Padfoot's Puppies

01: "There'll Be Something Wrong with the Pup"

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After the representatives from Accidental Magic Reversal Squad had done their stuff on Aunt Marge:

Aunt Marge burst out her brother's front door, cooing and cuddling her poor old Ripper. That insolent whelp of a nephew, she fumed indignantly. Frightening her poor dear Ripper so badly that he couldn't stop shivering and whining! She gushed furiously as she thought back to that moment when that insolent whelp had showed his bad breeding when he dared to answer back at her - and then throwing his pudding at her! Fortunately it missed her, but unfortunately her poor Ripper copped it instead. Her poor darling got the most tremendous shock of his life that would take the most careful nursing to recover from.

Now, that was the utmost limit. She was going to show what those weaklings at St Brutus' what a real caning should look like - especially for the likes of this delinquent that her poor brother was lumbered with. She seized Dudley's Smeltings cane in her hammy fist, made an enraged grab for her nephew. She was all ready to seize her nephew by the ankles and pummel him with all the vigour of beating a Dover sole until it looked like a run-over sting ray.

Unfortunately, he had been too quick for her. He had slipped through her grasp and had fled out the front door. She was fortunately far too full of food (and fat) to follow him very far and was compelled to leave him to disappear into the night. She had to consol herself for the rest of the evening with storming around the living room, shrieking to her brother to call the police and have that delinquent boy arrested. When Vernon seemed oddly reluctant to do so, she had seized her poor, trembling Ripper, clasped him to her overweight chest with such force that he was in imminent danger of being smothered, and stormed out of the house while barking:

"When the police arrest that boy, you will tell them to lock that boy up in prison! Prison, d'you hear me? That St Brutus is far too soft! Prison is the only place for that dreadful boy after what he did to my poor Ripper! And when my poor Ripper is recovered - that is, if he recovers, my poor darling - I am going to tell the newspapers, the Queen, the Prime Minister, anyone, about how namby-pamby St Brutus is, how it needs to get its act together - really Vernon! Whatever are you rubbing your leg like that for?!?"

*~*~*

Now Aunt Marge was storming into her own house, still in an indignant huff because her poor Ripper was such a nervous wreck...oooh, that nephew. Her poor Ripper was going to need the most careful nursing indeed. So she laid him out most carefully in his favourite basket. She spent the rest of the day cooing and fussing over Ripper, and feeding him his favourite cuts of meat and the most convalescing chocolates. Indeed, Aunt Marge was so preoccupied with her poor Ripper that she had failed to notice how her prize breeding bulldog, Princess, was behaving...

Princess was now in the full throngs of heat. She was pacing the house, marking her territory in the manner that bitches in season do. The other dogs had not yet made their pass at her - that was up to her, not them. They had to contend themselves staking their claims and hope she would give them a call.

However, Aunt Marge had been so preoccupied that she had equally failed to notice that there was another dog in the offing. Had she noticed it, she would have kicked the monstrous black intruder right out into the garden with a full Marjorie Dursley kick. For it would have looked the most inferior, miserable mongrel she had ever seen. It was pitifully thin, its black coated in deplorable shape - yet her bulldogs seemed to be keeping a wide berth of it for some reason. There seemed to be something in its eye that told them that this was not a dog to be trifled with.

*~*~*

Now, Padfoot had only come in the off-chance that there might be some spare food. Poor Padfoot was so hungry. He had been passing by, and seeing that this lady was clearly a dog lover, was so sure that she wouldn't begrudge him with a little titbit, at least. But he was disappointed. This lady was far too busy with some incredibly spoilt, overweight lump of a bulldog that looked like Goyle (Goyle Snr, that is) after a pig-out at a Hogwarts Christmas feast. The other dogs looked just as spoilt, he snorted in a doggy manner. No wonder, with this over-sized bulldog that was supposed to pass for a Muggle woman.

Just then, Padfoot felt a gentle nuzzle and a lick against his own face. He turned and met the more welcoming face of Princess. She was the most inviting dog he had seen in a long while. As her scent assailed his canine nose, he almost reeled and rolled to the floor from such ecstasy that had felt so unnatural and alien to him after twelve years in Azkaban...

Princess nudged Padfoot even further. As her heated scent assailed Padfoot's long-dulled Azkaban senses, he felt almost nauseated and extremely giddy. As he sensed his gracious host was on heat, certain feelings overwhelmed him for the first time in twelve years...

Princess was sensing that here at last was a real man - well, dog....

Padfoot, being such a sweet dog (well, maybe except where a certain rat was concerned), proceeded to do what any sweet dog would do in such circumstances...

One hour of several romantic doggy moments and one romantic meal over at Marge's refrigerator later-

"Shoo, you dirty big mongrel!" Aunt Marge heaved an enormous kick at the black intruder that had dared invade her home and demolish the contents of her refrigerator. But he missed her neatly and had bolted out the door, triumphantly snatching Ripper's bone as its prize. In the background, Princess woofed a cheer and a farewell for Padfoot.

*~*~*

"These are mongrels! They should be drowned!" Aunt Marge roared furiously as she stared at the black mongrel pups that Princess was now whelping. It had been that black mongrel that had breezed in here, she had no doubt. That wretched mongrel had dared to breed with her prize breeding bulldog and now here was the result right in front of her! Twelve miniature versions of that insolent mongrel, some bearing traits of their bulldog mother, littering quite happily in her house! Well, she wasn't going to stand for that. They were going to be drowned, and at once!

But when she stooped to scoop them up, they seemed to be glued to the floor. She pulled on them with all her strength (and Aunt Marge has plenty of that!) and still they wouldn't budge. She staggered back, feeling strangely frightened about them. They were...unnatural...just like...just like...she couldn't quite put her finger on it...her insufferable nephew. Yes, that was it. She didn't know why, but that was definitely it.

