The Last Horcrux

Biscuit

On a cold, clear Saturday morning Sev found Remus in the greenhouse, pruning the venomous tentacula. This was always a challenging job. The tentacula did not like to be pruned and it usually resisted vigorously. Its leaves had taken on an angry purplish hue.

"Just..... hold that one large frond back for me, would you?" huffed Remus, by way of greeting.

Sev  grabbed a frond of the venomous tentacula and Remus grabbed the shears.

Gavin and Oakley appeared at the door of the greenhouse, dressed to go out in jackets, hats and mittens.

"We're ready," Gav announced. "When are we leaving?"

"In a few minutes," said Sev as he struggled to hold a wriggling frond while Remus slashed at it with the shears. A thick tendril had wound its way around Sev's neck. He pulled it off with his free hand. "Why don't you two get in the car?"

Remus, put down the shears and removed his gloves. ""I'm finished here. That should do for today."

"Sure you won't come with?" said Sev, releasing his hold on the vicious plant with relief. The venomous tentacula relaxed, settled back down into its pot and shook out its leaves, which turned a brighter, happier shade of green.

"Nah," said Remus. "It's your funeral."

"Bastard," Sev muttered as he pulled Remus close to kiss him goodbye. 

Remus grinned. "I'm torn between being mad that you're getting a dog and how adorable it is that you even want one."

"Hmphh," said Sev as he headed out to the car. "Try to get some rest while we're gone."

The boys were waiting in the old Ford Anglia that Arthur Weasely had loaned them. Oakley was already strapped into his car seat, Gavin buckled in the back beside him.

"Come on," said Gavin "Let's go."

Gavin chattered happily about dogs for the entire drive; which breeds were best, which color, which size. He had gotten several books on dogs out of the library and had been reading them nonstop for days.

The Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals  shelter occupied an old farm house on the bluff of a hill, overlooking the surrounding fields. Inside it was smelly and noisy with the yapping of many caged dogs. They were shown around by a matronly woman in grey tweed named Mrs. Peels. She pointed out the virtues of each dog, explained how long they'd been there and what combination of breeds they were. Oakley, a bit overwhelmed, clutched Sev's hand, but Gavin went from cage to cage, studying each occupant and listening to Mrs. Peels intently.

"That one," said Gavin at last.

It was a medium sized dog, not too big, not too small, white with black and brown spots and a crooked ear. Mrs. Peels unlocked the door of the cage. The dog looked at them quizzically, cocking his head.

"Here pup," said Gavin. The dog came forward and sniffed his outstretched hand.

"Is it a boy or a girl?" Oakley asked.

"A boy," Mrs. Peels replied, studying the tag on the outside of the cage.

"What's his name?" asked Oakley.

"Biscuit," said Gavin decisively, petting the dog's head. The dog's tail wagged with pleasure at the attention. "His name is Biscuit."

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That night was cloudy and unusually warm. Sev sat out in the garden, wrapped in his cloak and smoked a bowl of gillyweed while Remus put the children to bed.