Firewhiskey Fic: Not Fish But
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Check out all the masterpieces, most of which are hugely inspired by Hagrid! Once again I resorted to an animal's perspective and to dealing with a favourite character's situation in the PoA year.
Title: Not Fish But
Author: paulamcg
Characters: Fang and a stray
Prompts used: All the prompts: Hagrid, Forbidden Forest, Stripped Bare, Cuddling by the Fire, Ice and Snow, and “Guests, like fish, begin to smell after three days.”
Summary: In February 1994, Fang decides to venture into the woods, if only to escape a fishy smell and to encounter another.
Rating: G or M
Word count: 950
Author's Notes (if any): This was written for Not-So-Dry January Edition of . The original version can be read here in the DW community - together with the wonderful feedback from generously-commenting fellow participants.
The cleaned-up version is here on AO3
as well as right here:
Not Fish But
Fang can't help wagging his tail. It's such a rare joy to hear another dog's bark.
He's wanted to stay behind to catch some more breaths of the frigid, blessedly fresh air, and let Hagrid enter the cabin first with the enormous load of firewood they hauled from the edge of the forest. Now the ice and snow on the stone steps make him slip as, perking his ears, he turns abruptly so as to catch a lovely canine scent, too.
No, he can't discern such a fragrance. That's just as well. The visitor - a bitch, hopefully - is evidently not near enough to have witnessed the embarrassing awkwardness in this dignified boarhound's descent back to the yard.
The canine voice rings out again. “Cold!” Is that what it says?
Such a deep voice! It can't belong to any little yapper. Is the tone plaintive? This second bark, too, remains a single sound, as if blurted out, then stifled. The dog wants to reach out, but hesitates?
And Fang hesitates.
Hagrid's now slammed the door shut, perhaps not even noticed that Fang didn't follow. The emotional half-human is in a hurry, of course, to cuddle with his beloved Beaky on the hearthrug. Ever since reading - aloud, too, in a faltering, teary voice - some pompous phrases about the need to dispose of the dangerous Hippogriff, Hagrid's barely let the poor creature out, and he spends less time outside himself, too. And it smells in the cabin.
Fang doesn't exactly miss the frequent traipsing with his half-human in the Forbidden Forest. As a puppy he was not only cuddled but also coddled so much that he still finds it unnerving to get deep into the murky woods inhabited by all kinds of shady folk and fauna and flora, although Hagrid says they are all harmless, and that he's a big dog now and able to meet them without fear.
However, today the white-clad trees sparkle under a promising celestial torch that's higher still than yesterday's. A noon sun, a couple of moons after the shortest days? Or the silver disc that's more or less completely round than last night's - with another sliver devoured or vomited back by a canis major who's starving and sick... sick of hunting... hunting the hunter whom it must follow across the skies, or how did the centaurs' storytelling put it?
Fang and whoever is trying to make these thoughts into a story that makes sense can't quite decide when they can expect a stray to roam Hogwarts grounds and not to do it as stealthily as possible. To dare bark. Daytime or nighttime?
In any case they have now shed some light on the setting, and feel more confident or at least not hopelessly scared.
Fang takes an eager leap towards the woods. Maybe he will dare... if the bitch doesn't soon come...
“Come!” he barks, and because he doesn't want to alert Hagrid, he ventures further away from the cabin before barking his invitation again for good measure. “Come! Come on, come!”
There's another enticing low-pitched call. A true handsome lady's shy invitation?
Fang now rushes towards her. The branches stripped bare of leaves but charmed by frost into dense lace obstruct his view.
Finally a gust of wind shakes down the softer layer of snow on the thicket in front of him, and brings a strange odour into his snout, just as he can also see the stranger. He can smell... not fish, but...
It looks like a major dog, indeed. An impressive black figure against the whiteness of this forest setting. Pitiably thin, but tall. Not taller than Fang?
At least not as handsome. Shaggy, and smelly!
Not shy after all, the stray crosses the distance between the two of them in a couple of bounds. Head lowered over outstretched front paws, she looks up with uncanny silvery eyes.
And proceeds to licking Fang on the snout! Outrageous!
The stranger tastes of... raw rat and goat's milk.
Fang does his best to revert to civilised introductions and steps up to sniff at the stray's rear end.
No! Not a bitch at all!
But this mutt doesn't seem to realise that Fang is not one either. He's already trying to mount Fang without caring to check first if there's swelling in the fanny or a fanny at all! (And fanny is how British dogs call vulva, not buttocks, mind!) Grim, Fluffy and Cerberus!
Fang's about to flee, but he feels so offended and unexpectedly enchanted at the same time that he only backs off a bit.
The mutt still dares meet Fang's eyes, barely apologises. "Woof," he says. "Wolf!"
Is he an alien? Surely not a wolf? He smells a bit... of a cat. There glint some long, dull gold hairs on his dark fur.
"What are you? Who are you?" Fang's nerves make him ejaculate a torrent of barks. "You are not a wolf. Looking for a wolf? No wolves here. Not even werewolves. And for werewolves you are one night too late!"
Oh yes, the moon's risen, and this grim stray in his hunger has licked off a layer on its side, and now he's lonely. There's too much that's fishy about him... No way Fang could invite him home.
"Go! Go!" Fang barks without waiting for any response, and trots off.
When approaching the cabin, he realises what the fishy smell reminded him of. The rat who's stayed in the cupboard as an uninvited guest definitely for more than three days.
That wretched creature, too, to whom Fang has failed to make Hagrid pay any attention, smells... Not of cat, not of fish. Oddly human, although he looks nowhere close to half human.
