#i run to the bathroom but the door is old and lopsided and she paws at it until she can sneak in and headbutt me while i try to shit. like😭

[unusualshrimp]

"get a car, it'll be fun," they said, "cats don't need as much attention as dogs and they can chill on their own," they said

[gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights]

Rating: T

Chapter Summary:  Chat Noir brings up some renovations the base could use. Also, he and Ladybug flirt decide to study together.

Word Count: 2065 | Chapter 2/?

XXX

It was almost funny—in a twisted sort of way—how she could go from fighting for her life to panicking about her grades.

Today’s akuma had struck while she was supposed to be studying for her first physics exam.  Even with Rena Rouge and Carapace providing backup, the fight through Lord Labyrinth’s twisting maze had taken three hours.  

And, to top it off, she was stranded on the opposite side of the city.

“I’m sorry, Marinette,” Tikki said, curled up into a ball in her palms.  “You’re sure you don’t have even a crumb left?”

She patted her empty pockets.  “Nothing.”  

Tikki had already eaten her five backup macarons, two emergency protein bars, and even a crepe she’d snagged with the last of her change.  She couldn’t afford much more on a university budget.  Tikki didn’t always need to recharge after using Lucky Charm anymore, but she also couldn’t go on forever.

“The hideout is closer than your school, right?  We could stop there, then I can transform you and get you home.”

“Good idea, Tikki.”  Marinette pressed a quick kiss to her head before slipping her into her backpack, which had reappeared once she’d detransformed.  The heavy weight of her laptop and notebook pulling on her shoulders only added to her exhaustion.

“There’s a good entrance the next street over…”

Soon enough she was dropping down into the damp sewer.  In comic books, didn’t the heroes have cool hideouts?  But she couldn’t complain.  Chat may have been the one to suggest the location, but she’d agreed that it was the safest bet.  At least it would be a place she could rest for a minute.

The secret base was disguised from the outside, thanks to Rena Rouge’s new long-lasting illusion.  Marinette could only spot the door by looking for a specific pattern in the wall—four slightly shimmery bricks at about eye level.  She still patted the wall in three different places before brushing the secret handle.

“Finally,” she breathed, fumbling for the padlock.  Once she pulled it just out of the illusion’s range, she could enter the password.  Four letters, one on each dial.

HOME.  She’d thought it was too obvious, but Chat Noir had teared up once he’d seen the lock’s default password, and she couldn’t bring herself to change it.

With the lock still in hand, she stepped into the room— 

—Only to hear someone yelp and fall off the couch.

“Who is it?  Who’s there?”  Chat Noir’s voice rang out.

Marinette nearly jumped back and slammed the door.  But thankfully, Chat’s hand was covering his eyes. 

His ungloved hand.  Thankfully, he’d at least had the sense to cover his miraculous with some kind of… hair scrunchie?  Oh well, whatever worked.

“Don’t look!”  She said redundantly.  If he’d gotten a glimpse of her, it was already too late.

“I won’t, I pawmise.”

She took her fake mask from its hook and slipped it over her face.  Then she shoved her backpack and shoes into the cabinet labeled LADYBUG, exchanging them for a long green hoodie that was too big to wear in public.  Thankfully it was cool down in the sewers, even during the late summer. 

The wooden cabinet door hadn’t been the product of a Lucky Charm, and it hung at a lopsided angle when she shut it.

“Alright.”  She sighed.  “You can look now.”

Chat Noir dropped his arm and stood, his eyes widening beneath the fabric mask as he took her in.  

Strangely, she wanted to squirm under his gaze.  It wasn’t like she looked that different outside of her suit, and the fake mask would still hide her identity.  But Chat’s eyes… the black fabric didn’t change his scleras, and she found herself transfixed by the new shade of spring green.  She hadn’t seen him like this since they’d swapped miraculouses while fighting against Reflekta and Reflekdoll.

“What?  Hotter than you expected?”  He grinned, flexing his arm under his Ladybug-themed hoodie.  At least he’d been smart enough to bring an outfit change too.

“Trying to win me over by buying my merch now?” She raised an eyebrow.  Pretty eyes or not, he was still Chat Noir.  She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of getting flustered.

“No, I’m trying to win you over by being pawsomely charming. This,” he tugged at the hem of his hoodie, “is just because I have taste.”

“I guess I can’t fault you there.”  She stepped over to him and straightened the drawstrings hanging from his hood.  It was still weird, seeing him in normal clothes, being forced to confront the fact that Chat Noir was a regular university student, just like her.  She knew that, of course, but with his over-the-top puns and flirting, it sometimes felt like he belonged in a comic book.

