Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The laughter, clattering of dishes, the thud of glasses against the table, boisterous conversations, and the greasy smell of cooking were all driving Owl mad. It had been an interminable amount of time since Mister had shoved her into the cupboard with strict instructions to make no sound at all. Night must have fallen long ago, and she was desperate for the guests to leave so the house could finally fall silent.

She sat cross-legged on her thin, mouldy mattress, riddled with moth holes, trying to trace shapes on Mister’s old, oversized t-shirt that served as a makeshift dress. It was tied at her waist with a rough, worn scarf that had long since lost its original colour, all part of a vain attempt to stave off boredom.

She would have preferred to draw with her coloured pencils, but with guests in the house, switching on her small bulb for light would have made Mister very, very angry. No one outside of Mister, Missus, and Dudley was supposed to know of her existence. Mister had made that excessively clear. She wasn’t even allowed to approach the windows, which always had to remain curtained during the hours she performed her chores. Not that she could do much – Owl was too small to manage anything beyond drying dishes or sweeping the floor. Still, it was better than being confined to the cupboard.

One day, she had found the courage to ask Mister why she wasn’t allowed outside. He had turned an alarming shade of red and half-shouted that they were already kind enough to house and feed a monster like her, and they certainly wouldn’t let the neighbours find out that the girl they were sheltering was completely disfigured and hideous.

At that memory, her fingers instinctively moved to her face, tracing the countless deep and misshapen scars that marred her features, running over her blind right eye – milky green, as though the iris had dissolved into the white and covered the pupil. The scars extended to the sensitive crater of flesh on her forehead, as though lightning had struck her there… which, according to Missus, was exactly what had happened.

Her days were always the same. She would emerge in the morning, use the toilet, do what little she could around the house (occasionally playing with Dudley when Mister and Missus weren’t looking), and then be confined to the cupboard until evening. She didn’t mind too much, as she spent most of the day sleeping. When evening came, it was the same routine: cleaning, trying to set the table, receiving a morsel of food, and then back to the cupboard.

Her only moments of freedom came at night, when she could finally let her false skin dissipate and return to her natural form. She would fluff her feathers with delight, perch under the stairs far from the irritating, mouldy mattress, and see clearly again with her two large eyes. Her hideous scar only marred her human disguise, the skin she was forced to wear so Mister and Missus wouldn’t get angry. They both loathed anything out of the ordinary, and Owl suspected letting her disguise vanish would be anything but normal. She didn’t know how they would react if they discovered her secret, but she had no doubt it would be very bad news for her.

Her only ally in the house was Dudley. Once, many seasons ago – she couldn’t count or even determine her own age; Dudley had said he was six, whatever that meant – Dudley had opened her cupboard earlier than usual in the morning and seen her without her disguise. Owl had been terrified he would tell Mister and Missus, but he hadn’t. He had simply closed the door and acted as if nothing had happened. Later, he had returned to her and proposed a pact. She would keep playing with him, and in exchange, after Mister and Missus went to bed, he would open the door and let her go outside.

It was Dudley who had given her the name “Owl.” She much preferred it to the unpleasant “girl,” the only name Mister and Missus ever used for her. Dudley, filled with excitement that hadn’t left him since that day, had even asked his parents to help him identify her species in a book. After some research, the verdict was clear: she was a little owl, one of the smallest owl species in the world.

She had found it slightly vexing. She had so wished to be what he called an eagle owl, with its majestic and imposing appearance in the book’s illustration. But no, she was a little owl – discreet and furtive. Not a hint of grandeur, just enough to slip into the shadows unnoticed.

At last, through the cupboard’s wooden walls, she heard the voices of Mister and Missus bidding their guests goodbye. Colleagues of Mister’s, apparently. They had spent the evening talking about drills and holes – topics as dull as they were incomprehensible to her. The endless “goodbyes” dragged on, but finally, the heavy thud of the front door signalled their departure. The sound of dishes being packed away and hurried footsteps echoed for a while longer before silence finally fell.

She listened as the familiar noises of the trio climbing the stairs filled the air. Then came the distant hiss of water in the bathroom, accompanied by the rhythmic splashing of a shower. Finally, the distinct sound of the adults’ bedroom door clicking shut for the night brought an end to her waiting.

Owl trembled with excitement. It was only a matter of minutes before Dudley would come to set her free. She let herself relax, the tension leaving her limbs, and it felt as though a warm, vaporous fabric enveloped her skin. A sigh, a gentle and familiar gust, and the disguise fell away. Her true form was free.

Clumsily, she stepped forward on her small talons, trying to wriggle out of the thick camisole that had been the t-shirt she wore moments before. With energetic flaps of her wings and a quick shake, she managed to shed the rough fabric, which collapsed behind her in a heap.

With a leap, she jumped, flapped her wings twice with precision, and landed in the alcove under the stairs – her usual refuge while waiting for Dudley. What luck! A large black spider had spun its web here. Without hesitation, she snatched the creature with a swift snap of her beak, crushed it briefly, and swallowed it whole. Not very tasty, but she couldn’t afford to be picky. Given what Missus and Mister provided, even a clumsy insect was a rare luxury.

Satisfied, she fluffed her feathers again and began preening them with patient care. How wonderful it was to shed that false human skin! Not only were Mister and Missus’s heavy, disgusted looks unbearable, but the disguise itself was torturous to wear. She felt alien in that oversized, featherless body with its clumsy, cumbersome limbs. Not to mention her blind right eye, the source of so many unjust punishments for the accidents it caused.

It was exhausting. She was just an owl trying to pass as human, simply for a morsel of food and a semblance of safety. Being locked in that cupboard – during the day and on the rare nights Dudley couldn’t come – was yet another burden to bear.

This time, though, she didn’t have to wait long. Through the wood and the silence, she finally heard Dudley’s careful footsteps descending the stairs. The soft sound of his slippers on the tiled floor of the entryway was followed by the metallic creak of the latch. At last, the eagerly anticipated sound of the door opening reached her ears.

In an almost imperceptible creak, the door opened. Brimming with excitement, Owl leapt out of the cupboard, her small wings flapping frantically to carry her. She made a quick circuit of the entryway, careful not to brush against the chandelier, before landing gracefully on Dudley’s shoulder. Her sharp eyes immediately noticed the mess of his hair, and she began methodically tidying it with her little beak, irritated by the chaos.

Why couldn’t humans have feathers? It would be so much more practical.

“Stop it! That tickles!” Dudley whispered, laughing quietly as he tried not to make any noise. He headed toward the kitchen, pulling from his pocket the small flashlight he had received for his last birthday. The flickering beam lit the room as he opened the refrigerator.

Inside, a bowl of bacon bits prepared by Missus for Dudley’s breakfast sat on a shelf. So far, she hadn’t noticed the mysterious disappearance of a few pieces each night.

