Chapter Text
Lily Evans had spent the better part of the afternoon sitting cross-legged on the grass in the park, her university notes spread around her in what might generously be called an organised fashion and what was, in reality, academic chaos. She had attempted (very sincerely, at first) to revise. Highlighters were uncapped, pages were carefully arranged, and she had even written a tidy heading across the top of a fresh page.
Unfortunately, that was where the productivity rather tragically ended.
Every time she tried to focus on the dense paragraphs in front of her, her mind slipped away. She would read the same sentence three times, absorb none of it, then find herself staring off into space wondering whether squirrels ever got tired of being squirrels because she was kind of tired of being human.
All in all, it wasn’t very promising.
The term had barely begun, and already the familiar academic dread was creeping in—the slow, heavy sort that settled somewhere beneath her ribs and refused to budge. Between essays, deadlines and lectures at ungodly hours of the morning... Lily was rather starting to wish she'd committed to a convent instead of Uni.
Frankly, Lily suspected this did not bode well for the last two years of her college academia.
Autumn, however, was doing its absolute best to improve the situation. The park near her flat had transformed into a spectacular mess of colour. The trees blazed with reds, burnt oranges, and molten golds, their branches shedding leaves that spiralled lazily through the crisp air. Every now and then a gust of wind would send a small flurry of leaves like confetti from a piñata.
Lily had settled herself beneath a particularly grand oak tree, whose branches stretched wide enough to create a comfortable canopy above her. Her books lay open around her knees, though they were receiving far less attention than they deserved.
At one point she had wandered off to a small café at the edge of the park to buy a coffee, reasoning that caffeine was surely the missing ingredient to academic success. She returned to her spot fifteen minutes later with a paper cup and a renewed sense of purpose.
That lasted approximately six minutes.
Soon enough she was doodling in the margins of her notes instead—tiny stars, winding spirals, abstract little shapes that looked vaguely like flowers if one squinted generously. A few fragments of lecture notes were scattered between them, though most of the page had been claimed by decorative nonsense.
At another point she had lain flat on her stomach in the grass and spent nearly an hour constructing what could only be described as miniature architectural projects made of leaves and twigs. One of them had a tiny roof and another had a rather ambitious chimney.
In short, Lily Evans was not studying.
Leaning back onto her elbows, she stretched her legs out in front of her and allowed her gaze to wander idly across the park. Children were kicking a football somewhere in the distance. A pair of joggers passed along the path, deep in conversation about their roommate missing the bills. The river nearby glimmered softly beneath the late afternoon sun and swans danced across the water as tourists snapped photos.
That was when she noticed the dog.
It was large and entirely black, its coat sleek and glossy as it trotted between the trees with its nose close to the ground. The animal moved with the sort of relaxed confidence that suggested it knew the park well and had absolutely no intention of hurrying anywhere. Its tail was in the air, wagging happily and occasionally, it stopped to greet bystanders.
Lily assumed immediately that it belonged to the elderly couple sitting on a bench near the far path. They all watched it with mild amusement as it bounded after the squirrels with great enthusiasm and absolutely no success whatsoever. One squirrel even dropped acorns at the dog, making Lily giggle into her hand.
The dog appeared to be having the most marvellous day of its life. It charged through piles of fallen leaves, sending bursts of colour flying into the air, then galloped off again with joyful determination. Every so often it paused to take enormous drinks from the water before setting off once more to bark at the swans, who honked back.
Lily couldn’t help watching because there was something wonderfully carefree about the dog.
It seemed a rather enviable lifestyle, if she were being honest.
She rested her chin in her palm and watched it bound across the grass, its paws kicking through piles of fallen leaves like a child charging through puddles. Every movement carried an easy sort of joy, the kind Lily suspected one could only achieve by having absolutely no idea what a project proposal was.
She just wished, suddenly, that her friends were there with her.