“We need a doorbell.  You could’ve seen me before I had the chance to put on my mask.”  She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of that sooner.  She’d assumed heroes would stop here individually, or arrive transformed.  It wasn’t like her to miss such an obvious problem; the stress of classes must be getting to her.

“You could’ve just knocked, you know.”  He smirked.

“...I didn’t expect anyone to be here,” she admitted, face heating.  “The lock was still on.  How did you even get in?”

“I had Plagg put it back on just in case I ended up taking a catnap.  But don’t worry about it, bugaboo.  We’ll both be more prepared next time.”

His smile hit differently outside of his transformation.  Stupidly, she found herself just staring into his eyes again.

“Great, now we’re going to have to watch the lovebirds in person.”  Plagg gagged from his spot on the counter.  It didn’t stop him from swallowing a wedge of cheese immediately after, though.

“And I’m going to have to smell you in person,” Tikki said, waving her arm in front of her face.

“We’re in a sewer!  How much stinkier can it get?”

Marinette laughed.  It wasn’t often she got to see Plagg, much less him and Tikki together.

“When it comes to month-old camembert, it can always get stinkier,” Chat said.  “Trust me.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”  Marinette didn’t have a very good sense of smell, anyway.  That was convenient when your secret base was located in the sewers.

“I think we’ll be fine coming here without our suits as long as everyone knocks first,”  Chat said, plopping back down on the couch.  “We’ve already got changes of clothes that won’t identify us.  Rena and Carapace dropped theirs off when they were adding their improvements yesterday.”

“Improvements?”  Marinette raised an eyebrow, not that he could see under her mask.

“I told them it would be okay; I didn’t think you’d mind.  Carapace just thought it would be smart to put a Shellter around the Miracle Box.  The kwamis can phase through it with their miraculouses, but no one can reach inside to steal them.”

She stepped up to the entertainment center and opened the cabinet with the miracle box.  Sure enough, there was a glowing green barrier around the red egg.

“That’s a good idea, but… what if the kwamis don’t know they’re needed?  They can’t hear us when they’re inside their magical world.”

Chat’s face fell.  It was weird, not seeing his ears and tail droop, but the rest of his body language was still so expressive.

“I didn’t think of that.”

“It’s okay.”  She stepped over and put a hand on his shoulder.  “It really was a good idea.  You didn’t know.”  

Master Fu had given her more training on being the Guardian than he had Chat Noir.  All the Master said on the matter was that Chat’s schedule wouldn’t allow it.

He nodded.  “I’ll have him take it down next time I see him.”

Maybe they could still use Shellter in other ways; she’d have to think about that.  If only all four of them could control the shield.  That would make an excellent way to protect the base.

“You said Rena made some changes too?”

“Oh, right!”  He sprung up again, then vaulted over the back of the couch to reach the kitchen.  Apparently he was athletic even without the suit.  “She brought some cooking supplies.  Also, she was asking if we had any plans to add a bathroom.”

“A bathroom?  This isn’t a hotel.”  Marinette rubbed her temples.  She wasn’t a plumber.  She couldn’t just Lucky Charm up a functioning toilet.

Plagg let out a loud burp.  “She’s right.  Who needs a fancy kitchen or a bathroom when you’ve got a fridge full of cheese?”

Chat glared at him.  “Some of us aren’t magical kwamis who never need to pee.”

“That’s what the sewer’s for, isn’t it?”

“Not that kind of sewer!”  He smacked his forehead.

Marinette was doing her best not to burst out laughing.  Chat Noir might wear the clown suit, but Plagg was the clown suit.

“I’ll see if I can come up with anything,” she assured him.  Having a bathroom down here would be nice, though she didn’t know how to pull that off yet.  There was a locker room for sanitation employees that they could probably use, but it would be risky, whether they went suited up or not.

This was supposed to be just a simple meeting place.  She should’ve known that doing anything with Chat Noir couldn’t be simple.

Maybe we should’ve gone with his first idea of renting an apartment, she thought as she poured herself a glass of milk.  It looked like Alya had brought disposable cups along with the griddle, spatulas, and utensils strewn on the counter.  She really should try Lucky Charming up some drawers.  Or at least break out the dragon miraculous and cut a few more cabinets into the rock.

“So what brings you here, anyway?”  Chat asked while lounging against the counter.  “Hoping you’d run into a handsome black cat?”

He slicked his hair back in a way he probably thought was suave.  Instead he just ended up skewing his mask, and he blinked in surprise.  Or maybe winked.  It was hard to tell with the fabric covering up one of his eyes.

“Tikki needed a break before heading home.  You saw how many Lucky Charms I used today.”  She held out her cup, letting Tikki dunk her cookie in it before she took another sip.