Owl watched gratefully as Dudley plucked a piece and offered it to her. She grabbed it in her beak and swallowed it whole, letting out a soft hoot of satisfaction before asking for another. Dudley eagerly handed her a second piece, then a third, before quietly closing the refrigerator. Taking another piece might have risked alerting Missus.

Among the three humans in the house, Dudley was her only ally. Without him, she might never have had enough access to the outside world to learn how to fly. As every evening, reaching the keys to the back door proved challenging. Dudley had to move a stool quietly, positioning it carefully so he could climb up and reach the keys hanging high on the wall of the entrance hall.

With a skilled hand, he grasped them and tiptoed silently to the back door, which opened with a soft click. “The window to my room will be open tomorrow morning, as usual,” he whispered conspiratorially.

Owl brushed her beak through his hair in response, a gesture of agreement, before taking flight. Her small wings beat the air vigorously as she soared. She circled Dudley once, as if to thank him, before vanishing into the night.

Well, into what humans would call night. For her, with the crescent moon illuminating the sky, the world was cast in shades of grey and shapes – softened yet incredibly detailed. No object or feature escaped her keen eyes. She perched on a low branch of a tree at the edge of the garden and glanced back, just in time to catch Dudley slipping inside and closing the door. The last glimmer of his little flashlight faded moments later as he retreated deeper into the house.

As every night, a wave of excitement swelled in Owl’s chest. If she had lips, she was sure they would stretch into a wide smile. The sense of freedom her nightly escapes granted her was immense. The thought of Dudley coming to free her each evening was the only thing that made her days, trapped in that house reeking of cleaning products, bearable. She stretched her wings, her neck, and then her legs one by one before launching herself into the air again.

Flying was truly something marvellous – the sensation of the cool late spring air sliding through her feathers as the ground blurred far beneath her wings. The hedges and walls that formed impassable barriers during the day were nothing now. The colours and contours of the world were softened by the night’s veil. Angles seemed gentler, and the air carried a serene softness. The oppressive daytime cacophony – conversations, slamming doors, Mister’s grumbles – was replaced by the tranquil sigh of the wind. Now and then, a motor rumbled far away, or a dog barked in a nearby street. But for her, the night was a sanctuary, an escape.

Cloaked in the safety of darkness, she felt secure. Her small, silent, and elusive silhouette glided nimbly over the garden, the rooftops, and the peaceful streets. She carefully rose above the streetlights, ensuring that their orange glow didn’t even brush the tips of her wings. There was an almost mischievous satisfaction in observing without being seen – a rare delight that was entirely her own.

The neighbourhood, though quiet, revealed its secrets under the cover of darkness. She noticed intriguing scenes: the neighbour across the street bringing women home at strange hours, but only when his wife’s car was absent. Or the man Dudley had described as the father of one of his friends, exchanging mysterious objects with a hooded figure. These were things Missus would undoubtedly have deemed immoral, though Owl didn’t fully understand what that meant.

She carefully avoided the house next door, the one where the woman lived surrounded by dozens of cats. Every feline shadow she spotted set her on edge. Those cunning creatures would surely not hesitate to take their chances with a small owl like her. If only she had been a majestic eagle owl, she could have faced those felines with confidence. But no, she was a little owl – small, discreet, and vulnerable.

Before long, she decided to head to a small park nestled a few streets away. She loved that place. The trees were plentiful, perfect for perching, hiding, and playing. With a bit of luck, she might even catch sight of a mouse darting across the paths. She had never managed to catch one before, but the idea alone was enough to ignite her excitement. Every failed attempt fed her determination rather than discouraging her.

Hours passed as she played, stretched her wings, and observed the nocturnal life of the neighbourhood. She tried to catch a small brown mouse, which escaped with infuriating ease. But it didn’t matter; the sense of freedom outweighed all her failures.

When she finally returned near Mister and Missus’s house, the sun was starting to peek over the horizon, tinting the sky with pale hues. It was time to return to her cupboard. If Mister discovered her absence, his anger would be terrifying. Worse still, he might deduce Dudley’s involvement and forbid any future nighttime escapes.

She perched on a low branch at the far end of the garden, her mind swirling with thoughts she couldn’t immediately put into words. Ready to head back to the house, she suddenly froze, rooted to her branch by a mixture of doubt and resignation. The exhaustion of pretending to be human, day after day, was catching up with her. Those thankless tasks she performed for Missus and Mister, the cruel comments about her appearance, the constant humiliations... Her blind right eye, so useless, only added to her misery.

And that cupboard – narrow, dark, foul-smelling. The ever-present fear that her true form might be discovered. All of it for a few scraps of bland food, most of which came from Dudley. All of it for a shelter that hardly deserved the name.

Her thoughts sharpened, their logic relentless. She didn’t want to go back. Not at all. Dudley was a precious ally, it was true, but could she endure all of this just for him? Nothing was forcing her to return. She was an owl, after all! Owls weren’t meant to live in cupboards.

She knew survival wouldn’t be easy. Hunting wasn’t her strong suit, and even if she managed to catch a mouse, could she truly bring herself to kill it? Yet she was convinced there were countless other ways to get by. Her feathers would protect her from the cold, as long as she avoided the rain.

She already knew what she was going to do. Long before the words took shape in her mind, her decision was made. After one last glance at the house where she had spent her earliest years, she spread her wings. The nocturnal wind brushed against her feathers as she took flight, resolved never to return.

Living alone, for a little owl like her, couldn’t possibly be that hard.

oOOOo

It quickly became clear that she was utterly helpless when it came to survival. Only a few days had passed since she had left Mister and Missus’s house, and already she was at her limit. Returning was no longer an option. Not only could she not imagine the fury of Mister and Missus if she reappeared after breaking the absolute rule never to leave the house, but she wouldn’t have been able to find her way back, so far had she strayed.

She had followed roads, flown over parks, spending her days perched atop utility poles or roof ridges, scanning the surroundings in the hope of spotting a rodent to catch. She saw them, of course. But she was far too clumsy, and they always eluded her. Reduced to scavenging bins for a meagre scrap of discarded meat, she had found only disappointment: ever-watchful crows would descend upon her and snatch away any discovery before she could enjoy it. Since her escape, she had survived only by swallowing the occasional insect gleaned here and there.

She had indeed taught herself to fly, but without owl parents to teach her the art of hunting, she was incapable of feeding herself. At times, she envied pigeons. They could peck at the ground for any edible scrap, while she could only consider meat or insects. Her last meal, a large black beetle hastily swallowed the previous evening, had done little to ease her hunger. Today, her stomach howled in misery, and she felt weaker with every beat of her wings.

Lost and afraid, the city overwhelmed her with its deafening noises of cars, its swarming crowds of humans, and its intense smells—fire, oil, battered stone—everything was unbearable. Drained of all energy, her wings grew heavier, and she struggled to do more than glide feebly.