Mary would have been doubled over laughing by now, probably trying to take a photo for her constant insta-posting. Marlene would have attempted to coax the dog over with a bit of biscuit from her bag, just to pet it. Sarah would have insisted the dog clearly had a far more fulfilling life than any of them and she wished for its zest for life.
Sadly, most of her friends were business majors, buried under spreadsheets and economics lectures somewhere far across campus from Lily’s usual haunts. Their schedules had drifted away from hers over the past year, until moments like this—quiet afternoons in the park—were things she usually experienced alone.
She sighed softly, though the feeling wasn’t entirely unpleasant.
Just…a little lonely.
Maybe she should get a dog...
How hard were they really?
Two walks a day and feeding, right?
The dog rolled over once more and then sprang to its feet, shaking itself vigorously so that a small shower of leaves flew off the jet black coat. It's tongue was hanging sideways out of its mouth and it had the widest red grin.
She could've watched the dog all day, but eventually, a faint prick of guilt began to poke at her conscience. Her notes still lay open beside her, waiting patiently for the attention they had been denied. With a resigned breath, she leaned forward and pulled the notes closer to her lap.
“Fine,” she muttered. “Five minutes of actual studying.”
She uncapped her highlighter and dragged it across a few sentences, though if she were being completely honest she had very little idea what she was highlighting. Something about structural theory, or perhaps a narrative analysis. Honestly, it was difficult to tell when her brain was mush.
For several minutes she attempted to look convincingly studious, flipping a page and underlining a few phrases that seemed important purely because they were long.
Then, inevitably—she glanced up again.
The couple on the bench were gone now. The bench itself sat empty beneath the trees, the path stretching away in both directions without a sign of them, but the black dog was still there.
A small crease appeared between Lily’s brows.
The dog had wandered much closer now and was sitting comfortably a short distance away, panting lightly with its tongue lolling out. Its tail swayed lazily against the grass as its dark eyes scanned the park with casual curiosity. It didn’t look remotely worried without its humans. In fact, it looked perfectly content to exist within the confines of its own happiness.
“Odd,” Lily murmured, brushing stray leaves from her jeans as she pushed herself to her feet and tugged her purple jumper down properly.
The dog noticed her movement immediately. She watched as its ears perked and its head lifted in her direction. It kept its molten brown eyes fixed on her with polite interest.
“Hello there,” she called gently.
The dog tilted its head to one side.
“Who do you belong to?” Lily asked, stepping forward slowly and extending her fingers for it to sniff.
The dog ambled toward her without hesitation. It gave her hand a brief, thoughtful sniff and then, with impressive decisiveness, flopped straight onto its back in the grass. Its tail thumped happily against the ground as it waited for Lily to scratch with her nails.
Lily laughed happily, “Well then. Straight to the important business, are we?”
She knelt down beside it and obliged, rubbing the dog’s belly while it wiggled with enormous satisfaction. It was a boy, and he was clearly loved by someone. With her other hand she reached up and felt for the collar resting against its thick fur.
A small tag hung from the leather strap.
It was silver and black, shaped like a bone that glinted in the autumn sunlight as she lifted it to read.
One name was engraved neatly into the metal: Padfoot.
“Padfoot,” she repeated thoughtfully, scratching behind the dog’s ears. “What a peculiar name for a dog.”
Padfoot seemed delighted by the attention. He gave a pleased little grunt and, without the faintest warning, lunged forward and began enthusiastically licking her face.
Lily burst out laughing as she was assaulted by warm dog breath. “Alright—alright! That’s quite enough—” she protested, trying to push him away.
Padfoot was not at all convinced. If anything, her resistance appeared to encourage him. He planted his front paws squarely on her shoulders and went in for another round of slobbery affections.
“Padfoot—stop—!” Lily gasped as she felt a bit of tongue slide into her mouth...
So gross.
“Oi!” The sharp shout cracked across the lawn.
Padfoot dropped off her instantly as though someone had flipped a switch. Lily scrambled upright, brushing grass from her knees as she spun toward the voice, ready to give whoever had shouted a piece of her mind.
The dog promptly slunk behind her legs.