“You were amazing.  Building a trebuchet out of the pieces it gave you?  Genius.”

She punched him lightly.  “Flatterer.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true, my lady.”  He winked.

Stop that, she told her heart when it picked up its pace.  It didn’t listen, especially when he leaned in towards her.

It’s those stupid eyes.  Those stupid, gorgeous eyes.

“I still can’t believe you launched my staff at just the right angle to hit the akumatized object over the wall. You wouldn’t happen to be a physics major, would you?”

“A what?”  She blinked before his words actually sunk in.  Then she nearly dropped her cup of milk on the counter.  “Oh no!  The physics exam!”

“...So that’s a yes?”

“No.”  Her face flopped on the stone counter.  Ow.  “I’m terrible at physics.  I just have to take the intro class, and I was supposed to study for the test today, but then Lord Labyrinth took forever and,” she took a deep breath, “I just really don’t want to.”

She’d never procrastinated in her life.  Well, not on purpose, anyway.  She just had too much to do to afford it.

“Even superheroes need breaks, you know.”  He rubbed her shoulder, his touch gentle without his claws.  “But if you do want to study… could I help you?  I’ve took a few physics classes last year.  They were a-mass-ing.”

“Really?”  They didn’t talk much about their school lives—mostly for identity reasons, but also because they usually didn’t have the time.  She never would’ve picked him out as a science guy.  Theatre, maybe.

“Yeah.  You could say I had a lot of potential.”  

She groaned.  “Oh no.  I can’t take cat puns and science puns.  If you keep this up, I’ll just take my chances with failing.”

“What?  Do you think there’s too much friction between us?”

“Chat.” She glared on principle, even though she had to admit that one was almost funny.

“Alright, alright, I’m done.”  He grinned.  “Grab your notes and we can get started.”

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Darkened Night

the series read as follows:

Superman … Monday … Cheezy Pouffs … Bacon … Stumbling … Trail Mix …  Punch … Friday … Preparation … Uncle Mudler … Normal … Backseat … Mudler-sense … The FBI … Unthinkable … Patience … Elephant Jokes … Cooking … Rickety Tables … Mr. Skimmer … Bert and Ernie … Midnight Confessions … The Moon … Bright Sunshine ... Graying Skies

@today-in-fic  @fictober

_____________________

Hell existed in that room. The devil resided there, lingering in corners, filling crevices, cracks, shadowing air with evil, thick, heavy, palpable.

Mulder wanted to set the entire place on fire and walk away laughing.

Banging his head against the wall became secondary relief to arsonary evidence destruction. He wasn’t alone in the two-bedroom, unassuming apartment but he might as well have been, his mind buried so far in wanton annihilation that everything else disappeared. Skinner crossed his path every so often, leaving Mulder to stare at papers, journals – why the fuck did they always keep records of their rambling, Schizophrenic, fragmented psyche to taunt him – and that damn religious icon.

Cross, image, vestment, book, candle, verse … he may not believe in any god, be it little ‘g’ god or big ‘G’ God but he was damn certain that you didn’t show your love for your god/God by killing somebody else.

He seriously could have been a mousy professor in some dusty college who followed supernatural blogs and crawled into bed with his Scully every night, life unassuming, heart full, soul intact, ignorance bliss.

With a final bang to the dirty white walls, his forehead throbbed while he returned to shitty reality.

What the fuck was wrong with humanity?

&&&&&&&&&&

Scully showed up, Scully disappeared, Skinner passed, Collins talked, Scully reappeared, Mulder felt sunlight, squinted, fell asleep in the car. Hand cramped from writing, eyes blurry from reading, sirens loud, then quiet in his ears, Kevlar heavy, wind warm, gunfire earsplitting, blood red, skin soft, skin smooth.

“What day is it?”

“Saturday night.” Scully slid her hand across his back.

Harsh moments flooded his mind and sitting up, he began pawing at her, “are you okay? I remember blood. Are you hurt?” Moving his hands across her, he felt his own chest, face, shifted back to her, hands wrapping tightly around shoulders when he realized she wasn’t screaming in agony as he groped, “when did we find him?”

Her cool hand went to his forehead, heat calming with her touch, her other palm to his cheek, “you and Barton worked out two possible scenarios. The second was correct and there was gunfire but you’re fine. Barton and Collins took hits to the leg, shoulder and right flank but they’re alive and home. I bought you here Friday morning and you fell asleep.”

