Stormclouds

After a few days, mostly everything to do with Vulpe settled down. Despite Snape’s most pessimistic opinions, no Deatheaters appeared at the school to fetch the Dark Lord’s Pet home. Vulpe sniffed irritably and told Snape that of course he wouldn’t come fetch her. Not here. Not where she was strong. No, he’d wait until she went out into the world again, lost herself on the road and in the wind flickering through the grasses and the trees like an erstwhile lover. Laughing softly to itself as it ruffled through her fur. . .she didn’t need to go yet, but she would. She had. . .people was probably the politest term, to find.

For some reason, mostly people forgot that the small vixen skulking along at Draco’s heels was anything but a familiar. An uncommon sort, owls, cats, rats and toads being more preferred among wizarding circles, but nevertheless. A familiar. An animal that aided a wizard’s doings and spells. Useful. Helpful. Submissive.

Draco laughed at the thought of Vulpe doing anything other then that she wished it to be so. Without a lot of blood on both sides. His expression darkened as he remembered how true that was. And even then, it was a grudging acceptance of what was happening. Take your eyes and wand off her for one moment. . .and you would probably be missing a body part.

In one of McGonnagall’s Transfiguration classes, Vulpe watched with dark midnight frozen eyes as the experienced witch taught. The fox resisted the urge to spit. She hated cats. Made her fur rise in all the wrong ways with their purr and mew and look at me, worship me foolishness. Why did a creature of night need humans, anyway? Cats had never got over Egypt, that was their problem. Owls had a little more sense. And no one worshipped foxes. They cursed them, baited them, hunted them and the foxes got just that little bit quicker and smarter. There would always be foxes.

She rolled over onto her side, brush lying lazily against the floor. Draco ran his foot along her back, scratching an itch and she sighed. Yes, this was peace. But she had never been a creature of peace. She was the wildfire, burning and blazing against the backdrop of a silent starry sky. Prophecy and foresight gleaming in the embers and something darker lurking behind feral eyes with a gleam and snap of teeth in sarcastic laughter. Maybe that’s why she got on so well with Sev. She was dark inside too, in an ironic way that most people wouldn’t understand. Not evil. Just. . .dark. Black. Midnight darkling childe. Something that daylight couldn’t understand.

Her ears pricked and she got to her feet, before passing out the door. Draco spared her a worried glance as she snapped her canine teeth at Ron and Harry before gilding away like smoke. A flick of her tail curving around the door, and she was gone. McGonagall coughed to draw the attention back to her lesson. Harry shot a glare at Draco, the Slytherin arched an eyebrow.

“What? You think I have any control over the fox? Please.”

“Mr Malfoy, if you would cease with idle chitchat, and return your attention to where it belongs?”

“Of course, Professor.” Draco’s face was blank.

~*~*~*~

Vulpe settled on the grassy slope and watched the skies. Something was going to happen. Something big. Something that would lead to other things and perhaps into much blood. . .hopefully, this time not hers. She had had enough of her blood being spilt onto the thirsty earth. Mother Earth was always thirsty. And she adored blood. Humans and their wars. . .they’d conditioned her to it until the earth wept when she didn’t receive it. Throwing tantrums like an angry child, and screaming for the blood she was denied. Earthquakes and tsunamis, cyclones and mudslides. . .just so the earth could drink her fill of life.

Blackness swirled across the blue sunny skies. Well, sunny for England in winter anyway. Vulpe shivered slightly as the wind picked up, dropping to the ground, pointed ears laid flat against her skull. An answering howl drifted from the forest, matched by the eerie keening of the wind. Leaves swirled in front of her, rising higher and higher into the sky, sucked into the storm as it towered above the grounds of Hogwarts. The Ravenclaw Quidditch team, which had been practicing on the Quidditch pitch yelled in alarm and zoomed off the field, storm winds playfully plucking at their broomsticks and robes. The Snitch fluttered for a moment, then was swallowed into the wind. The Bludgers hit the ground hard, tossed by the storm in a negligent manner. The Quaffle was sent through one of the stands, cloth ripping and peeling back as the wind seized on the fluttering material with gleeful fingers, cackling madly to itself as it tore the material loose from the wood.

Vulpe shuddered as the storm howled, working itself up and rushing at the somber steadfastness of the castle. It screamed, shaking and angry as it failed to have any effect on the stone. Glass rattled in the windowpanes as the storm tried its hardest to effect anything to do with this obstacle to its fun. Eventually, it gave up and the black clouds went rolling away like a herd of cattle to stampede across the forest. The trees presented much more sport, shaking and bowing as the winds snatched at them in destructive play.

The fox sat up again and surveyed the slope, then her form changed.

“And I’m to suppose you found this terribly funny, yarp?” she said sternly, tail flicking against the torn up grass.

“Well. . .yes, chicken thief, I did.”

“Calling names is no way to start, yarp yarp.”

“And the wolves are going to be on my tail, aren’t they? Oh, la!”

“La di dah and quite the fancy nancy in this age, aint’cha?”

A silvery ripple of laughter greeted Vulpe’s disgruntled tone.

“Li di dah indeed, and fancy free. But the winds called, and I have come. The calling storms showed me a path in the darkness and I make my way upon it. For nothing else would I come back to this place of captive magics and imprisoned spells where my love was turned to spite. You know that, I think.”

