Nox Redux

The summer rain was cold and had soaked right through the dog's coat until it was wet through. It was a bedraggled looking creature, large as a mastiff, and yet thin and ill used. The sort of dog that would make any sensible person want to call the RSPCA to have taken off the streets in case it was dangerous. A stray obviously. It ran along the edge of the road as if the hounds of hell were on its tail, flanks heaving, muzzle foam flecked and paws bloody under the mud that spattered its shaggy dark coat.

Eventually it slowed, seemingly done in, but still didn't stop. Ahead there was a lay-by empty save for a caravan surrounded by a haze of blue smoke and the sound of a radio blaring out meaningless jingles and tinny music. The dog stopped, snuffling the air as the smell of frying onions and greasy hamburgers almost overwhelmed it. Saliva drooled from its mouth and it slowly moved forward again. The hamburger stall had no customers, perhaps it was only patronised by the foolhardy or the desperate. A man was sitting behind the counter, reading a paper and, against all food hygiene regulations, smoking. He looked up as the dog sat on the muddy tarmac in front of the stall and whined.

"Hamburgers are fifty pence," he told it, and then sniggered. "But it don't look like you've got any money."

The dog whined again.

"What d'you think this is, a bleeding charity? Just as well you're so scrawny otherwise I might think about turning you into a hamburger," he went on, as if the dog could understand him.

The dog looked up at him and growled ever so slightly in the back of its throat.

The man laughed at this. "Like to see you get in here, mate," he remarked, and finishing his cigarette, threw the butt on the ground beside the dog. It sizzled in the wet for a moment and went out.

The man went back to his paper, ignoring the dog, although it continued to whine softly every now and then.

Suddenly, the blue smoke from the grill started to turn black, and the man swore, "Oh bugger!" He flipped the overdone burgers and paused for a moment examining them. "Shit, last time I tried to sell 'em in this state, bastards put the Environmental Health on me," he told the dog, glancing at it. "Looks like it's your lucky day."

The dog stood up and barked, wagging its tail.

The man threw one of the burnt hamburgers onto the ground where the dog sniffed it, cautiously. It picked the now muddy, but still hot, hamburger up between its teeth and devoured it in a single bite. The man laughed and said, "Hungry, ain't ya?" He threw another one onto the ground. This disappeared as quickly, so he continued to feed the dog until all the burnt hamburgers were gone. "Saved me cleaning up at any rate," he muttered to himself.

In the distance, a car changed gear as it slowed down and the man looked up with some disbelief as it pulled into the lay-by. "Must be tourists," he muttered. Then he raised an arm menacingly at the dog and hissed, "Go on, get out of here! You'll put off me paying customers."

The dog took the hint. It jumped over the ditch at the back of the lay-by and disappeared through the hedge.

There was a field of sodden wheat on the other side of the hedge, flattened in places by wind. The dog slowly made its way along the edge of the wheat until it came to the corner of the field. Then it followed the fence up a gentle slope, away from the road and towards a patch of woodland at the top. The fence hummed gently to itself, crackling ozone into the surrounding air. The dog kept away from it, ignoring the black and white splotched cows in the pasture on the other side.

It was drier under the trees, but not much, the thin, mizzle rain dripped through everything. The dog violently shook itself spraying water everywhere, before flopping down on the ground in the shelter of a horse chestnut tree.

Some hours later, as the long summer dusk approached, the dog awoke, whining. It stood up, and then did a most undog-like thing. Its shape seemed to ripple and shift until where moments before there had stood a dog, there now stood a man. A pale, haggard looking man, who grimaced and rubbed his stomach muttering, "I'll Environmental Health him! If I've got food poisoning I'll turn him into a toad!"

The man sank down onto his heels and leaned back against the trunk of the tree. He sat there for a long time, eyes closed. Eventually he opened them and gave himself a shake, muttering, "Need to get some water." But he made no move to get up. Instead he inspected his hands, wincing as he moved his fingers. The knuckles were grazed, and the palms criss-crossed with cuts. "Oh, Padfoot, we're not in good shape," he said to himself. Then, shivering from the cold and the damp - his clothes were soaked through - he slowly pulled himself to his feet.