She hated his mind at times for doing this to him, overloading and overwhelming until he lost days but his next sentence still made her smile, “no wonder I have to pee so badly.” Twisting out of bed, he groaned and hunched, waiting until his muscles had enough control of his bladder to get moving without catastrophic consequences. Scully followed, to keep him upright if necessary but once he was standing in the bathroom, he shooed her away, “I don’t need shy bladder happening right now … I can taste the pee in the back of my throat.”

With a small chuckle she kept to herself, she rolled around the doorframe, out of sight but not out of sound. Once again, he passed the minute-mark like a champ, only stopping after a minute, 28. Quiet returned and Scully leaned around the jamb, “you completely destroyed your old record.”

He was standing at the sink now, head hanging, tired again, “yay me. I need some sleep.”

She came up beside him, rumpled but still breath-taking in his eyes, “go back to bed. I’ll go make you a sandwich. You haven’t had much since Monday.”

Taking her hand, he pulled her back to the bedroom, nearly running into the wall, mid-course correction bringing him within half an inch of plasterboard, “horizontal. Sleep. Company. You.”

“English. Useless. Food. Necessary. Five minutes. Max.”

“Blar. No mayo.”

Because sandwich making skills peaked at 11:17pm, she also whispered to Maggie, who had just gone to bed, that Mulder was awake before returning upstairs, roast beef sandwich in hand. “Eat.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

First bite made him ravenous, second and third bite finished it off, Scully watching in concerned awe. If he didn’t choke, it would be amazing.

He did not.

She’d figured he’d go back to sleep but his eyes remained open, staring at the ceiling, hand making lazy circles, ovals, lopsided ellipses, some kind of absent-minded geometric shapes across her thigh until she broke the silence, “penny for your thoughts.”

His finger hesitated for a fraction, then continued its repetitive path, “I’m just listening to the quiet.”

“Enjoying?”

Now he wrapped the hand around her thigh, heat seeping into fingers, “I’m not sure. My head’s been so loud for a week that I think I like it but I don’t know.”

Making sure she didn’t twist his wrist too much, she turned on her side, trapping his hand, “would you like to talk or just listen to me trying to breathe through my slightly stuffy nose?”

Kissing her forehead, he wiggled his fingers just for fun, “how about you sing to me?”

“Elvis or Guns ‘n’ Roses?”

“You trying to kill me over here?”

“Just trying to make you happy.”

Removing his hand from her warmth, he turned to face her, fingers finding skin stretched over her spine, “you already do.”

“Do I still have to sing then?”

Now he laughed, chuckling into her forehead, “nope but maybe you can open the window so we can listen to the rain.”

“It’s raining?” Lifting her head, she could just make out the sounds, then slithering from his grasp to do as asked. Ten seconds later, she was back and both were lulled to half-asleep dreams by the steady rain on the kitchen window tin roof overhang.

He roused her awhile later, just as the first rumblings of thunder ambled across the sky, whispering into the pillow, sound asleep, “don’t make me go back.”

Fighting the urge to shake him awake, she twisted, sitting up quickly, hand on his shoulder blade, stroking the peak, “I won’t. You don’t have to go back at all.”

She noticed his hands fisted beneath the pillow and deciding her singular touch wasn’t enough, she swung her leg over his thighs, settling on his butt, massaging shoulders and coercing tense muscles with practiced digits, trying to make out his mumblings, “I don’t want to go back.”

“Mulder, you don’t have to go back.”

Suddenly he turned over, nearly tossing her off the bed. She held her ground, however, letting him finish his rotating while she held onto the mattress, sheets tangling into a nightmarish wad near her knees. Once he was facing her again, his eyes open this time, “what?”

Seeing he had absolutely no recollection of what he said, she leaned onto him, his arms automatic around her waist, “you don’t have to go back. Wherever ‘there’ is, you don’t have to go back.”

And he remembered.

Eyes closing instantly, “yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t. You caught the men. They cleaned out the room. It’s finished.”

Never more honest in his life, he finally met her confusion, “I meant the Bureau.”

&&&&&&&&&&&

He’d dropped his statement on her at 3:18am, then disappeared out the front door, running in the rain, walking in the rain, eventually coming home to sit quietly in the rain on the damp front porch while ignoring the world around him.

Scully stared at the ceiling once she realized he’d left the house. He’d quietly tossed that bomb at her, then excused himself for a drink of water. When the front door shut, she didn’t move to go after him, scooting to his rapidly cooling side of the bed to wait it out, her mind running in the circles she imagined Mulder’s body was under the thundering sky.

He didn’t want to go back to the FBI.

But like the good Mulder he was, regardless of emotional turmoil or highly developed escapism techniques, he let her know when he got home, opening the front door of the house with its telltale squeak but not coming in. He knew she was awake. She would find him when she was ready.

