape and hold. Now everything seemed to slip through her fingers, leaving only the mess and the ache.
Snuffles yawned, then rolled upright, looking at her with something painfully human in his expression. He nosed her wrist once, then loped off into the trees, barely glancing back.
Ariel watched until the darkness swallowed him whole.
dailybridgerton
romaincrisis
yousharknotpass
pixelskylines
2087
amandla
snowghoul
discoholicmusic
turnnoffyourmind