Perched on a low wall behind a restaurant, her mind was consumed by a single obsession: finding food, at any cost. Her empty stomach blinded her to everything else. Suddenly, she spotted a man dressed in white exiting the back door. He wore a strange cylindrical hat and carried a large black bag, which he tossed into a bin. From her perch, Owl spotted a bone still bearing scraps of meat amid the rubbish. By a stroke of luck, a voice called the man inside. He disappeared in a hurry, forgetting to close the bin lid.

Hunger swept away any hesitation. Owl leapt from her perch and glided to the bin’s edge, her little wings desperately beating the air to carry her. She landed, hesitated for a moment, then hopped inside. Heart pounding, she advanced toward what she considered a feast. But just as she reached for the bone with her beak, a low creak caught her attention.

The lid, precariously propped open, was slowly tipping shut! Driven by instinct, she flapped her wings frantically to escape. But she wasn’t fast enough.

A searing pain tore through her leg. The lid had come down too quickly, trapping one of her limbs. Immobilised, she thrashed furiously, her wings slamming against the plastic in a desperate rhythm. The pain intensified with each futile attempt to free herself.

“SQUIIII—SQUIIII—SQUIIII!” Her cries of pain and terror echoed through the alley. She continued to struggle, frantic and hopeless, the bin’s plastic trembling under the assault of her wings.

“What the hell is that noise?” a voice called out, growing nearer.

Owl froze, her heart hammering in her chest. She turned her wide, terrified eyes toward the approaching figures. This was it. She was going to be eaten; she was sure of it. Two silhouettes emerged from the darkness: a man and a woman, plainly dressed. Their gazes settled on her.

“An owl?!” exclaimed the woman, incredulous.

“Not often you see one in the city,” the man replied, frowning. “Think it’s a lost postal owl?”

The woman shook her head, perplexed. “No idea… But we need to get her out of there. If she’s carrying mail, we’ll find out soon enough.”

The man nodded, pulling a long, smooth wand from his pocket. He pointed it at Owl and spoke words she couldn’t understand. With a precise motion, a blue light emerged from the wand’s tip, enveloping Owl in an ethereal glow. Immediately, she was overcome by a strange limpness, as though her entire body was collapsing inward. The pain in her leg vanished, but a deeper fear took hold: her limbs refused to obey her. She was completely paralysed, imprisoned in her own form.

The woman approached and picked her up with surprising gentleness, while the man lifted the bin lid with a sure hand.

“Ouch, her leg’s in bad shape,” the woman grimaced, examining the injured limb closely.

“Nothing a magical vet can’t fix,” the man reassured her.

The woman scrutinised Owl carefully, searching her plumage for any clues. “No sign of a letter or authentication… If she’s a postal owl, she’s probably lost her mail.”

She handled Owl with care, folding her wings against her sides and resting her tiny back in the palm of her hand. Owl, petrified, felt her heart pounding violently in her chest. She could only stare at these immense humans, her panicked gaze darting between their faces. They seemed gigantic, insurmountable.

“She’s such a small specimen,” the man observed thoughtfully. “I know plenty of people who prefer them that way. Easier to transport in small cages, and much less cumbersome than the larger species.”

He paused, speaking aloud as if to himself. “But the mail would need to be shrunken before being assigned to an owl of this size. If the shrinking charm failed mid-flight, she might have become completely disoriented.”

The woman nodded. “We could stop by Jeffrey & Ci Owl Express . It’s on the way. They’ll know what to do.”

“Excellent idea. We…”

Owl didn’t hear the rest. A sudden red light burst from the wand the woman had slipped from her sleeve, and a veil of darkness engulfed her. Her consciousness slipped away, and she knew no more.

oOOOo

When she reopened her eyes, the first thing she noticed was a series of vertical bars. She was inside a small round metal cage lined with a thin layer of straw. Above her, a wooden perch was fixed across the cage. Her leg no longer hurt, but she was completely disoriented, her mind clouded by a dull fear.

Through the bars, she observed a strange room bathed in a yellow light emanating from lamps made of shimmering crystals. A large display window overlooked a busy street, where passers-by dressed in outfits as unusual as they were varied moved back and forth without pause. The walls were covered in wood panelling, though she could only glimpse it intermittently, obscured as it was by countless cages hanging throughout the room.

Owl blinked, trying to adjust to her unfamiliar surroundings. Each cage contained another owl or a hawk. Some were immense and imposing, while others, like her, were small and almost insignificant. Their plumage ranged from dazzling white to the deepest black, with some showing rare and vivid colours. Compared to most, she was one of the smallest, almost invisible in the oppressive space.

The cacophony only made things worse: hoots, flapping wings, the rustle of feathers, and the screech of talons on metal created a relentless din. Intermittent cries of distress pierced through the chaos, making it even harder to bear.

Her cage, unlike those hanging on the walls, was placed on a cluttered counter crowded with trinkets and objects whose purpose she couldn’t fathom. Seated on a tall stool behind the counter, a man was hunched over a book, holding an oversized quill in multicoloured hues. He scribbled diligently on the pages, not once looking up.

He had a neatly trimmed greying beard, small rectangular glasses perched on a hooked nose, and bushy eyebrows so thick they seemed poised to engulf his dark eyes. A loose black robe almost completely concealed his frame. When she stood up on her feet, he briefly turned his head toward her before returning to his work, as though her presence were a mere detail.

Owl hopped onto the perch to get a better view of her surroundings. She inspected her leg, expecting to find the marks left by the garbage bin lid. But there was nothing—no scars, no signs of injury. Yet she was certain of what she had felt. Troubled, she curled up, unable to comprehend where she was or what these humans wanted from her. She was terrified.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly. Finally, a young man burst through a door at the back of the room. Clean-shaven, his short hair slicked flat over a head that seemed slightly too round, his wide-set eyes gave him a faintly unsettling appearance. He carried a stack of papers, which he dropped onto the counter with a thud.

"Here you go, boss! I’ve got the documents and the tests!" the young man announced, his voice far too loud for the oppressive atmosphere of the room.

The old man barely lifted his head, acknowledging him with a grunt. "Good. Let’s see what it’s worth. Grab it and hold it steady."

"Yes, boss."

Before she could react, the young man opened the cage with a swift motion and grabbed her firmly. She struggled, but his grip was too low for her to reach his hands with her beak and too high for her to claw at him with her talons. Immobilised, her wings useless, she was completely at his mercy.

The old man then produced a small syringe and brought it close to her. Her feathers bristled with terror. Owl let out desperate cries, her "SQUIII, SQUIII!!!" piercing the air like an alarm. But it was futile. She felt the cold needle pierce her skin, and an icy shiver ran down her spine as her blood was drawn into the cylinder. It lasted only a moment, but to her, it felt like an eternity.