Scully sensed he was home almost a minute before the door told her so and swinging her legs to the floor, she moved her bare feet across the rug, across the hardwood, down the stairs and out the door, quietly taking her place beside him.

He’d grabbed his bag of sunflower seeds from the cupholder of the Jeep and cracking one, he handed her another, “I ditched you but I came home. Does that count for something?”

Hugging her knees to her chest, she stared across the street, “that was not a ditch, Mulder. That was an intriguing tidbit followed by alone time to be continued with thunderstorms and nervous habits.”

Nearly feeling like smiling, an impressive feat given the amount of guilt he felt, “I’m not supposed to do that anymore, though. I’m supposed to stay with you and talk this shit out, not run around during a lightning storm and keep you awake because I’m an idiot.”

Her hand snaked under his arm and hand gripped knee, “do you really want to leave the FBI?”

What the hell, if he couldn’t tell Scully, then there really wasn’t any point breathing, “I want to stop losing hours and days in rooms like that.” Dropping his head forward, he spoke to her hand, which, with astonishing clarity, he realized did not yet have an engagement ring on it, “I don’t remember the last four days at all. The last truly clear thing I can think of is you making me drink a glass of milk and the rest is just a jumbled fucking mess of death and anger and destruction and,” standing up suddenly, he moved down the step to tower in the drizzle, looking at her in the hazy yellow shine of the porch light, “I don’t want that anymore. I may be good at it but I can’t handle it. It scares me how easily I forgot about you and Maggie and the kids and … and us … I lose myself in that room and what if one day I can’t find my way back out?”

Looking up at him, neck angled to full extension, eyes sympathetic, mouth tightened to the thin line of concern, “I love you and I will not let you get lost in that room. I promise.” His shifting, his restlessness, his skittering glance and unattainable eye contact made her heart ache, realizing once again just how much they coexisted in the universe, “Mulder, I won’t think any less of you if you stop profiling. I won’t think you gave up and I won’t judge you for it.” Finally shifting to stand, she watched him approach, eye level given the porch made her taller, “I am scared every second you’re lost in someone’s head. I watch you in there and you turn into someone else … someone I don’t recognize and to be blunt about it, I hate it. My stomach is in knots until you come back to me, plain and simple.” Reaching her arms out slightly, she wiggled her fingers in the universal ‘get over here’ gesture and once he was within reach, she ran her hands from his forehead, down his cheeks and stopped to cradle his chin, whispering as she begged his soul through dilated green eyes, “you need to do what you need to do and trust me when I say, I love you no matter what.”

Muscles relaxing into her, hugging her tight, “but I’m not supposed to trust anyone, Scully.”

“I have never been just anyone, Mulder.”

With a wet chuckle into her neck, “I will talk to Skinner tomorrow at dinner.”

“Would you like me to be there?”

“Yes, please.”

And they stood, immobile and immeasurable, one shadow, one couple, one perfect blip on an imperfect night.

[nibimatatabi]

Only Human

Word Count: 2972 Summary: Set roughly around/between PoA & GoF, Cassandra notices a dog digging around in her trash can. Leo is a weird dog, and not even actually a dog. Mostly a cathartic exercise for her, plus I already told @hogwarts-junkie about this thought when I was washing my dog, so I might as well write it. Warning: Rated T for teen due to heavy language.

“That is not a dog, that is a Grim,” Lucile is sipping coffee in Cassandra’s living room. She’s looking out the window at something. The other woman isn’t distraught, just amused. “And it keeps coming back?” Cassandra is pulling turkey out of her fridge.

“Yep, comes back like clockwork to dig in my trash can. Wait, don’t go anywhere, watch this,” Cassandra pushes Sebastian back - the cat is well over twenty years old and still going strong; Cassandra has long since admitted that ‘cat’ is just what he resembles - and then swings open the door. “Dog! Heads up! I have turkey this time!” She launches the meat cuts out the door, as near the sidewalk as she can throw (and boy has this girl learned to throw and hit hard since leaving Hogwarts; one does not trifle with the should-have-been-Black woman). The canine has dropped down, hiding behind the trash can, caught, but when he sees the food he lunges forward, gobbling it down quickly. “Poor thing is skin and bone,” Cassandra shuts the door - and then locks it for good measure.

“You afraid of Black looking you up?” Lucile asks in that wary I-should-know-better-than-to-ask voice that Cassandra knows too well.

“Sirius isn’t dangerous,” she’s back in the kitchen, and her married friend is rolling her eyes. “He isn’t. Sirius was a lot of things, and none of them - not a one - said he was a murderer. He would have DIED rather than give up James. James was more his brother than Regulus,” she slams her palms against the table, frustrated. She’s almost in tears again.