As the puppies grew, Aunt Marge found to her great consternation that they were becoming even more like her insufferable nephew. Whenever she tried to drown them, they were either stuck to the floor, or disappear and suddenly re-appear in the most outrageous, and even embarrassing of places. The most embarrassing was Marge's enormous wardrobe, where they would make nests in her XXXL underpants and bra cups. They would appear in her kitchen, where they would bark quite impudently at her as they wolfed down on the enormous cakes that she ordered daily for herself and her beloved dogs. At teatime they would appear like on her dining table and devour her enormous Yorkshire Puddings. On full moons they would somehow appear on the roof and yowl all night at Luna and all her glory. Underneath them, Marge would also yowl because she couldn't sleep - and the neighbours would likewise yowl because they couldn't get any sleep either. Once, even in Colonel Fubster's beloved antique car when he paid her a visit. The Colonel was most outraged at the mess they made to his magnificent antique upholstery. The puppies barked gleefully as they watched her open her monstrous purse to find sufficient payment.

The worst part of it all was that the insufferable puppies were simply hindering poor Ripper's recovery. Poor Ripper had even worse than a relapse - he was now a completely broken down wreck and would disappear under the house, along with the other bulldogs. They were definitely giving those puppies as wide a berth as they gave their father. As for Princess, she barked with joy and, together with her puppies, snapped at Marge's heels to drive her under the house along with Ripper & Co. Aunt Marge did her best, but considering her monstrous bulldog size, it was a bit of a tall order for her...

*~*~*

The Ministry had been a bit too preoccupied with the puppies' father to take any notice of the strange goings-on at Marge's house. But at last, the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures finally began to take notice of the magically-minded puppies and sent a squad to Marge's house to pick them up. They needn't have bothered to alter Marge's mind, though - she was so much of a nervous wreck by now with these unnatural puppies that she could hardly take any notice of anything much - but the puppies again proved that they were following in their famous father's footsteps - well, paw-prints. When the DRCMC arrived on Marge's doorsteps, all that was there to greet them was a very muddled and confused Aunt Marge trying to squeeze under her house along with her yowling dogs. Only Princess was available to greet them. She licked them politely enough and quietly wuffed gleefully as they found that the mysterious magical puppies were nowhere to be found in the house. They had disappeared permanently from Aunt Marge's home. She would have been so relieved at that, had she not been so incoherent at the time. Perhaps she might improve later on...

*~*~*

Luna was again shining in all her glory. Below her twelve half-grown black puppies bayed in triumph. Like their famous doggy father, they had escaped a vile prison (well, a vile human bulldog who was going to drown them), cheated those idiots from the Ministry, and now they roaming across the countryside being magical mischief-makers.

Being so flummoxed with such unnatural puppies, Aunt Marge had never gotten around to naming them. But that was okay with them; they had all named themselves. Well, some distant voice from afar had given them names:

Padfoot II: the first born of course, and a born leader to boot. Padfoot II has a cooler head than his father, but when aroused he can be just as ferocious. He commands respect from the more hot-heated siblings in the litter. Like his father and several of his brothers and sisters, he has a streak for mischief. Or maybe it's just their puppy-dog traits...

Prongsy: Like his wizard namesake, he sticks the closest to Padfoot II. Prongsy has more of the Gryffindor daring streak and definitely his talent for mischief which he shares the most with Padfoot II. But what springs these two into action the most often is when some other dog is in trouble, when there is some nasty bully afoot, or worst of all - a slur on their father or anyone they sense is his friend.

Kingsley and Weasley: Padfoot II and Prongsy are the ones who contemplate the most mischief, but it is Kingsley and Weasley who get into the most scrapes. Perhaps it is because they tend to be more reckless in their mischief.

Syria: Syria is clearly the one with her father's blazing temper. Together with her bulldog blood and her bulldog-like black face, this makes for a dangerous combination. If Syria does not attack you, she will yowl like her grandmother and drive you so crazy that she has hardly any need to attack you anyway.

Moony and Luna: brother and sister with the closest affinity to the moon. They are given to melancholy, perhaps having absorbed some of their father's suffering. They are the most serious and grumpy (perhaps it is their bulldog blood). They have none of the mischievous streaks of their siblings. Still, they are fiercely loyal and brave, and will stick by their siblings in their madcap doggy schemes even if they don't quite understand them.

Firebolt and Nimbus: As their names suggest, Firebolt (brother) and Nimbus (sister) are the fastest of the pack. Most handy when the pack contemplates mischief, if they get into a sticky situation, or if they just need to swipe some fast food and be out of sight before some fussy witch comes out to chase those pesky Grims off.

Midnight: Midnight is the quietest and stealthiest of the pack. In the dark he is virtually invisible and absolutely cunning in stalking his prey, hiding from hunters, or just carrying out some mischief on behalf of the pack.

Tonksy: Like her witchy namesake, Tonksy is slightly clumsy, but with a warm, affable nature which makes her the gentlest of the puppies.

Alphard: Alphard's character is closest to Mad-Eye Moody's, and he is the most bulldog-like in appearance. But then again, Mad-Eye Moody was always a bit of a bulldog...

Together, they were all Padfoot's Puppies. They didn't quite know where they were going, except as far away from that bulldog woman and those humans from "the Ministry" who seemed to strike terror into them like they had never known - and to find their father. Somehow they knew their father was also running from that nasty "Ministry", whatever that was, and he needed them. Mischief, bulldog, temperament, loyalty, cunning, bravery, swiftness...together these traits would be the perfect combination to somehow, and somewhere - save their father from "the Ministry".