The old man then pressed a cotton swab soaked in a stinging liquid against the wound, the sharp sensation burning slightly against her skin. Trembling and dazed, she couldn’t process what had just happened. They shoved her back into the cage carelessly, locking it with a metallic click. She collapsed onto the straw, her heart pounding wildly.

The young man carefully arranged a series of test tubes filled with a clear liquid on the counter, while the old man pushed down the plunger of the syringe. A single crimson drop fell into the first tube, triggering an immediate reaction: the liquid turned a deep purple. In the second tube, nothing happened; it remained clear. The third and fourth turned the same shade of blue.

"Wow, we’ve hit the jackpot!" exclaimed the young man, a delighted smile spreading across his face.

The old man stroked his beard with a satisfied air. "Purple confirms postal owl traits. Clear means no diseases detected. And blue… strong magical potential. Two blues, in fact—her parents must have had excellent magical capabilities, too. We’ll get a very good price for her."

He turned to his assistant, squinting behind his glasses. "How much does it weigh?"

The young man checked a small scale on the side of the counter. "A hundred and ten grams, boss. She hasn’t had much to eat lately. We’ll need to give her supplements to avoid deficiencies and help her regain some weight."

The old man nodded thoughtfully, continuing to muse aloud. "I’d bet she escaped from a luxury breeding farm. That would explain her excellent inherited traits and inability to fend for herself. Strange, though, that she doesn’t have a magical tracker. Maybe a slip-up in the breeding process…"

"Should I check if any local breeders have reported a missing specimen?" the young man offered, his eagerness bordering on obsequious.

"No need," replied the old man with a sly smile. "Better to play ignorant. With a gem like this, we can fetch a high price. Her future owner won’t need to replace an owl for a century, as long as she’s well cared for." He paused, then added brusquely, "Deworm her before putting her in the aviary."

"Right away, boss."

Owl, already terrified, watched in horror as the young man prepared a larger syringe, which he filled with a bluish liquid drawn from a glass vial stored under the counter. He looked at her with a mix of apprehension and defiance. "Help me hold it, boss. I know that look – I’m about to get a beak to the hand."

The old man sighed, set down his oversized multicoloured quill, and reopened the cage. With a cold, practiced grip, he seized Owl without hesitation. This time, she tried to fight back, her wings fluttering in a desperate effort, but her cry of distress died before it could even form. In one swift motion, the syringe was slid into her beak, and the cold, bitter liquid poured down her throat. A firm hand massaged her neck, forcing her to swallow.

The taste was vile, and she barely managed to hold back the urge to retch. Her strength seemed to drain away as they dropped her unceremoniously back into the bottom of the cage, her small body slumping onto the rough straw. She hadn’t even caught her breath when the cage was lifted off the ground and carried away with determined steps toward the back of the shop.

The young man walked down a dimly lit hallway, his footsteps echoing against the stone floor. When he reached a heavy iron door, he pulled out a ring of keys and unlocked it with a metallic screech. The door swung open to reveal a deafening room.

The space, vast and dome-shaped, was lined with glass walls supported by a metal framework. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of cages hung from hooks. Some were empty, but most held other owls and hawks. The cries of the birds formed a chaotic symphony of anguish, fear, and boredom.

Owl curled into herself, her small body trembling with exhaustion and fear. The young man hung her cage on a metal hook, leaving it swaying among the others. Without a word, he turned on his heel and left, the heavy door clanging shut behind him.

Owl was alone. Around her, the other birds stared, some with curiosity, others with disdain. The closest ones seemed indifferent, too accustomed to their own misery to pay attention to a new arrival.

From her meagre bed of straw, frightened, starving, and imprisoned, Owl bitterly regretted fleeing Mister and Missus’s house.

oOOOo

Owl’s new life could be summed up in one word: miserable. It had been several days since her capture, and not once had she been released from her cage. Each day unfolded in stifling monotony. Fear, at first, had given way to boredom. Then boredom had turned into despair, finally sinking into a cold resignation.

Every morning, the young man she’d heard called Mathis would enter the large aviary. He would distribute a dead mouse to each bird, selected based on their size, before leaving as quickly as he had arrived, leaving them to their isolation. In the first few days, swallowing the mouse had seemed inconceivable, an insurmountable ordeal. But hunger, relentless and insidious, eventually broke down her resistance. Before she fully realised it, she had swallowed the rodent whole, only to regurgitate a small pellet of bones and fur a few hours later.

At least her cage was kept clean. Waste disappeared as if by magic, and the straw was replaced every two days. It was better than rotting in her own filth. But this relative hygiene did nothing to soothe the boredom, her worst enemy. The hours stretched endlessly. Sitting still, waiting, or sleeping only pushed her further toward madness.

She began to hear voices in the silence. Bodiless murmurs, whispers echoing in her mind. At night, indistinct movements seemed to dance in the aviary’s dark corners. She saw flashes of light streak across her vision. Sometimes, she could have sworn she saw Mister and Missus, their faces twisted in disdain, whispering about how hideous she was, how much she deserved this fate. She imagined she would remain in this tiny cage until her mind shattered into a thousand pieces and nothing of her was left.

As the days passed, even the things she had initially hated became faint comforts. When Mathis forced her to swallow a foul-tasting liquid with his dropper, she had fought with all her strength at first, wishing he would never approach her again. But as the solitude of this sweltering aviary pressed down on her, each of his visits, unpleasant as they were, became almost welcome. They represented, at least, a break in her endless routine.

Her rare moments of reprieve came when Mathis carried her cage into what she understood to be the shop. There, humans came to buy owls and hawks. Finally, she had something else to observe: wandering customers, their conversations, the old man Mathis called Jeffrey or boss, and above all, the outside world, visible through the large window overlooking the bustling street. These moments were fleeting. Each evening, Mathis would return her cage to the aviary, leaving her in isolation until the next outing, always far too brief.

She didn’t know how much longer she could endure before descending into madness. Mister and Missus’s house now seemed like paradise by comparison. How she regretted fleeing, thinking herself capable of surviving alone… Sometimes, she caught herself wishing to be bought, even by the worst of humans. Anything to be free, to spread her wings, to feel the air against her feathers once more. But it was only a distant dream, and the sky, visible through the glass ceiling of the aviary, taunted her more with each passing day.

She spent more and more time staring at those distant clouds, watching their vaporous, ever-changing shapes. Her mind wandered, weaving stories from the clouds’ forms: a lion chasing a mouse over there, a twisted tree standing tall further away. On days when the sky stretched in a dull, uniform grey, things were the worst. On those days, there was no escape, no dreams to soothe her.