“That’s not what-”

“The minister is a goddamned liar, Lucy. I might not have been with Sirius that long, but I knew his brother damned well and if Regulus would have never done that, then don’t look at me and try to claim that Sirius would have,” Lucile leans back against the window sill, looking out.

“Grim’s gone.”

“Don’t call him that. He’s not a Grim.”

“Then what is he?”

“A dog.”

Three days later, Cassandra stepped outside with her coffee, enjoying the morning before it was too hot to be outdoors. There was the dog again, standing on his hind legs, in her trash. It was empty today, though - there was nothing for him to find. Cassandra clicked her tongue once, and then whistled. “C’mere boy,” she called, as if the dog would actually come. He jerked backwards, falling from the trash can in an ungraceful flailing of limbs. “Come on, sweetheart, you’re okay,” Cassandra cooed, sitting on her front step. She was in a tank top and striped pajama pants, fuzzy slippers, and her shoulder length hair was in a sloppy bun. The words ‘hot mess’ were what could easiest be used to describe Cassandra before she got ready to go to St. Mungos. Today she worked an evening shift, which gave her the morning to kill.

“Come on, puppy dog. I’ve got food in the house, but I’m not getting it if you won’t come here,” the dog crept around the trash can, low to the ground. She couldn’t tell if he was really black, or if he was a dark gray that was just grimy. “Come here sweet pea,” he was creeping toward her, tail down, watching her. His ears were up, alert, and as he drew closer Cassandra was suddenly aware of just how large the dog was. “Oh...my...” he was skinny and underweight, but the dog was almost as big as a white tail deer at the shoulder. “Sweet baby, come here,” she collected herself quickly, reaching a hand out slowly from her cup. No fear. Never show fear.

The dog bumped her head the same way Sebastian did, head against her palm. Cassandra exhaled, not having realized she was holding her breath. “Hi there, baby dog,” she murmured, scratching his head, moving her hand down his neck. No collar. She didn’t expect one, but she had tried to be hopeful. “Can I stand up? You aren’t going to run, right? Come on, come inside with me,” Cassandra convinced the dog to enter her house, and was stunned that he wiped his paws on the doormat outside. “Someone loved you once, didn’t they, boy?” She shut the door, and from the couch Sebastian was suddenly standing, staring at the dog. “Sebastian,” Cassandra’s voice was warning. He meowed, loudly, and then hissed once. The dog was just staring at him. “Leave the cat alone, buddy,” Cassandra moved between the two. Sebastian had sat down. Sebastian meowed again, but this time without the hostility. “Come on, puppy, upstairs. You need a bath.”

The canine didn’t even have to be dragged up the stairs. He went willingly, wagging his tail slightly as Cassandra praised him for being so good. She let him into the bathroom and shut the door, going to change into shorts and a different tank top to wash him in. When she went into the bathroom, the dog was sitting in a tub of water. “I’m sorry what?” She hadn’t filled the tub. The dog lifted a paw and pawed at the faucets until he got one on, and then back off. Totally possible. “Are you one of those failed service dogs?” She ventured after a moment, grabbing her shampoo bottle. The canine whined at her, looking up at her with soft gray eyes.

Cassandra was rubbing shampoo into the dog’s coat and had to stop. “You have blue eyes,” she stated, blinking, trying to find blue. They were gray. Gray like storm clouds, warmer than ice and soft enough that her chest felt like it was being squeezed. “They’re gray,” she whispered, and for a moment she felt her world collapsing around her again, felt as if her life were being shattered all over again. And then she inhaled sharply and shook her head. “Dog with gray eyes. What a strange thing,” she laughed, forced herself to laugh, and kept washing her new found companion.

It took an hour and a half to full bathe the dog, so that his fur was free of grime, and he wasn’t matted up. Cassandra toweled him off, surprised at how still he was. “You were so loved, baby, what happened?” She asked, sitting down on the tile and drying his face. He lowered his head, bumping into her shoulder. “Sweet baby,” she considered possible names for him while she sat there, petting his shoulder and he rested his giant hulking head on her shoulder. She thought of the constellations she knew - Sirius, Orion, Regulus, Arcturus, Canopus, Polaris, Vega, Altair - and dropped her forehead against the dog’s chest. “Nope, none of those, not in this lifetime or the next,” she muttered. “Leo? Leo. I like Leo,” it was the constellation with Regulus. Of course she liked Leo.

The dog whined at her, lifting a massive paw into her lap. “What, do you not like your name?” She asked, bringing her head up and coming eye to eye with the dog. “Good God in heaven you are such a large dog,” and his eyes were the same uncanny intelligence of Sebastian’s, perhaps more so.

