DOG DAYS → [SIRIUS BLACK X READER]

Chapter One

After your 5th year as a student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the routine of boarding school life quickly began to lose its appeal. As a student with both a witch and a muggle for a parent, the idea of one day becoming a talented witch like your mother had never once lost its appeal, and the presence of magic within your life was nothing short of, well, magical. But having to learn in a place where you're surrounded 24/7 by raging hormones and everyone you know is going through their awkward teen years right by your side was perhaps the worst part of it. Getting time alone was a rarity, but eventually you figured out how to resolve it.

Lunch in the Great Hall was almost completely optional, if you were hungry you went and if you weren't you'd find something to do for the hour. So you, desperate for some ounce of solitude within the walls of what you considered your second home, would stop by the Great Hall at the start of your lunch hour, tuck a few sandwiches and snacks into your bag, and find yourself a spot under your favorite tree that was nestled between the greenhouses and the Whomping Willow (but not nearly close enough to accidentally lose a limb) and far enough away from the stress of classes and the drama that seemed to follow your fellow students.

When your friends started taking notice of your absence, they didn't seem to have any complaints about your new lunch plans; and aside from making you promise that if something dragged you off into the Forbidden Forest and you never returned they'd get to keep your stuff, they weren't too bothered. You were a Gryffindor after all, wasn't being a little reckless in your nature? You reckoned that some of your teachers even caught on as well, and at some point during your 6th year you swore you spotted Dumbledore winking at you from across the teacher's table when he noticed you stuffing a bunch of grapes into your bag before disappearing out of the castle.

Now in your 7th year, your hour of solitude is a solid part of your daily routine at Hogwarts, and almost every day you find yourself sitting there, taking in the beauty of the school's grounds and catching up on your studies.

Like any other day before it, you sit comfortably within the shade that the tree offered; head buried in your Transfiguration notes as you put the finishing touches on them while the information is still fresh in your mind. It's halfway through the hour when you absentmindedly reach for a sandwich within your bag that you hear a rustling come from the bushes that line the outskirts of Hogwarts and separate it from the thick greenery of the Forbidden Forest. You freeze, looking up from your book and towards the woods you sat so close to. There's no movement despite the noise that you swear you just heard, and you wonder to yourself if it was just a figment of your imagination, since you've never heard of anything straying so close to the school grounds in the middle of the day, at least not recently.

You strain to hear for any other sounds, but you're met with nothing but silence. With this year's introduction of Dementors lurking around the school's perimeter, maybe sticking to your usual plans of sitting so far away from the confines of the school was a bad idea. Still, you're curious. Your eyes stay locked on the bushes, waiting for a sign of any possible movement and a thought pops into your head. Slowly, you pull out the sandwich you were originally reaching for, and as soon as you do, the rustling begins again, and this time, you see eyes; big, unnaturally gray eyes staring at you from within the bush.

A normal person, or maybe you on a good day would say, "Hell no!" at this and run away like someone who actually cared if they made it to their next class alive or not, but for some reason this isn't the case for you. You narrow your eyes, leaning forward slowly in hopes of catching a better glimpse of whatever's watching you. As soon as you move closer, it responds by moving back and disappearing into the green and out of your sight. You're insistent nonetheless, tucking your legs under and kneeling so you can stretch out your hand, this time with the sandwich you hold dangling from your fingers as an offering to whatever it is that seems so interested in it. With the clicking of your tongue, you beckon it closer, and with great satisfaction, it works.