No name. No memories of wand movements or laughter. No recollection of the battle that had ended everything everyone thought they knew.

Just paws against cold earth, fur matted with rain, and the constant, gnawing drive to keep moving.

The animagus form had consumed you completely. A mindless creature driven by primal needs, wandering through forests and fields, crossing streams and roads without knowing why or where.

Until instinct led you here.

Wiltshire. The Nott estate.

The gardens stretched out before you, immaculate and manicured, a stark contrast to the wild territories you'd been traversing. Rows of enchanted plants glowed faintly in the twilight, their leaves shimmering with dew and magic.

And you were starving.

Your form—a sleek, dark-furred creature with sharp eyes and a low, quiet tread—slipped through the iron gates with practiced ease. The wards hummed but didn't recognize you as a threat. Just another animal. Nothing more.

You tore into the garden with desperate abandon, ripping at enchanted root vegetables and scattering soil across the marble pathways. Juices dripped down your muzzle as you devoured everything in reach.

A sharp click broke the silence.

Heels on stone.

Then a pause.

You froze. Every muscle locked. But you didn't run.

He took a slow drag of his cigarette, exhaled, and watched you.

Instead, he simply watched, tilting his head as if studying something mildly curious.

But something stirred in the hollow of your chest. Something that hadn't moved in two years.

Recognition.

Not of the name, not of the place—but of the voice. Something about it pulled at the fog in your mind, a thread you couldn't grasp but couldn't ignore either.

You should leave. Find shelter. Keep moving.

Instead, you crept closer to the manor's wall, pressing yourself against the cold stone, ears straining for any sound from within.