More and more often, she found herself staring at the bars of her cage, her thoughts drifting into dark places. The pain of breaking her beak or wings against them, she thought, might be better than this endless void. She would do anything for it all to stop.

oOOOo

Severus affixed his signature with precision, folded the letter carefully, and slid it into an envelope. He dripped a few drops of green wax onto the seal, engraving it with subtle runes designed to alert the recipient if anyone other than them attempted to tamper with the missive. This letter was addressed to Marianne Geomont, a fellow Potions Master, though their specialisations differed. While Severus excelled in the study of alchemical interactions, medicinal potions, and formula refinement, Marianne focused on the fundamental research of ritualistic and symbolic elements within potions.

Their disciplinary divergence presented Severus with a valuable opportunity. For over a year, their regular correspondence had provided fresh perspectives on his own research and publications, paving the way for stimulating and, at times, passionate debates. This intellectual collaboration had proven its worth on multiple occasions.

The letter he had just signed contained his agreement to a more formal partnership: the co-authoring of an article for the prestigious academic journal Contemporary Potions . Their discovery focused on a promising alternative to the use of moonstone as a stabilising agent in potions imbued with spell effects. This new principle was based on a clever combination of phase-alchemical crystallisation and ritualistic integration of magical effects, rather than somatic processes. This method could not only reduce but potentially eliminate the toxicity of moonstone-based potions, making their use safer and potentially revolutionary in certain applications.

However, the difficulty Severus faced at this precise moment had nothing to do with the scientific complexities or potential pressures from the moonstone producers’ lobbies. These groups, he was certain, would attempt to hinder their article—whether by restricting its access or preventing its publication. But such problems could wait. The one occupying his mind today was of a far more immediate and, in its own way, vexing nature.

With a restrained sigh, he added the letter to a growing pile of correspondence accumulating on the corner of his desk. A pile of personal mail, all awaiting dispatch.

To manage his subscriptions to academic journals—both magical and Muggle—receive catalogues for ingredients, or send less sensitive letters, Severus regularly relied on postal owls. This system worked perfectly for his routine needs, but not for his more confidential correspondence. For those, he depended on a personal owl, a necessity dictated by the need to safeguard his private exchanges. These letters were addressed to correspondents as varied as Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, certain colleagues like Marianne, the Malfoys, or even some of his former associates. Using a personal owl ensured that these delicate exchanges would never risk falling into the wrong hands.

But now, for the past three days, these letters remained in limbo. Arold, his faithful great horned owl, was no more. This imposing bird, which had once belonged to his mother Eileen, had been a constant companion throughout Severus’s life. Arold had carried letters through all kinds of weather, asking only for a calm environment, quality food, and the warmth of a home in return.

Eileen, during her lifetime, had shared a particular bond with Arold. After her death, the bird had grown withdrawn, performing his duties with a silent dignity. Until the morning Severus had found him lifeless, still perched on his wrought-iron stand. Even in death, he stood as always proud and tall.

Ever since a young James Potter and his cronies had cruelly killed his cat during his second year at Hogwarts, Severus had vowed never to grow attached to an animal again. He saw it as a weakness that could easily be exploited against him. Yet, despite this resolution, the loss of Arold had affected him more than he cared to admit.

For two days, he had tried to ignore the void left by the owl. But the growing stack of letters on his desk confronted him with the inevitable: he needed to acquire a new personal postal owl. Better that than provoke the concern of Narcissa Malfoy, who would undoubtedly appear unannounced if his replies were delayed for too long.

There was, however, a practical problem: Severus had never needed to buy an owl. Arold had always been there—reliable and steadfast. He was aware of the Owl Emporium at Charing Cross, but choosing an owl at random seemed nonsensical. In an old correspondence with Lucius Malfoy, he vaguely recalled a mention of a specialised shop in London’s magical quarter, where Lucius had acquired an owl for Draco… But the name of the establishment?

With a sharp motion, Severus rose and crossed his office to a massive dark wooden cabinet set against the wall. He opened its heavy doors and pulled out a thick folder containing his past correspondence with Lucius. Quickly sorting through the letters, which were organised by year, he located those from June 1985—Draco’s fifth birthday. By chance, there were only two letters from that month. Ah, there it was. In one, Lucius mentioned an elegant barn owl purchased from Jeffrey & Ci Owl Express .

Severus frowned slightly as he considered this. Lucius, while morally dubious, had impeccable taste in such matters. If that shop had caught his attention, there must have been good reason for it.

He glanced at the window. Rain drummed against the glass in a dreary, unrelenting melody. The idea of venturing out did not appeal to him, but a look at the pile of waiting letters convinced him otherwise. With a resolute sigh, he pulled on his long black coat, the dark fabric partially revealing the deep blue of his shirt and trousers beneath. He donned his hat and stepped into the street, determined to complete the errand as quickly as possible.

Two hours later, Severus crossed the threshold of Jeffrey & Ci Owl Express . The shop, narrow and unassuming, opened onto the street with a large window that displayed dozens of owls in cages, either suspended or placed on shelves. The interior carried a mingled scent of feathers, old wood, and a faint hint of droppings, partially masked by cleaning enchantments. Behind a tall counter cluttered with bird accessories—treats, leg bands, toys of rope and wood—stood an elderly man, stooped and marked by deep wrinkles. He seemed to bear the weight of far more than his likely century and a half of existence.

Their eyes met briefly, Severus maintaining his impassive expression, his mind’s magic firmly locked behind his practiced shields of Occlumency, as always.

“Good day, sir,” the old man said, lifting his head from the ledger he had been scribbling in with a shaky quill.

“Severus Snape. You must be Mr Jeffrey, I presume?” Severus responded curtly, his tone sharp, almost clipped.

“I am indeed. Do you require assistance, or would you prefer to inspect the stock yourself?”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll call on you if needed.” Severus gave a slight nod and moved deeper into the noisy shop, where the air seemed thick with hoots and the restless fluttering of wings. The pungent smell of the owls, amplified by the stifling warmth of the room, caused his nostrils to twitch slightly. If everything could be resolved quickly, sparing him a return visit, it would be a relief.

The cages were filled with owls of all sizes and colours, some boasting resplendent plumage while others were more modest. Some birds appeared apathetic, their dull gazes reflecting the toll of prolonged captivity. Others watched him with keen curiosity, tracking his movements. Confronted with such variety, he felt slightly overwhelmed. Choosing at random seemed neither wise nor efficient. He exhaled softly, focusing for a moment, and allowed a delicate strand of his mind to slip past his Occlumency barriers, reaching out to explore the simple minds of the creatures around him. He sought a bird whose intelligence might stand out or whose thoughts might resonate with his own.

As expected, the majority of postal owls displayed an intelligence heightened beyond their non-magical counterparts. He discerned a mix of basic emotions among them: boredom, irritation, hunger, or a dull, listless weariness. None truly captured his attention—until his thoughts brushed against a different mind. He stopped in front of a small iron cage where a tiny little owl was perched.

