Shadow and Flame

The Owl's Letter

The owl was sent at approximately six forty three in the evening.

Citrus eyes stalked above the tree line. Tilting slightly, wings struggled to carry the weight of dinner.

With a crumpled envelope for his companion, the tawny recalled the woman's fingers. Bony. Long. And twitching.

"No stops. And with all haste, please."

The letter shifted from beak to talon, crackling in protest. With a long journey ahead, the owl wished he could've protested as well.

Orders. Always orders.

Together they watched colors shift and melt. Shades of blue mingled with a pinch of gold. Cotton surrounded them. Longing for a hollow tree, blackened pupils strained against vibrancy of day.

Exhaustion knocked at his stomach's door. The sun set and rose, tucking back in once more before the cottage came into view.

Spotting his point of entry, he aimed for the cracked window.

He clipped the side of glass, colliding with a counter.

The letter fell, spiraling away as he skidded over tile. The bird collapsed, heaving across floorboards.

*

The occupant chuckled. His foot brushed over the letter as he scooped up the tired owl. He set the tawny in a dark corner, sprinkling seed in a bowl. He brushed off his hands and stepped back.

"What do we have here?"

He expected it'd be from family again. Perhaps news of a promotion or expected child? Someone calling in a favor. Heaven forbid, he hoped it wasn't his mother inviting him to holiday.

He confronted the letter, a sigh of relief following. Though the ink smudged, he knew straight away this wasn't his mother's hand.

He blinked at the seal, his thumb rubbing over it. Memories flooded in, crashing against the dam he'd built to keep them at bay. He shook his head as if they'd trickle out his ear and leave him be.

Sliding a finger in, the bond broke and the letter freed.

Dear Mr. Weasley,

As you are aware, I am not one to waste time with pleasantries. Nevertheless, I endeavor to hope you are well.
I have an urgent matter which requires me to call upon your area of expertise. There's no one else I would trust to handle such a delicate situation.
So I ask if the Sanctuary can spare you for a few days time, to meet with me at Hogwarts? If you decide so, I can have Hagrid meet you at Hogsmeade.
I know I can depend on you to be discreet and will be anticipating your response.

Signed,
Headmistress Minerva Mcgonnagal

He read and reread the letter, as if somehow that would give him the answer he needed. Go back to Hogwarts?

He raked his fingers through red hair, leaning on the counter.

"No one else she can trust?" He pinched the bridge of his nose and tapped his boots against the hardwood.

The decision hung there between him and the letter. Taking a step back, he poured coffee and drank it black. As if procrastinating would change anything. With a final swig, the mug landed with a thud.

A fresh piece of parchment awaited his reply and with a grunt, he scrawled it out. A ring of coffee bled in the upper corner, and he hoped his old professor wouldn't notice.

He sent his own owl by way of floo powder. Barn. Female. And sans mustache.
With that completed, he packed and formulated an itinerary.

The nearest portkey wasn't for miles, hopscotching from city to city seemed too long for such an urgent task.

Floo powder might've been well enough for the owl, but for wizards it was about as discreet as flying in on a dragon.

Which left apparition.

How ironic, considering I failed the test once and barely passed my second go. And now it's my only way back.

He needed to aim for the woods outside of town and walk to meet Hagrid. He smiled. At least there'd be a butterbeer for his troubles.

Bubbling nerves made for a night of tossing around in bed. A pressing matter. Needed at Hogwarts. What for? He couldn't ascertain. But one thing he knew for sure:

Charlie Weasley was going home.