Basilisk Eyes

Chapter 50: A little hike

When Harry awoke the next morning, he couldn't believe that he'd slept through the entire night. His protesting stomach woke him up. He'd missed dinner and now felt a bit trembly as he dressed for the day. He pulled on his trainers, grimacing as their clammy dampness encased his feet. He left the toilet quietly as he was up way before his roommates... it would be at least an hour before breakfast was ready. He made his way down the corridor wondering if the sandwiches in his staff were safe to eat.

Harry used his staff to locate a bench outside of the library and summoned the sandwiches and his water out of his staff. He sniffed at the sandwiches and decided that they'd be okay and woofed one of them down followed by some gulps of water.

He decided to write notes about the letters that were lost at sea. Harry summoned his writing materials from his staff along with his anagnóstis. He wrote out three versions of the same message, "You sent a note to me, Harry Potter, that arrived on Monday, June 28th that was accidentally destroyed. Could you please resend it? Thanks. HP."

He used the anagnóstis to make sure the notes were legible—it was weird to hear his own voice through the aftí—then rolled them up. He'd ask Hedwig to take them to the people who'd sent the messages. He knew she'd understand what to do.

She's a brilliant bird.

He cast the Navigation charm and headed to the owlery looking forward to spending some time with Hedwig.

He walked through the threshold and felt the very slight tug on his navel. The sounds of Charing Cross Road drifted in through the open windows along with the morning air, which seemed a bit warm for the time of day. He guessed it was going to be a hot one and was thankful that he wasn't stuck at the Dursley's tarring the driveway or some other heinous task that they were likely to invent for him to do on an outrageously hot day. Remembering the garden, though, reminded him of Nio hus cherio kisa and he thought of his cool scales against his neck.

Little Friend.

Hedwig hooted from her perch high in the rafters and Harry lifted his face to her and smiled, "Hiya, Hedwig. It's good to see you, too."

She flew down to him in an explosion of feathers against his face as she dug her talons into his shoulder. He had time to brace himself, his staff had warned him she was coming right at him, so he adjusted his stance as her weight settled on his shoulder. He reached for her and pressed his face into her feathery belly, breathing in her pine-musty scent, which was a bit of a relief from the stench of the owlery.

"It's no wonder you sit high up in the rafters, Hedwig. It stinks down here," Harry whispered into her feathers.

"You could take her out to the courtyard, if you want to escape the fetor of the owlery," an ancient voice spoke from the wall near the door.

Harry started, "Oh, I didn't know anyone else was in here!" He turned toward the voice, balancing Hedwig on his shoulder.

"Well, I'm always here, aren't I," said the voice.

"Oh?" Harry questioned. Then he remembered his staff and held it off the floor and squeezed it to get a description of the room and, he hoped, of the person standing by the door.

But there was no person.

"Are you a portrait?" Harry asked slowly.

"Yes, what are you? Blind?"

"Er, yes."

"Oh, right, then," the portrait had the good sense to sound embarrassed.

"You said there is a courtyard?"