A young man—about her age—was striding across the park toward them with long, impatient steps. His expression was one of pure irritation, his face flushed as though he’d been marching around for some time already.
He wore a dark hoodie with the university crest splashed across the front, and his shorts were loose in the colours of the school sport’s athletes. Based on his build, he was either a swimmer or a footballer, but she hadn’t ever seen him before. She’d remember his hair anywhere, as it was wild all over his head.
Lily instinctively rested a hand on Padfoot’s head, trying to tell the dog to stay without speaking.
“Come here!” the man snapped as he approached, moving straight past her to grab the dog.
Lily reacted before the sensible part of her brain had quite caught up with the rest of her. The moment the stranger leaned in to grab the dog, she stepped sharply to the side and caught his wrist mid-reach. Her grip was firm enough to stop him, though not exactly violent—just the sort of grip that said try it and see what happens.
“Excuse you?”
The man blinked. his expression suggested he had very clearly not expected resistance from the woman holding his dog hostage. As he looked at her properly for the first time, his eyes flirted up and down her person. For a brief moment they simply stared at one another in awkward, mildly accusatory silence.
His black hair was thick and unruly, sticking up in several enthusiastic directions as though he’d long ago given up any attempt at controlling it. His glasses sat slightly crooked on his nose in a way that should have looked ridiculous but somehow suited his frazzled appearance perfectly. Behind the lenses were warm hazel eyes that had shifted from annoyed to surprised in the space of about two seconds.
“Uh,” he huffed faintly.
It was not, Lily noted, the most impressive response.
“Hi,” she said briskly, arching a brow. “Mind the personal space?”
He took a quick step back, as if suddenly remembering that boundaries were a concept that existed. Then he dragged a hand through his already chaotic hair, pushing it back in what was clearly meant to be a calming gesture. It only made the situation worse, honestly. Several strands sprang up rebelliously in response, transforming the mess into something that looked even more like a bird had recently attempted to build a nest there.
“Uh—hi,” he muttered, still looking faintly flustered. “Right. Sorry. I, uhm…thanks for finding my dog. He’s a bloody menace. Anyway, I’ll just—”
He reached forward again. Lily smoothly stepped in front of the dog before his hand got anywhere near him and folded her arms across her chest. His hand dropped so quickly it was almost impressive, clearly aborting the movement before he accidentally brushed her. He pulled his hand back toward himself and clasped it awkwardly, as though unsure what to do with it now. His gaze flicked over her quickly—head to toe and back again—with an expression that looked mildly offended.
As if she were the one behaving unreasonably in this exchange.
“And how exactly do I know he’s yours?” Lily asked coolly.
The boy hesitated.
“Well…his name is Padfoot Piedmont Porky Potter, The First,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the dog. “And he’s my dog, obviously. I’d recognise his giant mug anywhere.”
“Mm,” she said mildly. “You could’ve read the name off the tag.”
“The whole name?” he protested immediately, eyebrows shooting upward.
She glanced down at the dog, who wagged his tail with alarming enthusiasm, completely unaware that his identity was currently under legal debate.
It was, admittedly, a rather ridiculous name.
“Padfoot, specifically,” Lily said, tilting her head as she regarded him with careful suspicion. “The rest sound…rather suspiciously made-up.”
“I didn’t make-up a single thing I just told you,” he protested at once, pressing a hand dramatically to his chest as though giving testimony in court. “I solemnly swear it.”
“My mum told me not to trust strangers,” Lily replied calmly.
He stared at her for a moment, then something shifted in his expression. A spark lit behind those hazel eyes, the sort that suggested he’d just stumbled upon a puzzle he rather fancied solving. He looked at her the way someone looked at a challenge—and, rather annoyingly, the corner of his mouth began creeping upward into the beginning of a grin.
“My dog doesn’t think I’m a stranger,” he said, punctuating the claim with an entirely unnecessary wink.
Lily resisted a very strong and immediate urge to kick this handsome stranger directly in the balls.
