Written for the QLFC, Season 5, Round 3.

Position: Beater 1

Position Prompt: Write about a Truth that is hatred (OR write about someone being Dared to confess their hatred.)

Title: The Dog-Man and I

Word Count: 1,748

Beta(s): The Wanderers

Prompts:

1. (word) fair

3. (dialogue) "You don't have a choice. It's do or die."
Go Wanderers! Special dedication to the animals who love or have loved or will love Kage Kitsune, and the hours she spent earning that privilege.

I knew the moment I saw him that he was not like other dogs. He did not bark at me, or bounce around like some oafish puppy, but instead simply stared at me. I could not blame him, my fur was glossy and I like to think I walked with an air of grace and elegance. My face left much to be desired, but my confidence and wisdom when it came to all things made up for that. Still, I had to know what this scruffy excuse for a mongrel wanted.

It occurred to me after some time, that perhaps he was not staring at me - but my mistress. Such an affront could not be ignored, so I leapt from the comfort of her lap to confront the beast.

"Crookshanks! Oh, go on...you silly cat." I could hear the smile in her voice.

The dog retreated to the shadows of the forest - he was almost twice my size! Why would he retreat like that? Perhaps he had heard the tales of the many rats I had slain within the castle. It was at least fifteen at my last count. Or, maybe he was a cowardly thing.

Just as I was about to trot back, from behind a tree the dog appeared. Slowly, very slowly, the dog became a dirty, ragged, husk of a human man. He spoke to me.

"Your mistress," He gestured behind me, "She's in big trouble you know."

"My mistress? In trouble? Absurd!" My ears bent flat against my head and curled my lip.

He laughed, "There's a murderer in that school. A rat."

"There are thousands of rats in that school, they can hardly do my mistress any harm. Or do you dare to question my honour? Accuse me of being unable to protect her from one silly rat?" I narrowed my eyes and stood vigilant.

"Hey, don't start hissing at me! I'm trying to warn you!" He ran a hand through his greasy, matted hair, "Look, I need your help. You know this school better than any other cat."

Of course. Humans cannot understand me. Yet, he either knew I could understand him, or had gone completely mad. What I did not understand was how this man had become a dog, or...did this dog become a man? I had seen my mistress do many strange and wonderful things with that stick she and every other human seems to carry, but never had I witnessed a human become an animal or the reverse.

In the distance I could hear my mistress calling out to me, pulling me from my thoughts. The man looked alarmed and began to back away, "There's a rat in that school, missing a toe, he's like me - an animagus." He was whispering loudly, "You must help me! Before it's too late!" And then he transformed back into a dog, taking off into the forest.

An Animagus?

"Crookshanks!" Next thing I knew I was being lifted off the ground, I complained, but made no attempt to escape. "You know there's a curfew in place, come on!"

I desperately tried to explain to my mistress what had just occurred, but, like all humans, she could not understand a word I said. She tried to soothe me all the way up to the castle as I squirmed in her arms, desperate to try and make her understand! The man from those posters was a dog, and the dog was here! It all happened so suddenly, and I had let my pride get the better of me (to be fair, he had insulted me by questioning my ability to protect my dear mistress from one measly rat) and now...there was nothing I could do. Damn humans. Why were even the most intelligent of them too stupid to understand the language of we cats.

In the end, I gave up and resigned myself to sitting quietly in her arms until we were inside the school.

When I next met the dog it was nearly two months later in late October - this time, he was inside the castle. I was perched on my favourite bannister when he peered around the corner. His eyes were narrowed, ears laid back, as he watched a rat scurry across the floor. This rat had all four fingers at the forefeet, and five at the hindfeet. Didn't he say it was missing a finger?

Interesting.

"You're tracking the wrong rat, mister shabby."
The dog looked at me indignantly, then turned his attention back to the rat. I thought to fetch a human, at first. But a dog trying to hunt a rat? Oh, it was just too funny a scenario. I simply had to stay and watch, just for a while. Then, I would fetch a human.