The man made his way through the wood, looking for some sign that there might be water nearby. When he came to the other side, he saw open pasture sloping down, but this time instead of a ribbon of road at the bottom of the hill, there was a twisting line of trees marking the course of a ditch or a stream. He sighed with relief. Then he leaned forward slightly and again his shape seemed to ripple and shift until once more the large, black dog stood there. It bounded down the slope in a straight line, heading directly for the line of trees.

It was so focussed on the water that it either did not notice or ignored two men standing in the shelter of a tree some way along the stream, on the other bank.

"…Sure I saw it, Bert," one was saying, in a nasal, Estuarine accent. The men appeared to be hunting something as they were carrying rifles, but had paused for a moment. "It'd be great if we shot it. We'd be famous."

The other man had been scanning the wheat fields to the north of them but at this remark he put down his binoculars and shook his head in exasperation. "Bloody Beast of Bodmin. Bodmin moor is what, a hundred odd miles away? What you saw, Pete, mate was a dog. Which is why we're out here now instead of inside watching Eastenders. Can't have stray dogs amongst the stock."

"Mind you if it was a dog, and Jeff along at burgers-R-us was feeding it then it's prolly dead, hur, hur," the other man sniggered. "I dunno why he hasn't been closed down yet."

"Prolly 'cos no-one's survived long enough to complain. Now come on! We ain't got all night."

Suddenly Pete glanced back along the stream and hissed, "Shhh! Be Quite! Look over there!" he pointed to a spot on the watercourse behind them, where a large, black dog was frantically lapping from the stream. "What did I tell you?" he whispered triumphantly.

Bert slowly raised his rifle to his shoulder, saying with a grin, "That is not the Beast of Bodmin, mate, that is a dog. Now, gently does it…" And he squeezed the trigger.

---

Several hundred miles away an old man with a grim expression was standing in an office, staring out through a diamond-paned, mullioned window. The view was picturesque, although in the thin, watery sunshine it did not look its best. The faint gleams of sunlight barely sparkled on the muddy grey waters of a lake, and the green of the lawns surrounding it looked sodden rather than verdant. Beyond the lake, the darker green of woodland was almost menacing, and in the distance, a moor-covered mountain loomed.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and the old man turned in preparation to greet his visitor. The office itself was a comfortable room, old fashioned perhaps, with polished wood panelling on the circular walls. It smelled of old leather and beeswax.

There was a knock at the door, and the old man said, "Come in, Severus."

The door opened and a younger man entered the room. He had greasy, dark hair, and a sneering expression on his sallow face, but this appeared to be habitual to him, and not an indication of how he was feeling. "Professor Dumbledore," he said formally.

"Severus, something has happened to Sirius," Dumbledore began without preamble.

"What do you mean?"

Dumbledore explained, "You remember of course that three weeks ago I sent him to alert some of the others and then told him to go to Remus and lie low there?

"I was there, Professor, of course I remember."

"This morning I received an owl from Remus asking for news."

"Black never arrived?" A slight smirk flickered across the younger man's features.

"Apparently not. But I resent your implication that it was because he has deserted us, Severus."

"He was always going to be a liability, Professor." the younger man's sneer twisted further. "He was never trustworthy before and now after twelve years in Azkaban, I'll be surprised if he's completely sane."

Dumbledore slammed a hand down onto his desk and his eyes flashed in anger. "I will not tolerate this any longer," he snapped. "As long as you let your personal animosity to him override your judgement, it is you who are the liability, Professor Snape. He is as important to our cause as you are. Is that clear?"

Snape took a step backwards, clearly surprised by the force of Dumbledore's anger. His own dark eyes flashed, and he seemed about to retort but then thought better of what he had been about to say. Instead, he took a deep breath before finally muttering, "As you wish, Professor."

"So long as we are clear on that. Now, it is of paramount importance that we find out what has happened to him. I want you to go to Remus and see if the two of you can pick up his trail."

Snape's sour expression deepened, but he said nothing, merely nodded, and with a swirl of his black robes turned and left, leaving Dumbledore standing staring thoughtfully after him.

TBC...