Old Dogs

by Bernice

The ancient wizard shuffles along, back still strong, but long hair almost pure white, grizzled strands escaping from the grease that keeps the rest in place. He leans heavily on his walking stick, easy prey and vulnerable, and nearly knocks himself off balance with the vigorous waving of a rolled up Daily Prophet.

“Get off me, you stupid animal!” he snaps at the wolf that bites at his slippers, lusting for blood. “Get off before I give you a good solid walloping!”

The wolf doesn’t bother to cringe, he knows that old man would never really be able to hurt him. He howls and tries again to savage the old man, trying to take a bite out of his calves.

The old man takes a swing with his paper, nearly hitting the wolf on the nose.

Fires of ages, and the thousand year old desire for the taste of human flesh flows through the wolf’s veins, and he leaps, trying to pin the old man to the ground, trying to rip out his throat.

The newspaper comes down with a thump on the wolf’s snout, and he yelps, falling back.

“You stupid werewolf!” the old man complains. “You nearly had me over! I don’t know why you bother. You haven’t got any teeth left, and if you leap like that again you’re going to dislocate your hip! That’s it. I don’t care if it does make you constipated, next month you’re taking your potion, you stupid old man.”

Remus gives up and goes to lie in front of the fire. It’s a nicer fire for an old werewolf than the fire in his blood, and soon his old friend comes and joins him, with a glass of scotch and a bowl of water, and a scratch behind the ears.

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