Hello… you solo pet

July had arrived in Edinburgh with persistent rain and a string of gray days that Stelle considered, from the outset, a personal affront.

Her grandparents' house was beautiful. It stood in one of the oldest parts of Edinburgh, with stone walls, tall windows, and gardens that seemed to have been tended for generations by people too proud to allow a single plant to grow where it shouldn't. Inside, there were paintings, clocks, books, and objects that Stelle didn't dare touch without asking first, although her grandfather insisted she could touch anything that wasn't behind glass.

Her grandmother had, as usual, prepared a room for her with more care than necessary. There were new clothes in the wardrobe, her favorite books on the bedside table, and even a small box of sweets hidden in one of the drawers, as if Stelle were eight years old and might starve to death between breakfast and dinner.

And her grandfather was even worse. Trud seemed to have turned their vacation into a personal mission. There were overly large breakfasts, walks that ended in shops where, “just in case,” there was something that might interest her, visits to museums, entire afternoons spent discussion historical artifacts, and, every now and then, a gift that Stelle hadn't even asked for. Even if it rained, it didn't stop. True, the rain.

It wasn't that she hated the rain. In fact, she usually liked it. There was something pleasant about listening to the raindrops against the windows of her grandparents' house while sitting by the fireplace with a book in her hands. The problem was that she'd been there for almost a month, and even the things she normally found charming were beginning to seem unbearable.

She'd spent the first few weeks trying to convince herself that this was exactly what she needed. A vacation. A little distance from Hogwarts before returning to the castle and facing classes, homework, classmates, and teachers again.

However, she'd forgotten that resting at her grandparents' house meant being observed as if she were part of a scientific study.

"Stelle, are you going out like that?" Her grandmother's question had come that morning as she was coming down the stairs. Stelle stopped on the last step and looked at her clothes.

"Like what?" Andromeda gestured vaguely to her trousers and then to her hair.

"Too casual."

"It's July."

"Exactly. A young lady should know how to present herself properly even during the holidays." Stelle took a deep breath. She didn't want to argue. She'd been telling herself for weeks that she didn't want to argue. The problem was that each day it became a little harder to keep that promise.

"I'll be in the garden," she finally replied.

"That doesn't change anything." And before she could receive another correction, she went out the door. The garden was her refuge, or had been. During the first few days, she had spent hours there. She painted by the rosebushes, read under the trees, and walked barefoot on the lawn when she was sure no one was watching. Her grandfather never said anything. Her grandmother, on the other hand, seemed to consider walking barefoot a threat to several centuries of family tradition. That afternoon, Stelle sank down onto the damp grass and gazed at the sky. Clouds blanketed Edinburgh in a grayish haze. It wasn't raining, but the air still held that fresh scent that lingered after a storm. She opened a book, read a page, then another, before closing it. She couldn't concentrate. So naturally, she just closed her eyes. She didn't even know exactly what was wrong. Perhaps she was tired. Perhaps she missed Hogwarts. Perhaps she'd simply been listening to her grandmother tell her how to sit, walk, talk, dress, and behave for too long. Or perhaps she was fed up with everyone seeming to have an opinion about her.

She got up after several hours; she'd fallen asleep. And perhaps sleeping in a bad mood on the grass hadn't been the best idea. Looking around silently, she remembered some cakes in the kitchen. They might lift her spirits, at least a little.

Trud approached unhurriedly. He wasn't wearing a suit, which was unusual for him, but a dark waistcoat over a rolled-up shirt. In one hand she held a small cardboard box. He didn't laugh at her. That would have been unbearable. He simply smiled with that expression of his that made you think he'd figured something out long before everyone else.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"You look tired."

Stelle put the knife down on her plate.

"Grandpa."

"Yes?"

"If you ask me again if I'm tired, I'm going to start charging you for every answer."

There was a silence, but it ended sooner than she would have appreciated.

"Ah," he said. "I see."

"What do you see?"

"That you're angry." Stelle opened her mouth. She closed it. Remembering she didn't want to argue, she picked up the plate of chocolate cake and walked out of the kitchen.

"Are you going somewhere?"

Her grandfather's voice stopped her in her tracks. Trud was watching her with that calm expression that always managed to irritate her a little more when she was angry.

"To my room. Why?"

"Nothing."

That response puzzled her. Trud didn't press the issue. He simply started walking beside her. For a few seconds, neither of them said anything. Stelle hoped he would ask what was wrong. That he would try to convince her that she shouldn't be upset. That he would bring up again some of the things her grandmother had said at breakfast. Instead, he remained silent. That allowed her anger to slowly begin to subside.

"I'm tired,"

"I know."

"You know?"

"You've been closing the doors for three days now, like you want to declare war on them."

"It's not funny."

"I didn't say it was."

They passed through the living room, but stopped because The old man placed the small cardboard box on the table. And she looked at it curiously.

"What's that?"

Trud shrugged.

"Some unfinished business."

She frowned.

"What does that mean?"

"That you should open it."

Stelle approached slowly. Something moved inside. Then there was a small squeak.

"If it's a weird rat again, I'm going to cry."

The older man was about to laugh, but stopped when he saw his granddaughter's expression, clearing his throat slowly.

"Something of utmost importance."

"Another relic?"

"Much more dangerous. At least for your grandmother, no doubt."

That managed to elicit a small smile from him. So she approached the box again; something moved inside and, even worse, squeaked. A tiny, high-pitched, and absurdly adorable sound.

"Before you say anything, I want to make it clear that this isn't an attempt to buy your affection."

"I never thought of it that way."

" Excellent. Because I already have your affection. For years."

Stelle lifted the lid. Inside was a small, round creature, covered in soft pink fur. It looked like a tiny cotton ball with bright eyes. Upon seeing her, it moved clumsily, poking its head around the edge of the box and letting out another squeak. Stelle froze, and the creature squeaked again.

“It’s pink.”

“It seemed appropriate.”

She looked up.

“Did you choose it? For me?”

“Naturally.”

“And Grandma?”

“Consider me irresponsible.”

She then remembered a scene from her first year at Hogwarts. It had been after a visit to Hogsmeade. Stelle had wandered into a pet shop almost by chance and had seen for the first time those small, round creatures that seemed to have been created exclusively to be cuddled.
Pygmy Puffs. There were some pink ones and others a more violet shade. Stelle was fascinated. She had spent so much time watching them that one of the employees ended up asking if she needed help. She had said she wanted one.
Her parents' response had been immediate. No. She was too young and wouldn't know how to properly care for a pet. Besides, she already had too many things. She had insisted, naturally, promising to feed it, clean it, take care of it, and even take it with her on vacation. But it was no use. At least not that day.

She lifted the furry creature in her hands; it fit perfectly. At least it had stopped squeaking, finding comfort in her arms. She held the Pygmy Puff up to eye level, looking at it like someone examining a new specimen.

"Hello Arwen…"