“Labradors are notoriously friendly with everyone,” she shot back.
The grin faltered. His shoulders sagged slightly, as if he’d just been defeated by an argument he couldn’t reasonably refute.
Which, to Lily’s quiet satisfaction, he had.
Marlene had told her plenty of stories from her volunteer shifts at the animal shelter—stories that had lodged themselves unpleasantly in Lily’s mind and refused to leave. Purebred dogs disappearing from back gardens. Friendly dogs coaxed away from parks by smiling strangers with pockets full of treats. Then, days later, those same dogs popping up online, listed for sale to some unsuspecting family eager to snap up a “bargain” pedigree.
Padfoot, with his glossy black coat and bright, intelligent eyes, looked exactly like the sort of dog someone might try to make money from.
Lily folded one arm across her stomach while the other rested casually on the dog’s broad head. Her fingers threaded lightly through his fur as his tail thumped happily against the ground.
She would protect this dog from the same fate, even if it killed her.
Not that this man seemed remotely threatening, to be fair. He mostly looked like someone who had accidentally wandered into a conversation he was no longer winning.
“He’s been here for over an hour,” she continued evenly. “How do I know you’re not simply trying to steal a very friendly dog?”
The young man stared at her for a moment as though attempting to determine whether she was joking. Apparently deciding she was not, he dragged a hand slowly down his face and let out a long sigh. It was the sort of sigh that suggested the day had already become far longer than he’d ever intended.
“Because,” he said slowly, gesturing in the vague direction of the buildings beyond the trees, “I came home from class to find my front door mysteriously open and this idiot was gone.”
"You call your dog an idiot?" Her eyebrows shot up even further.
"He's so smart, he's dumb, okay?" He pointed directly at the dog. “Turns out he’s worked out how to unlock the bolt in my front door.”
Lily didn’t know if she heard the bloke right. “I’m sorry, he…what?”
“Unlocked the bolt,” the boy said grimly. “With his nose. I watched him do it on my dog monitor. Stood on his back legs, shoved the latch sideways, and off he went like he owns the bloody neighbourhood.” He looked down at the dog. “Took himself on a walk, apparently, instead of staying in the yard like I trained him to do in case of emergency.”
Padfoot wagged his tail proudly, like he had a reason to not follow any direction.
Lily tilted her head. "You didn't train him well, it seems."
“Apparently,” the boy muttered, then glared at her. "He's been trying to walk himself since he was five months old."
Lily raised one eyebrow slowly. “A self-walking dog?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” The young man shot Padfoot with a deeply unimpressed look. “He’ll even carry his leash in his mouth.”
Padfoot immediately retreated behind Lily’s legs, peering around her calf with the wide-eyed innocence of someone who had never committed a crime in his entire life. She folded her arms more firmly across her chest, settling into the stance of someone who had absolutely decided she was correct and had no intention of budging.
“I’m going to need to see some ID,” she said, and then, after a brief pause, she added, “Or photos on your phone of you and Padfoot.”
The boy blinked again, as though his brain had momentarily stalled. “Sorry?”
“Identification,” Lily repeated calmly, with the serene patience of someone explaining a very obvious concept to a small child. “Or photographic evidence that he’s yours. Until then, he stays with me.”
For a moment it genuinely looked like he might argue. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again, as if several possible responses had queued up in his mind and none of them were particularly helpful.
"I don't have my phone."
"Tragic."
The bloke dropped his gaze to the dog and muttered under his breath, “You planned this, didn’t you? Manipulative little git.”
Padfoot looked entirely unimpressed, and Lily had to agree with this dog.
“So,” she delivered with the quiet satisfaction of a barrister who had just delivered a devastating closing argument in court. “You don’t actually have any way to prove this dog is yours?”
The boy stared at her, either in shock or something else, she didn’t determine. Lily, however, had already moved on. She bent down and scratched Padfoot behind the ears while gathering her scattered belongings from the grass. Her notes were stacked neatly and slipped back into her bag, followed by her highlighter and the now-cold coffee cup she’d forgotten about an hour ago.
