The woman sighed. She had wiry hair and soft wrinkle lines that lent her an air of mature confidence. She looked to be around her thirties.
This, Dumbledore, is not going to be easy, she thought. She grimaced as she remembered her trip to Albania, from which she'd gotten back only a week ago.
Not even a proper vacation, and already chasing ghosts again old man? But it seemed that mysteries always had the courtesy to present themselves to the Headmaster.
And who was she kidding? She wouldn't have liked it any other way. She'd get bored in the city soon enough. And boredom didn't suit her well.
I figure I'll need you again for this one, old friend.
Very few reputable people knew this woman's name. As far as anyone in the Wizarding World was concerned, she barely existed. Her picture was on no chocolate frog cards, she had no remarkable results in her youth at Hogwarts. Maybe only a handful of her fellow students remembered her. Well, those that were still alive, anyway.
But this woman was special. Her name was Miranda, and she was the leader of the Court.
She wrote some two dozen letters, and sent them all by owl.
Then she pulled on a black coat. She fetched her satchel, in which she folded the letter from Dumbledore. Then she left her home, humming a slow jazzy song, praying she'd find her old friend in a somewhat agreeable state of sobriety.
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"THEY-" Tara said "is goin' to bloomin' cook me!"
The pigeon chirped.
Right, what do you care, your life is suuuper easy. Eat, fly, poop, Tara thought. But she didn't say anything to the pigeon. It seemed to get easily offended and she had grown fond of the company in the past eight days, even though she wouldn't admit it.
Tara cocked her head and peeked from the edge of the alley, scratching at a mess of tangled black hair.
"Oh, you duffer!" Tara complained, kicking impatiently at a stone on the ground.
The pigeon chirped again.
"Ain' you listening, Chisel?" Tara snapped. The pigeon fluttered its wings, annoyed. Tara sighed but lowered herself to the cobblestone, her figure hidden by the clutter in the alley.
"We. Need. Food." Tara spoke very slowly and punctuated every word while mimicking. "Course, I can't live off people feedin' me breadcrumbs in the squares. Like you. I'm not a pigeon, Pigeon. Understand?"
The pigeon gave a slight flutter. She poked out her head and sat back down again, looking impatient. Chisel met her with curious eyes.
Strangely, it looked like the pigeon managed to learn her schedule and meet up in the alley. A stab of suspicion surged through her every time she thought that. Birds can't learn schedules, and ain't no bloomin' bird goin' to trick her! Normal people could be tricked, but not her! She had the street smarts! And she was amazing, and awesome and Lucky!
But then again, the bird might only be there to get itself some discarded pieces of food from the alley. They were strikingly similar in that way. Perhaps she had invaded its territory and was stealin' its chances at some good pecks of desert. She wouldn't have liked it if it were the other way around, but the pigeon didn't seem to mind. He was fair, so she would be too! They would share the spot, and that was that!
"Need food - take food, Chisel." Tara explained. The pigeon peeped a long, confused peep as it was trying to digest the meaning. It was strangely melodic in its softness, and Tara wondered if she could train Chisel to actually sing.