Its mind gleamed, vivid and quick, far more intricate than the others. Severus could feel its focus fixed intently on him, its large green eyes—unusual for its species—staring with a disconcerting intensity. He detected in its mind elaborate thoughts, structured in a manner radically different from human cognition: fleeting flashes imbued with fear, deep stress, and a palpable sense of unease. Yet beneath these emotions, there was curiosity, a kind of spark that betrayed a sharp intelligence. But what struck him most was a despair so profound it seemed to permeate the air around her.

A wilderfolk. The thought struck him like lightning. What was she doing here?

Before him was one of the unfortunate descendants of a wizard animagus who, through error or folly, had succumbed to their instincts and bonded with an animal of their form. A sensitive topic, often ignored or scorned within the magical world. Most wizards regarded wilderfolk with unease, even revulsion. This widespread societal aversion had driven wilderfolk into the shadows, where they often remained unknown or overlooked. Studies of their population were rare, though researchers estimated that several thousand lived in Britain, spanning various species. No precise census was possible—or even advisable—given the genocidal tendencies of some magical governments toward minorities deemed “deviant.”

Such hypocrisy, thought Severus. A few generations in the family tree of many pure-blood wizards would undoubtedly reveal one or more wilderfolk.

Owl wilderfolk were not particularly rare, given that many animagi assumed owl forms. However, seeing one for sale in a shop was exceptional. These creatures typically lived in isolation, far from magical hubs. Occasionally, they were employed on magical plantations to protect crops from pests. Severus had encountered wilderfolk used as postal owls before, but it was an uncommon sight. The magical divinatory trait, essential for locating recipients, only emerged after several generations of breeding between owls and wilderfolk.

The large eyes of the tiny little owl remained fixed on him, stirring an uncanny sense of recollection. They reminded him of Lily’s gaze when she assumed her true form. The fleeting connection between this memory and the present moment unsettled him. Faced with the despair and distress he could sense radiating from the wilderfolk’s mind, could he, in good conscience, leave her here?

Severus drew a deep breath, suppressing the emotion threatening to surface. “Mr. Jeffrey, could you tell me about this specimen?” he asked in a controlled tone.

The old man rose slowly, leaning on the counter before approaching. “Ah, you have a discerning eye, sir. This one possesses excellent magical potential, and its divinatory trait is particularly strong. It will find your recipients with remarkable precision.” A commercial smile spread across his wrinkled face. “Additionally, by our estimates, it should serve you for a good century, provided it’s well cared for.”

Severus nodded slowly, his jaw tightening. A magically endowed wilderfolk, unsurprisingly, shared the same longevity as a typical wizard. Naturally, she would live long. Beyond this pragmatic advantage, there was another significant benefit: her human intelligence. This would greatly facilitate communication, enable clear rules, and allow her needs to be better understood. She would be a far more efficient and adaptable ally than a mere postal owl.

“How long has she been in your care?” he asked evenly, carefully masking the growing interest he felt toward the bird.

“Since July 3rd, so about a month.”

“How did you acquire her?”

“Clients found her injured, her leg trapped in a rubbish bin. According to them, she seemed lost in the city and struggling to feed herself. They brought her here. Don’t worry, she’s been treated, dewormed, rid of all parasites, and has received all the necessary vaccinations.” The old wizard spoke with a professional tone, but Severus detected a note of pride, as though he were advertising a particularly valuable commodity.

Severus inclined his head, scrutinising the little owl. “I see… Do you have an estimate of her age?”

The merchant nodded slightly, his hands clasped behind his back in a measured posture of expertise. “You know, it’s a delicate question for birds with high magical potential. They grow at a normal rate until reaching the maturity typical for their species. Then their ageing slows drastically, almost to a halt. If she were an ordinary little owl, I’d say she’s about a year and a half old. But given her magical potential, our instruments could only estimate that she’s less than thirty years old.”

Severus pressed his lips together. This was a recurring issue with wilderfolk. Determining their exact age was impossible unless they assumed their human form, which often raised social and moral complications. He hesitated, his gaze locked on the little owl, whose piercing green eyes remained fixed on him. After several more seconds of reflection, he finally gave a slight nod.

“I’ll take her.”

“Very well, sir.” The old wizard carefully picked up the cage and carried it toward the counter. “Would you like to purchase any supplies with her? A perch, perhaps? Toys?”

“No, thank you. I already have a perch.” Severus cast a glance at a box of treats displayed on a shelf behind the counter. “However, I’ll take some treats.”

“An excellent choice, sir… Ah, yes!” the shopkeeper exclaimed, straightening slightly. “Would you like us to sterilise her before handing her over?”

Severus suppressed a shudder of revulsion. The very notion was abhorrent to him. He turned a cold glare toward the shopkeeper, then glanced at the small wilderfolk in her cage. Her green eyes gleamed with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. His reply was sharp and final:

“No. That will not be necessary.”

The old man raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by his client’s reaction, but merely nodded briefly without pressing the matter. “Very well, sir.”

“How much?” Severus asked, slowly pulling a pouch from his pocket.

“Fourteen sickles and twenty knuts, sir.”

Severus clenched his teeth. It was a steep price, even for an owl with exceptional magical potential. But here, he wasn’t merely purchasing a high-quality animal. He was also paying for the assurance of freeing this wilderfolk from captivity. The equivalent of two hundred and fifty pounds sterling—a significant investment, but one he deemed necessary. He placed the coins on the counter with measured movements, then inclined his hat slightly toward the old man.

“A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Snape,” said Jeffrey with a predatory smile, clearly pleased with the transaction.

Severus retrieved the cage, his expression impassive, masking the deep relief he felt. He could not have been more eager to leave this stifling place. At the very least, he was leaving with what he had come to find… or, he corrected himself, what he had not expected to discover. Casting one last glance at the small wilderfolk, he once again met her large green eyes, shining with a vivid and inquisitive light. He could only hope he had made the right choice…

Chapter Text

Despite the long strides of the man she had heard introduce himself to the old shopkeeper as Severus Snape, her cage remained surprisingly steady. Although she knew nothing about him yet, the mere fact that he had taken her out of that vile shop already gave her a certain sense of relief. He had a long, angular face, severe without seeming cruel, a prominent nose, and a complexion so pale it was almost unreal. Two eyes, so dark brown they appeared black, were set beneath thick brows as black as his mid-length hair, which framed his face down to his jawline, adding to his solemn appearance. His chin was adorned with a carefully trimmed goatee, further accentuating his grave and imposing air. He walked with purpose, his gaze fixed ahead, silent and impassive.