Check out all the masterpieces, most of which are hugely inspired by Hagrid! Once again I resorted to an animal's perspective and to dealing with a favourite character's situation in the PoA year.
Title: Not Fish But
Author: paulamcg
Characters: Fang and a stray
Prompts used: All the prompts: Hagrid, Forbidden Forest, Stripped Bare, Cuddling by the Fire, Ice and Snow, and “Guests, like fish, begin to smell after three days.”
Summary: In February 1994, Fang decides to venture into the woods, if only to escape a fishy smell and to encounter another.
Rating: G or M
Word count: 950
Author's Notes (if any): This was written for Not-So-Dry January Edition of . The original version can be read here in the DW community - together with the wonderful feedback from generously-commenting fellow participants.
The cleaned-up version is here on AO3
as well as right here:
Not Fish But
Fang can't help wagging his tail. It's such a rare joy to hear another dog's bark.
He's wanted to stay behind to catch some more breaths of the frigid, blessedly fresh air, and let Hagrid enter the cabin first with the enormous load of firewood they hauled from the edge of the forest. Now the ice and snow on the stone steps make him slip as, perking his ears, he turns abruptly so as to catch a lovely canine scent, too.
No, he can't discern such a fragrance. That's just as well. The visitor - a bitch, hopefully - is evidently not near enough to have witnessed the embarrassing awkwardness in this dignified boarhound's descent back to the yard.
The canine voice rings out again. “Cold!” Is that what it says?
Such a deep voice! It can't belong to any little yapper. Is the tone plaintive? This second bark, too, remains a single sound, as if blurted out, then stifled. The dog wants to reach out, but hesitates?
And Fang hesitates.
Hagrid's now slammed the door shut, perhaps not even noticed that Fang didn't follow. The emotional half-human is in a hurry, of course, to cuddle with his beloved Beaky on the hearthrug. Ever since reading - aloud, too, in a faltering, teary voice - some pompous phrases about the need to dispose of the dangerous Hippogriff, Hagrid's barely let the poor creature out, and he spends less time outside himself, too. And it smells in the cabin.
Fang doesn't exactly miss the frequent traipsing with his half-human in the Forbidden Forest. As a puppy he was not only cuddled but also coddled so much that he still finds it unnerving to get deep into the murky woods inhabited by all kinds of shady folk and fauna and flora, although Hagrid says they are all harmless, and that he's a big dog now and able to meet them without fear.
However, today the white-clad trees sparkle under a promising celestial torch that's higher still than yesterday's. A noon sun, a couple of moons after the shortest days? Or the silver disc that's more or less completely round than last night's - with another sliver devoured or vomited back by a canis major who's starving and sick... sick of hunting... hunting the hunter whom it must follow across the skies, or how did the centaurs' storytelling put it?
Fang and whoever is trying to make these thoughts into a story that makes sense can't quite decide when they can expect a stray to roam Hogwarts grounds and not to do it as stealthily as possible. To dare bark. Daytime or nighttime?
In any case they have now shed some light on the setting, and feel more confident or at least not hopelessly scared.
Fang takes an eager leap towards the woods. Maybe he will dare... if the bitch doesn't soon come...
“Come!” he barks, and because he doesn't want to alert Hagrid, he ventures further away from the cabin before barking his invitation again for good measure. “Come! Come on, come!”
There's another enticing low-pitched call. A true handsome lady's shy invitation?
Fang now rushes towards her. The branches stripped bare of leaves but charmed by frost into dense lace obstruct his view.
Finally a gust of wind shakes down the softer layer of snow on the thicket in front of him, and brings a strange odour into his snout, just as he can also see the stranger. He can smell... not fish, but...
It looks like a major dog, indeed. An impressive black figure against the whiteness of this forest setting. Pitiably thin, but tall. Not taller than Fang?
At least not as handsome. Shaggy, and smelly!
Not shy after all, the stray crosses the distance between the two of them in a couple of bounds. Head lowered over outstretched front paws, she looks up with uncanny silvery eyes.
And proceeds to licking Fang on the snout! Outrageous!
The stranger tastes of... raw rat and goat's milk.
Fang does his best to revert to civilised introductions and steps up to sniff at the stray's rear end.
No! Not a bitch at all!
But this mutt doesn't seem to realise that Fang is not one either. He's already trying to mount Fang without caring to check first if there's swelling in the fanny or a fanny at all! (And fanny is how British dogs call vulva, not buttocks, mind!) Grim, Fluffy and Cerberus!
Fang's about to flee, but he feels so offended and unexpectedly enchanted at the same time that he only backs off a bit.
The mutt still dares meet Fang's eyes, barely apologises. "Woof," he says. "Wolf!"
Is he an alien? Surely not a wolf? He smells a bit... of a cat. There glint some long, dull gold hairs on his dark fur.
"What are you? Who are you?" Fang's nerves make him ejaculate a torrent of barks. "You are not a wolf. Looking for a wolf? No wolves here. Not even werewolves. And for werewolves you are one night too late!"
Oh yes, the moon's risen, and this grim stray in his hunger has licked off a layer on its side, and now he's lonely. There's too much that's fishy about him... No way Fang could invite him home.
"Go! Go!" Fang barks without waiting for any response, and trots off.
When approaching the cabin, he realises what the fishy smell reminded him of. The rat who's stayed in the cupboard as an uninvited guest definitely for more than three days.
That wretched creature, too, to whom Fang has failed to make Hagrid pay any attention, smells... Not of cat, not of fish. Oddly human, although he looks nowhere close to half human.