When she left for work, she warned Sebastian to behave. “You leave Leo alone. And Leo, do not chase that cat.”

Cassandra found that she adored her hulking canine. She bought him a nice collar and leash, and took him for walks. He balked whenever Cassandra got near Grimmauld Place, and the woman had to drag the canine past twelve. And then one day the dog was gone. She came home from work and her dog was just gone. She scoured the neighborhoods in both directions, but nothing. No dog, no one had seen a dog, what dog?

Cassandra had, in the years since Walburga’s demise (hallelujah, praise the Lord) taken to stopping in and checking on Kreacher. She hated that he was alone in the big house, but he wouldn’t leave it. So, after ensuring her dog was flat out gone, she made one of her bimonthly stops at the Black residence. It was not Kreacher that opened the door. “Are you fucking serious?”

"Last I checked, yes,” the lopsided grin, shaggy black hair, soft gray eyes. Cassandra wanted to punch him in the nose.

“When were you going to tell me that you-” words, so many words, silenced by Sirius shaking his head, and then something farther inside shrieking.

“Great. You woke Mother.”

“Good! I have a few words for that insufferable bitch that Kreacher hasn’t let me say.”

“Wait, how do you-” but Cassandra had shoved past Sirius, and murder was in her eyes.

“Listen here you stupid woman! You are DEAD do you understand? I have no patience for you!” Kreacher was watching, wide eyed, as the muggleborn laid into the portrait. “You don’t have a clue who I am and you want to know why?! Because your son was in love with me and didn’t want you to run me off! Oh nonono, not Sirius! No, no no, no I mean Regulus you wicked evil witch. I mean your little pride and joy the one who joined the Death Eaters to please Mummy and Daddy, the cousins, and their twisted sense of righteousness - don’t you even give me that offended look you HAG,” literal years of pent up rage spewed from Cassandra until she’d had enough of the woman shouting back at her - mudblood, insolent little girl, how dare you enter the noble house of Black - and snatched the curtains shut with violence radiating in her little body.

When she whipped around, Sirius was sagged against the wall, staring at her, looking exhausted from listening. “I’m sorry, Sirius,” she lowered her eyes. “I’ve had a lot to say to that woman since I was seventeen and never got the chance.”

“Safer to just scream at her painting,” Sirius mumbled, seeming unable to collect himself. Cassandra wanted to help him, she really did, but following the screaming match with Walburga - oh it was cathartic - she didn’t know how. Instead she knelt down in front of Kreacher, smiling at the house elf.

“I’m sorry for yelling at your mistress, Kreacher. But the way she treated Sirius and Regulus wasn’t right, and I’ve held that in for a very long time now,” she swallowed the lump in her throat. Kreacher regarded her carefully for a moment before he nodded.

“Would Miss Delacroix like some tea, then?” Sirius blinked from where he was, watching the two.

“Miss Delacroix? You call me all kinds of foul names and SHE gets Miss Delacroix, pleasant as can be?”

“Tea would be lovely, Kreacher; for both of us.”

“Of course Miss Delacroix,” Kreacher scurried off, leaving Sirius fuming.

“Why?! You’re muggleborn! You’re as bad as I am!”

“Did you miss the conversation I had with your mother? No, no no wait, let me try this a different way. Did you miss the part where after we broke up your brother developed an interest in me?” She had always known she would lie to Sirius about that. Lie like the dog she was trying to find. “Look, Sirius, stop. After that framed hellion died, Kreacher was alone. I’ve known where this house is since I was seventeen. I wasn’t going to leave him - Regulus died because Voldemort was willing to leave Kreacher to die. Your brother-”

“Was soft and an idiot and died because of Voldemort!”

“No he didn’t! He died trying to undermine him!” They had moved to the dining room, and Sirius had cast a silencing charm to prevent his mother from being awoken again by their snapping and snarling.

“How would you know? Where were you then when he was trying to be all noble and heroic, hmm? If you loved my brother then why weren’t you with him?!” Cassandra wasn’t near Sirius, but she still recoiled as if he had hit her. Tears rose into her eyes, hot and unbidden.

“He wouldn’t let me. He said it wasn’t safe. He said Kreacher would show him where to go, and Kreacher could get him out and then he DIED Sirius! I BEGGED HIM to not leave me!” She wished she were yelling, wanted to still be yelling, but she was choking out the words in a far softer voice than she had wanted to. She sat down in the nearest chair, leaning forward and hiding her face in her hands. She couldn’t breath, she couldn’t speak. Something whined a few moments later, and then bumped into her leg. She reached out, expecting Sirius to be sitting beside her, and instead her fingers curled into fur. Dog? Dog.