Owl continued to observe him, trying to form a first impression of this... owner? After all, he had bought her, hadn’t he? Unlike Mister, whose rages were as brutal as they were unpredictable, or Mrs, all disdain and hauteur, Severus seemed different, almost inscrutable. He exuded a frosty calm, a perfect self-control, and yet she had sensed in him a subtle sharpness, demonstrated effortlessly during the exchange with the old shopkeeper. She didn’t know what "sterilising" meant, but Severus’s cutting response to the suggestion had something more chilling about it than Mister’s worst outbursts. No, he was unlike anyone she had ever known.

Severus. Yes, that’s what she would call him in her mind. The name Snape sounded too stern, too harsh, and it wasn’t as if she could speak to express anything anyway. Her thoughts clung to these details, trying to distract her from the dull anxiety gnawing at her stomach. She was heading to a stranger’s home. What did he intend to do with her? How would he treat her? Would she find herself back in a cage, a dark cupboard to rot in? She pushed these thoughts away, holding on to the idea that, in the worst-case scenario, it couldn’t possibly be more dreadful than the shop of those awful traders. Could it?

From what she had gleaned by listening to the customers and Mathis’s conversations with the old man, she was an owl meant to deliver letters. Like some sort of winged postman. If Severus had bought her for that purpose, it meant he would let her out and allow her to fly. The idea sent a shiver of hope through her. Perhaps things wouldn’t be so bad if she could at least feel the wind under her wings…

They walked along a cobbled street, the rounded stones slippery under the rain. On either side, tall timber-framed houses leaned slightly towards the road, their upper storeys forming shaded galleries, an ideal shelter from the downpour. Severus strode beneath one of these galleries, unperturbed, while Owl cast curious glances all around her. The street was far from empty, even in this dreary weather. Passers-by moved along, dressed in strange and colourful garments: long, flowing robes in vivid hues, pointy or oddly shaped hats, polished boots. A woman sitting astride a broom hovered a metre off the ground, shielded from the rain by a transparent fabric stretched above her bag and a lit lantern. Further ahead, an unusual floating cart, painted yellow and green and adorned with large crystal-clear windows, was pulled by a hybrid creature: the front legs and head of an eagle, the body of a horse, and powerful wings. The entire contraption was stopped at a station marked by a post topped with a schedule sheet.

Severus approached the vehicle and, after exchanging a brief nod with the driver, pulled a ticket from his pocket and had it punched. Owl observed all this closely, fascinated. He took a seat on a bench between a corpulent woman engrossed in her newspaper and a morose-looking man dressed in tattered clothing. Moments later, the carriage started with an acceleration that startled her. Her cage, placed next to Severus, was positioned towards the window, offering her a perfect view of the rapidly passing streets.

She gazed in wonder at the crookedly designed houses, the countless shops with their colourful signs, the little squares punctuated by fountains, the verdant small parks, and other buildings that seemed to defy all logic. The carriage stopped regularly, never for more than a few moments. At each halt, new passengers boarded while others disembarked. Finally, at a stop announced by the sound of a brass trumpet—“Old London Station”—Severus rose and stepped off the vehicle with his usual fluidity, still silent.

They moved beneath an arcade, skirting the edge of a vast square lined with trees, at the centre of which stood a majestic fountain, revealed as the carriage departed. Opposite, across the square, loomed a building far grander than any of the others, its stone façade adorned with carved columns topped by a triangular pediment and an immense clock, marking time with a silent, invisible tick-tock.

Owl then saw Severus produce a twig identical to the ones others had used against her at the wretched shop. Instinctively, she tensed, her feathers bristling with fear, her eyes fixed on the object with wary apprehension. Severus, noticing her reaction, let out a soft sigh. “I’m not going to harm you. This is merely to shield us from the rain.” His voice was calm, almost weary. He murmured a few incomprehensible words as he waved the twig, and immediately a translucent dome materialised above them, nearly invisible, pushing the raindrops away with an almost delicate grace. Owl watched as rivulets of water streamed down this invisible barrier, impressed by the fact that she remained dry despite the downpour.

Thus, they arrived at what she understood to be a station. The place was lively but not crowded, the throng of people buzzing with a restrained energy. Severus cut through the crowd with silent determination, people subtly stepping aside as if they instinctively knew better than to block his path. He led them to one of the platforms, where a row of wooden chairs, securely fixed to the wall, awaited passengers. There, he set her cage on one of the chairs and crouched down to meet her gaze. His dark eyes, nearly impenetrable, lingered on hers, and Owl felt an odd pressure, like a soft breath brushing against the edges of her mind.

Severus seemed to hesitate for a brief moment before speaking. “I promise I won’t harm you.” His voice was calm and steady, but carried a firmness that allowed no argument.

She stared at him, uncertain. Could she really believe him? So far, he hadn’t done anything to hurt her, but that could change at any moment. After all, she knew nothing about this man. “You don’t have to trust me straight away. I don’t expect that of you. I just wanted you to know,” he said, pausing as if searching for the right words, before adding in a slightly less assured tone, “Would you like to come out of the cage?”

Out? Oh yes, she longed for it. Seeing those bars day after day had almost driven her mad, and it had been weeks—perhaps even longer—since she’d seen anything of the world. “Very well,” Severus said, gently unlocking the small wire door. Slowly, ever so slowly, he extended a hand inside, one finger resting like a cautious invitation. Owl hesitated only briefly before perching on it, her light weight delicately lifted out of the cage. Once freed, she let out a joyous cry: “Kiouw! Kiouw! Kiouw!” and took flight, her wings flapping with fervour. She described several wide circles in the air around Severus, savouring every second of this newfound freedom, before settling gently on his shoulder. There, she nestled herself, puffing up her feathers for warmth.

She could have tried to escape at that moment, but what would have been the point? She already knew what awaited her out there: cold, hunger, the bitter failure of her previous attempt at freedom. No, it wasn’t worth it. If Severus was willing to let her out of the cage now, perhaps it meant he would be different, that he would treat her better than in that horrid shop… or better than Mister and Mrs. But she immediately shook off these thoughts. No, it was far too soon to hope for anything.

Severus briefly tensed as he felt the weight settle on his shoulder, but he soon relaxed. Turning around, he tapped the cage lightly with his magical wand, and it shrank into a tiny object, which he slipped into his pocket with measured nonchalance. A few minutes later, a deafening clatter rang out, causing Owl to tremble on her improvised perch: a blue train, heavy and imposing, pulled into the station, its steam engine belching clouds of white smoke. The wooden carriages, painted a deep blue with green roofs, looked as though they belonged to another era.

Severus handed another paper ticket to a stern-looking man in a crisp black uniform, who punched it with expert precision. He then boarded the train and settled into a wide cushioned seat, upholstered in green fabric adorned with discreet patterns. Freed from her cage Owl didn’t hesitate to explore. She trotted along the seat backs, careful not to venture too close to the few other passengers. A young boy, his eyes sparkling with excitement, reached out to touch her, but his mother stopped him firmly, which suited Owl just fine. The only person she had ever allowed to stroke her was Dudley. He always brought her something to eat and played with her kindly. Just the thought of him brought a pang to her heart. It all felt so far away—an eternity ago, almost in another world. She wondered how Dudley was doing. Had he searched for her? Probably not. She would likely never see him again.

