A\N: I don't own Harry Potter in any way shape or form. I don't own any of the folklore either. This piece was inspired by the Wikipedia page on Black Dogs and Hellhounds. This piece is un-betaed and I take responsibility for any mistakes. I did run a spelling and grammar check.

He stood at the edge of the ruins, tongue panting, paws on the dusty road, waiting, watching. No one came to visit anymore not even muggles. The war had ended years ago. He wasn't even sure how long it had been. Time held no meaning in his current form. Hogwarts had been the name of the ruin behind him. Sometimes in his dreams he walked through the halls, or flew chasing a small gold ball. Those dreams always woke him up and he'd howl with pure loneliness until the sun rose. Back then he had a family, a pack. Now he had no one. He wasn't sure what had happened, just that they were gone. So at the edge of the ruins he lived, next to the icy cold black lake. His memories were a bit fuzzy at times but he remembered an old woman telling him to be a good dog and to Stay. The old woman had taken a stick (that was similar to HIS STICK that was buried next to a cold stone in the forest) and made strange sounds, then there had been a bright flash. When the old woman had left, he had BELONGED to the ruins.

There were other dogs around the area, that were like him, but different; one guarded a church another guarded a graveyard. But they smelled odd as if they weren't really there. One other thing made them different, sometimes on nights when the moon was full and swollen with light. Horses would come, skeletal horses with wings and scales, appearing from the forest they would move like mist to the road. A man with long hair and the palest skin would appear riding atop the largest horse. The man smelled like fire and moss and the darkest forest. He would raise a horn and the other hound would rush to join the horses. The rider and the hunt would shift into a foggy mist their outline barely visible running and howling they often chased after a small black mist.

He never joined the hunt. The smells were wrong, he could not smell either muggle or wizard on the rider. The word muggle meant very little to him except that it applied to those that did not smell of magic that often smelled of sweat and oil if they saw him urine. Often if the muggles saw him (which was rare) they would run away screaming and gibbering. Wizard was another word he remembered but could not apply except to smells. Wizards smelled of magic and feathers and frogs. They were more likely to see him, sometimes they used their sticks to shoot red or green lights at him. The lights never hurt but he would back off and whine. The wizards looked very similar to pack. He missed his pack.

So he sat waiting at the edge of the ruins waiting for his pack, his family, the ones who smelled like deer, dog and wolf all rolled together, the ones who smelled like home.