Lily rummaged through one of the smaller pockets of her bag until she found a slightly squashed biscuit wrapped in a napkin.
“Here, Padfoot,” she said as she broke it neatly in half.
Padfoot devoured his portion in less than three seconds.
The young man stood there watching the entire process unfold, arms hanging loosely at his sides. The expression on his face carried the long-suffering air of someone who had lost control several minutes ago and was now simply shocked in his spot.
Once Lily had slung her bag over her shoulder, she gave Padfoot a friendly tug of the collar and turned toward the path. Padfoot trotted beside her immediately, tail wagging with great enthusiasm. She smiled at the dog brightly, excited to have a friend for her walk home.
“Oi,” the young man called, half-laughing, after them. "Wait!"
Lily kept walking. Padfoot trotted beside her like he’d done it a thousand times before, tail swinging happily. If the dog felt any loyalty conflict whatsoever, it certainly wasn’t visible.
“I’ll see you soon then?” the young man added.
She still didn’t turn around.
“At the shelter?” he called after a beat.
That made her pause, momentarily. Lily stopped just long enough to glance back over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised in mild suspicion.
“What makes you think that?”
The young man had his hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie now, rocking slightly on his heels like someone who had decided to enjoy the situation rather than fight it. A slow smirk crept across his face.
“Because,” he said easily, “that’s my dog. And I’m going to want him back.” He shrugged. “Preferably before his grandparents find out I’ve lost him. They love him more than they love me and my brother, put together.”
Padfoot wagged his tail harder at the word grandparents, but didn't turn around.
Lily studied the boy for a moment. He looked frustratingly unconcerned for someone who had just watched his dog be calmly escorted away by a stranger. In fact, he looked rather amused now, like she was hilarious for protecting the dog to confidently.
“I’ll be putting up flyers,” she said after a moment, her tone soft but entirely firm. “They’ll instruct you on your next move, and if you're telling the truth then I guess we can meet at the shelter to exchange numbers. Then, and only once you've provided proof he's yours, can you have the dog."
“You know,” he said casually, tilting his head, “if you want my number so bad, you can just ask.”
The cheek of him.
“Ha.” She smiled politely, though the expression didn’t quite reach her eyes. “But see...you don’t even have a phone on you to show me pictures.” she pointed out sweetly. “So. for all I know you’ve just decided to wander around parks claiming dogs at random and picked this dog because I'm a woman alone with him and you think you could overpower me..”
"I know for a fact I couldn't overpower you." He conceded, "You're a tad terrifying."
"Thanks." She said cheerfully.
The young man looked mildly offended at her pleased response. “I do have a phone. I swear it.”
“And yet,” Lily said, spreading her hands lightly as though presenting an obvious conclusion, “no proof of phone...or dog ownership.”
He opened his mouth, clearly preparing a rebuttal, then gestured vaguely back toward the path he’d come from. “I left it at home,” he said, a bit defensively. “Because I’ve been running around the park for the last half-hour looking for that...that...fleabag!”
He jabbed a finger toward Padfoot. The dog, who was currently sitting very neatly beside Lily’s leg, looked up with the satisfied expression of a creature who had just orchestrated an entire afternoon of chaos and would happily do it again tomorrow. In fact, he was gazing at the bloke as if he might run right past him for the squirrels.
“Fleabag?” Lily repeated, arching a brow. “Is that meant to be a term of endearment?”
The young man scrubbed a hand across his face, dragging his palm down over his mouth before wiping the sweat from his brow. His hair, already unruly, looked even worse now—pushed in every direction by his fingers and the wind.
“Look,” he said, exasperated, throwing one arm out to gesture at the enormous park surrounding them. “You try sprinting this massive park looking for that creature and tell me—honestly, to my face—you wouldn’t be a bit peeved.”
Lily folded her arms. “I’d be worried,” she corrected calmly. “Not peeved.”