The rat spotted him, froze and then proceeded to scurry up the staircase towards me. The dog, in a frenzy to catch it, bolted forward too quickly and fell gracelessly down the stairs. From my perch I rolled my eyes to the heavens, locked onto the rat and with one elegant pounce had it between my forepaws. I picked it up with my mouth, went down to the dog and kept it trapped between my teeth.

The dog growled at me as it examined the rat. Resigned to his own folly he let out a low boof and slunk down the staircase just as it began to move.

I met the dog each night, and each night he would be tracking a different rat, and each time it would turn out to be the wrong one. It was rather amusing to watch him hunting an imaginary three-toed rat, and I took great pleasure in watching him bumble around after various vermin. I would always catch it, present it to him as though it were a grand prize, and watch as he growled indignantly. Dogs weren't quite built for stealthy solitary hunting, and this dog wasn't even really a dog. Perhaps that's why it was all the more amusing to watch him chase after a mythical enemy! The dog seemed more concerned with rats than it was with harming humans - rats were vile creatures, so the more of us against them, the better.

The third week, he seemed to have had enough of my taunting. He took his eyes off the rat and chased after me! I scurried into the tower where my mistress lived just as the portrait swung shut. I heard later that the beast had tried to tear the portrait asunder. My poor mistress was forced to sleep alone on a cold, stone floor in the great hall. I did not see the dog in the castle again after that.

It was that very night when no students were about that I caught sight of that red haired boy's rat. It was snuffling about the sofa - and I saw it; three toes. No, surely not! I looked again - it still had three toes.

"You, rat, how did you lose your toe?" I demanded.

The rat looked at me, but did not run. It stood there, like it always did - taunting me. Come catch me if you can, silly cat. I am certain from his eyes that was his meaning. This time I did not give in, and asked again how he had lost his toe. It stood resolute. Foolish creature, his master was not here to protect him now.

So, I pounced and off it scurried - up the stairs, under the beds, around bed tables and down the stairs again, I almost had him when suddenly I was met with a kick to the face! Stunned for a moment, I gathered myself and looked around for the three-toed rat. It was nowhere to be seen. Neither was there the human who had kicked me. How very strange, I thought.

I am very embarrassed to admit that it took me a week to realize that perhaps the rat was the human who had kicked me - just as the dog was also a man. An Animagus.

From that October night on I watched that three-toed rat more vigilantly than ever. Rarely did he ever leave his master's pocket, seeming to know that I knew his secret. I suppose he did spot me reading that chapter with my mistress on Animagai in the library last week- a happy coincidence. I was plagued with worry for my mistress, and her stupid friends too. Was the dog right? Was this rat truly a murderer? I had to seek him out again.

I soon came to regret my decision to help him. As it turned out, this human was not only mad but insufferably chatty. He was determined to kill this rat, obsessed, even. Perhaps all that kept him alive, his skin practically hung off of his bones. I brought him what food I could, but being the small, dainty creature I am, I could only bring so much.

The Animagus (or human-dog-creature) refused to listen to my tactics. Or, well, I suppose he couldn't understand me. I resorted to performances, stalking here and there, pretending to be the rat, the dog and myself. He became frustrated, thinking that I was mocking him again.

"Don't you see!" He cried, "This rat is ruining that poor young man's life!"

I sneezed. This was hopeless.

"Good, you understand now. You don't have a choice, it's do or die."

A little melodramatic for my tastes, but at least now we had an accord. That rat couldn't evade us forever. We would have it, one way or another.

It was a shocking thing to lose my friend after the triumph of watching the enemy rat at last exposed. I was upset to see the rat get away, maybe even a little ashamed of myself. If I had only listened. Taken the dog-mans ramblings more seriously, but even with him gone I felt as though he shared my satisfaction when the day eventually came.

I paused in licking my paw as the human's ate their breakfast and leapt up onto my mistress's lap to join her in reading the paper. A loud purr tore out of my throat when I saw it written in fine print in the bottom left corner of the page:

Peter Pettigrew Added to the Growing List of Deceased.

"Oh, Crookshanks. You're in a good mood, aren't you?" My Mistress crooned.

"You have no idea," I told her, butting into her hand. Our day had come.