Vulpe regarded the slim boy who sat at her black furred feet with considerable aplomb. The sun shone off his black hair as his bright eyes regarded her with fascination. A small breeze ruffled his hair into feathers as he studied her, then looked at his hand, wiggling his fingers as if amazed they even worked.

“So, how are you these days, Jack?”

“Oh, I’m bright as a button, thanks, Foxie. So, what’s ado with you?”

~*~*~*~

The two strolled into the halls together, Vulpe’s brush sweeping the floor at regular intervals. Jack looked up and whistled softly, the beautiful piping echoing off the vaulted roof.

“La, Foxie! You’ve set yourself up and no mistaking this for steel and silver.”

“Do you want to. . .”

“Aye.”

He looked grim for a moment, sharp face settling itself into other then pixish merriment and cunning avarice. He was a thief by nature, and he looked it, but such a charming thief! He could convince the most sober person into giving him the keys to the family silver and then showing him the jewels of the lady of the house. Only after he’d left would they come to their senses and his hoarse laughter would follow their frenzied attempts to retrieve their belongings as a black feathered form floated higher on the wind.

“The students are in classes, mostly,” Vulpe said. “You know, book learning. Wand waving. Silly things.”

“Imprisoning, captivating, wrong, all wrong!” Jack shouted, hand flying to his head to pull at his hair. “You know it, the wolves know it, we all know it! All of us from midnight born. And we’re helpless now to stop it, turn the tide back. Might as well fetch feathers scattered on the wind. We might have, once, but no. We helped these wizards! I helped these wizards! Fool of a rook! Silly little featherbrain!”

“Ah, shh, now Jack. Calm down,” Vulpe soothed.

Jack croaked a laugh, and looked at her. “You’re staying for someone, a wizard.”

“Maybe, maybe. Yarp.”

“You’ll only be betrayed. As I was. Curse you, Ravenclaw! You took my name from me!” Jack turned and kicked the wall, then held his foot and cursed.

“Next time, try that when you’re wearing boots,” Vulpe advised.

“Oh, thanks so much, Foxie. Anyway. Where’s the Headmaster? I should show some respect. Before I go stark staring mad and make the winds tear this place down.”

“Times have changed, Jack. We can only go work with what we have.”

Jack suddenly looked very old, rather then his usual fifteen or possibly sixteen years. “Aye, times have changed. They’ve changed indeed.”

“Look, the ickle fox has found a friend!” Peeves snickered, swooping down towards them. Jack turned, glared at the poltergeist, muttered something under his breath, and then stomped off. Vulpe followed him, snickering slightly as Peeves made to follow them. Only to find he couldn’t. The poltergeist’s outraged bellows followed them down the corridor.

“Jack, so li di dah and all spruced up to the nines and clappers, where did you learn that?”

Jack clucked slightly and fingered the lace at his throat. Unlike Vulpe, he was wearing clothes. Gleaming elegant black which somehow also had highlights of a deep blue, like the colours in a storm cloud. Whispers of a deepening green, purples. Almost like a somber bruise. He was wearing wizarding robes, but in an old, old style. White ruffled lace hung beneath his throat and around his wrists. His hair was tied back in a slightly ruffled que in a black silk ribbon, feathery wisps of half formed curls hanging around his thin face.

“Here and there, Foxie, here and there. Bit o’ this, bit o’ that, you know how it is.” He seemed vaguely uncomfortable now, looking up and down the presently empty corridors as the two walked on. “I don’t like buildings, Foxie.”

“I know, Jack,” Vulpe said. She chuckled. “Neither do I, really.”

“So why are you here?”

“The same reasons you are. The wind showed you. The fire showed me.”

“Everything’s going to go topsyturvey, Foxie. Ashes, ashes, we all fall down. Except for the one with the crown. Heart unbroken, words not spoken, a flame against the night as wings are spread for the first time. . .” he sing songed in a quiet way. Vulpe pricked her ears and listened harder. “To fly, to soar, what’s more. Fire bright, star aright, a way to be turned, a way to be spurned. Something creeping out from the abyss and the wizards wonder what’s amiss. Ah.”

“Hmm. . .” A bell rang and the students started to pour out of the classrooms. Jack started, arms rising and Vulpe put a hand on his arm. “Just students, Jack. Cubs. Fledges.”

“A weasel when young is just as dangerous as the weasel when grown,” Jack said in a troubled voice while he stared at the students. They stared back.

“Oh, and speaking of weasels. . .” Vulpe said, looking at Ron.

“Weasel? Where?!”

“Metaphorically speaking, Jack me lad,” Vulpe chuckled when Jack looked fair to fly away in fright.

“Next you’ll be saying there’s a cat, or a hawk.”

“Well. . .”

“Fair tis to be brought here, what’s Jack to do? What is the jack of all trades and master of none save thieving and singing to do, oh to do? Cats! Weasels! Hawks! And what’s a Jackdaw to do, hey? What’s poor Jack to do?”

“Same as me. I don’t like them none either.”

“No snakes?”

“Snakes a plenty,” Vulpe said, then watched in satisfaction as Jack’s face whitened more. “Oh, come on, Jack.”

“I should just let the storm take me and be done with it! It would be a lot less dangerous. . .”

Bemoaning his fortune and his foretelling, Jack entered into Hogwarts, much less obtrusively then the fox or the wolves.

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