He blinked at her, as though the thought genuinely hadn’t occurred to him, then pointed again at the dog. Padfoot, who had settled comfortably beside Lily’s leg like a Very Good Boy, wagged his tail with cheerful indifference, clearly enjoying the unfolding drama.
“Look…love,” the young man began, a little breathless now, “I didn’t bring my phone with me because I wasn’t planning a scenic jog across half the city park system.”
“Love,” Lily said flatly and her eyes narrowed slightly. “Was that meant to be as condescending as it sounded? Or do you simply lack common sense when around women?”
The young man blinked at her again, looking momentarily caught off guard.
“I have plenty of sense,” he argued.
Padfoot sneezed suddenly. It was a loud, dramatic sort of sneeze, the kind that sounded suspiciously like protest. Lily glanced down at him, then she slowly lifted her gaze back to the young man, her expression perfectly serious.
“Padfoot says that’s bullshit,” she informed him, speaking on the dog’s behalf.
For a moment the young man looked like he might laugh. Instead he exhaled slowly and dragged both hands through his already chaotic hair, pushing it straight up before letting it collapse back down again in hopeless disarray of waves and curls.
“I’m slightly annoyed I am missing my designated nap time,” he admitted.
"Poor baby," Lily teased.
"I’m sorry if I sounded condescending."
"Look, you seem decent," Lily admitted, "But either you have your phone with proof, or I'm taking this dog home with me until I have official proof."
His shoulders sagged a little as the irritation drained into weary resignation. “My phone is still sitting on my kitchen counter, thirty minutes from here.” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the street beyond the trees.
"Convenient." Lily said.
“Can I convince you to walk with me back to my flat?” he asked. “So I can prove that this completely worthless canine is actually mine?”
Which, in Lily’s mind, was confirmation enough that Padfoot was not going anywhere with this guy. "Uhm, no thanks."
"Please!" he begged, "I'll give you fifty pounds!"
“Right,” she said brightly, realizing this man as insane. “My new dog and I will not be following you anywhere...and don't you dare follow us."
He snapped, straightening immediately, “Look—that is my dog! My whole family will kill me if they come over for dinner tonight and I’ve got to tell ‘em that he got out!”
“Sounds like a problem for you.”
“I’m attempting to make it yours too, don’t worry.” He said, “I might as well go jump in the river and let the water take me—it’ll be a swifter death than if my mum gets word of me, losing her only grandson!”
Lily gave a small snort. “You can go jump in the river for all I care,” she said breezily. “The swans might let you adopt them.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Or they might drown you, like I'm considering doing for having the audacity to think I'd follow you anywhere for money.”
The young man stared at her for a moment, his expression hovering somewhere between disbelief and reluctant amusement.
"Shit, that does seem sketchy, huh?"
"Ya think?"
Slowly, despite himself, a smirk crept back across his face. “You’re very cheeky.”
“And you’re very annoying,” Lily muttered under her breath.
“Thank you,” he said immediately, looking far too pleased with himself.
Lily rolled her eyes and shook her head faintly, as though the entire encounter had confirmed her worst suspicions about humanity. Then she looked down at the dog. Padfoot was watching the exchange like an entertained spectator at a tennis match, his head turning back and forth between them.
“Well,” Lily said as she patted her thigh. “Come along, Padfoot.”
Padfoot rose immediately and fell into step beside her, tail swishing back and forth.
Behind them, the black-haired boy remained planted, staring after them with the stunned expression of someone who had just lost both an argument and self-respect in the same five-minute window. Out of the corner of her eye, Lily caught sight of him dragging both hands through his hair again, gripping the roots like a man personally betrayed.
“Traitor!” he shouted after the dog. “You’re sleeping outside for the rest of your life, you mangy mutt!”
Padfoot didn’t even glance back.
Lily did.
She shot the boy with a sharp glare over her shoulder. Then, without another word, she gave Padfoot’s collar a gentle tug and continued down the path, crisp autumn leaves crunching beneath their feet as they disappeared between the trees.