Before the Dawn | George Weasley

8

The owlery was almost empty, most of the owls taking advantage of the unseasonably-nice weather to stretch their wings.

I smiled at the sight of my own owl, who had, unlike the others, decided today was the day for a long nap. Her small beak was tucked under her wing, her chest rising and falling slowly as she slept.

"Thea," I prompted softly to wake her. "Thea, wake up, my pretty girl."

She blinked her dark eyes open, shifting her wing to look at me with her full-moon face.

"I need you to deliver this back home." I held up a small envelope, and she instinctively lifted a foot so I could tie it to her leg.

I had realised that I had not yet written to my father this year; that said, he had not written to me, either, so I reckoned there would be no hard feelings on either side. Or at least I hoped so.

My letter was brief, filling him in on our recent win over Hufflepuff and upcoming match against Gryffindor. I had glossed over the situation with Sirius Black and the dementors, not willing to take the slight risk of him receiving the news poorly and asking me to come home. I wasn't ready to sit in an empty house by myself for months on end again just yet.

Thea gave me an affectionate nip as I finished tying the letter to her leg, and flapped her wings to stretch them out.

"Tell Dad I say hi, will you?" I smiled and planted a soft kiss on the spot where her heart-shaped face came to a point, just above her eyes: her favourite spot. She gave a small happy hoot and hopped to the window, where she took off.

I watched her grow smaller as she flew into the distance, hearing footsteps as someone else entered the owlery behind me.

"Aren't you worried about catching something, kissing your owl like that?"

I turned to see Peregrine standing by his own owl, flashing me a snarky grin as he tied a letter to its foot.

"Well, after snogging you last year I reckon I'm immune to most things." I gave my teammate a good-natured pat on the shoulder as I passed him by, for the hundredth time cursing Firewhisky and the chaotic effect it had on me.

On my way back to the Slytherin common room, I heard voices echoing down the hallway.

"Stop it!" Annie's squeak met my ears, and I made a sharp turn, sensing trouble.

"Or what?" an older boy—presumably Annie's brother, judging by their matching dark curls and the Gryffindor insignia on his robes—snickered. His two friends loomed over Annie, who fought tears. "You'll tell Mummy? Mummy doesn't want to talk to you. She told me you're a disgrace to the family, breaking the tradition of being sorted into Gryffindor."

"That's not true, Thomas!" Annie cried. "She wrote me and told me she was proud of me!"

"Shame, that's not what she told me." Annie's brother shrugged. 

One of his friends drew his wand and pointed his wand at Annie, snickering as she covered her face with her hands. Before he could utter a spell, though, I flicked out my own wand and murmured a spell that turned the floor beneath their feet into quicksand.

The three boys let out choked sounds of alarm as they sunk into the ground. 

"What're you playing at?" Thomas demanded, his voice quivering with fear. "I'm telling Mum!"

Annie watched, wide-eyed. "This isn't me! I swear!"

"Make it stop, Annie!" One of the friends cried, waist-deep in the floor now.