When the tears were done, the dog - Leo, yep, gray eyes - left the room, and Sirius came back. “You done yet?” His own eyes looked like he had been crying. Cassandra nodded.

“You have a dog.”

“Ah, yeah.”

“Gray eyes.”

“Mhm.”

“What’s his name?”

“Snuffles.”

“Looks like a dog that was dumpster diving at my house. I call him Leo.” Sirius narrowed his eyes on her for a moment, as if trying to frame that. “Better than calling him, say, Orion,” Sirius flinched at that. “Can we be done yelling?” She asked after the silence spread out between them. Kreacher came in with the tea cups, handing one to Cassandra and then taking the other to Sirius.

“Yeah. Yeah, we can be, Cassie,” her eyes were on her cup and they jerked up for a moment. Sirius sounded defeated. She dropped her eyes back to her cup, sipping her tea.

Silence.

“How exactly did you know where this was?” Sirius finally ventured, sitting beside her. She glanced over at him, and when gray met blue her heart dropped. The wrong gray. Too warm. Too naturally soft.

“Regulus. We went to Paris, that summer,” she swallowed, fought back more tears.

“And not once did you think to say something.”

“He firmly believed you didn’t care about him, Sirius. There wasn’t a thing I could say or do,” she spoke into her teacup.

“No, not about that. You didn’t tell me. You didn’t tell me anything about him, what was going on with him,” Sirius’s voice was accusatory. Cassandra wanted the dog back. The dog was nice, and comforting, and didn’t make her feel like she was a terrible excuse for a human being.

“What was I supposed to say, Sirius? Oh hey so when I started dating your brother I found out he was a Death Eater? No wait - I knew your brother was a Death Eater before we started dating, let alone before I started dating him, and I didn’t say a Goddamned thing to anyone because my first thought was ‘oh my fucking God they’ve hurt this boy if I tell anyone what else might happen to him?’ Because I can see that going really well. Honestly, I can see Slughorn going to Dumbledor, and then what? Azkaban that’s what,” she was frustrated - it was a circular conversation with a man she hadn’t seen in years, and... “How did you get out of Azkaban?!” She rounded on Sirius suddenly, light blue eyes alight with confusion and near panic. “You couldn’t have done that to James I know that good and well so what-”

“Shh. Stop. Breath,” Sirius held up a hand. He wasn’t emotionally, physically, or mentally capable of dealing with this. He put his teacup down, leaning forward to the woman who had left him for his idiot brother. Her eyes were flickering across his face, and he knew that it was concern there, not fear, not distrust, just worry and concern. “You’re right. I didn’t betray Lily and James. I would have never. Harry is my Godson. I should have...if I wouldn’t have chased Pettigrew that vial filthy RAT-” Sirius stopped himself. Took a deep breath. “I didn’t get a trial, you know. They just assumed I was like the rest of my family,” bitter, he was so very bitter. Cassandra leaned away instinctively. One too many Black meltdowns will leave a woman a little gun shy. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“Look I just screamed at my could-have-been-mother-in-law and discovered you alive and well. You’re not going to surprise me much more,” Sirius smirked - oh good God that had been taken as a challenge. He stood up, stepped away from her, and untied his robe. “Sirius Black-” she started, becoming furious in a heartbeat. Right up til Leo/Snuffles was sitting there, wagging his tail, looking at her innocently. “Kreacher! This is just tea, right?”

“Yes Miss Delacroix, only tea, why does Miss Delacroix ask?”

“Uh...dog. Sirius. Sirius dog. Turned into dog,” the word ‘animagus’ didn’t even come to mind until the dog grabbed the robe and dragged it to a more hidden spot. And then Sirius was coming back around, tying his robe back on.

“Animagus.”

“Alright, yep, that about does it. Come here. Just, yeah, right down here,” Sirius leaned down, looking her right in the eye. Cassandra punched him in the chest. “Mark it off my bucket list, sleeping with both of the Black’s,” she stated as Sirius picked himself up. “I’m sorry,” she added as he rubbed his chest.

“Where did you learn to hit?”

“Oh somewhere between ‘boyfriend’s dead’ and ‘Voldemort’s dead’ you know, cover all my bases,” Cassandra was studying her nails - she’d chipped her manicure at some point.

The silence rolled out again. Finally Sirius broke it, being Sirius. “I know you’re upset, Cassie, but I can’t leave here except as a dog...”

“I’ll adopt you, Padfoot, so long as you keep pretending hard to not look at me when I change clothes.”

“Oh thank you Cassie,” utter relief in his voice.