The thought left a bitter taste in her mind, but she quickly dismissed it. What was the point? She had no idea how to find him, nor any desire to return to that grey house where hunger and disdain were all she had known.

Suddenly, a sharp, shrill whistle pierced the air, making Owl startle. A wave of panic swept over her, and in a desperate reflex, she flew to take refuge in a narrow, secure space... somewhere between the inside of Severus’s coat and his right side. There, tucked in her improvised hiding spot, she stayed motionless, her heart pounding wildly, watching for the man’s reaction. When the whistle finally ceased, and the machine began to move, her fear gradually subsided, replaced by another worry: would she be punished for daring to slip under Severus’s coat? Cautiously, she peeked out of her hiding place to observe his face, bracing for the worst. Yet he did not appear angry. Not in the slightest. Settled comfortably, he had taken out a small book and immersed himself in reading, seemingly indifferent to her presence.

Reassured, Owl relaxed and quickly realised that the space under Severus’s coat was an ideal spot: warm, secure, and sufficiently hidden to allow her to observe without being seen. It was perfect. She cast another glance at the impassive man, his gaze fixed on the yellowed pages of the book, and decided she could stay there after all. She wriggled slightly, seeking the most comfortable position, until she finally found the perfect place. Nestled in this cosy refuge, she let herself watch the outside world... despite the growing weight of fatigue threatening to overwhelm her. The rocking motion of the train, combined with the coat’s comforting warmth, slowly lulled her into a delightful drowsiness. But she resisted. She couldn’t fall asleep. Not when she was still at the mercy of a stranger... Even if he had freed her from her cage and promised not to harm her.

When Severus stood up at a stop named "Birmingham’s Fey Hall," his movements shook Owl from her semi-sleep. Disconcerted, she flew swiftly to perch on his shoulder, balancing herself securely as he disembarked from the train. The station where they arrived was much smaller and quieter than the one they had left. Its high roof, a glass dome supported by long, weathered wooden beams, sheltered two railway tracks, the second accessible through a tunnel.

Owl , ever curious, examined everything around her with insatiable avidity. Meanwhile, Severus strode determinedly towards a small wooden door tucked into a corner. When he stepped through it, Owl let out a surprised hoot, utterly stunned by what she saw: instead of emerging into another part of the tidy station, they seemed to have stepped out into a dilapidated house, twisted and on the verge of collapse, nestled in a gloomy alleyway. The contrast was so stark that she felt immediately frustrated. Why? She wanted to ask the question but stopped herself. Mister and Mrs. had never appreciated her questions. Yet Severus was neither Mister nor Mrs. She hesitated, then let her curiosity get the better of her, releasing a questioning hoot.

To her great surprise, Severus’s deep, calm voice broke the silence, almost making her jump. “The station is hidden from Muggles by a concealment and distraction charm...” He paused, then added, as though he sensed her confusion, “Muggles are humans who cannot manipulate magic. For complex reasons I won’t explain here, magical governments decided centuries ago to separate the magical world from that of the Muggles.”

Owl furrowed her brows—or the closest approximation to brows she had—becoming even more confused than before. But another question pressed itself on her mind: how could Severus understand what she wanted to say? “I am a wizard with the ability to read people’s thoughts. When you are this close to me, I can hear your surface thoughts,” he explained matter-of-factly, in a tone almost nonchalant.

She was dumbfounded. Was that really possible? She decided to test it. She thought as hard as she could about the fragrant packets that the awful shopkeeper kept behind his counter, the ones that gave off such a delicious aroma. Severus rolled his eyes with an expression that was equal parts amusement and exasperation, then pulled one of those very packets out of his pocket. He extracted a small piece of dried meat and held it between his fingers. Without hesitation, she snatched it up with her beak and swallowed it in one gulp, emitting a hoot of pure delight. It was exquisite, far better than anything she had eaten so far. The flavour was intense, rich, and incomparable.

Encouraged by this initial reward, she tried to coax him into giving her another by gently tapping his hand with her beak. But Severus firmly put the packet away. “These are treats. Too many would not be good for you,” he stated authoritatively.

She puffed up her feathers, looking sheepish, disappointed but resigned. Severus, unbothered, resumed in a more serious tone, “Where were you before you ended up in that shop?”

The question took her by surprise. Reluctantly, Owl thought of the cold, empty streets, the despair of being unable to catch prey, the gnawing hunger... and then further back, to that dark, stifling cupboard and her desperate escape from it. These memories clouded her mind, a wave of discomfort rising to the surface.

“I see,” Severus replied, his voice heavier, his features hardening almost imperceptibly, his gaze as dark as a brewing storm. “I promise to treat you better than your previous owners. It is reckless, stupid, and cruel to imprison an owl in such a manner.”

Owl observed him closely, a slight unease passing through her. Could he see everything in her mind? The thought unsettled her. “It is possible for me to delve deeply into your mind, to read your thoughts and memories. But I promise I will never do so unless your safety or mine is at stake. I only perceive your surface thoughts, the ones you are willing to show me. If this bothers you, there are ways to protect your mind,” he added, clearly trying to reassure her. “In the meantime, if you wish to tell me something, think it very clearly, and I will hear you.”

The explanation, though surprising, reassured her somewhat. She let out a small hoot of approval, marking her agreement. At that moment, one thing was certain: even if she didn’t understand everything yet, she wanted to believe that Severus would keep his promise.

“Very well, we’ll make do with this for now.” With these words, Severus reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny broomstick, barely larger than a pin. He let it go in mid-air, and the broomstick instantly expanded, the handle growing to nearly shoulder height. Calmly, he took out his wand, murmured a few strange words, and a veil of liquid mist unfurled around them, floating like an ethereal bubble. Owl’s gaze locked onto the phenomenon, curiosity burning in her wide eyes. Severus, evidently aware of her unspoken question, explained in a detached tone, “The house is a few miles away. We’ll get there much faster by broomstick than by bus, but I need to ensure that no muggle can see us flying. What you’re experiencing is a concealment and distraction charm. We’ll be invisible, even to their devices.”

Owl observed silently as he seated himself on a saddle elegantly integrated into the broomstick’s handle, similar to the one she had once noticed on Dudley’s bicycle. With a confident motion, Severus slipped his feet into stirrups, and they took off. An odd sensation overcame her: she could no longer feel her own weight.

The broomstick rose smoothly, ascending above the rooftops of the houses. Owl, fascinated, gazed at the grey landscape stretching as far as the eye could see. The rooftops formed a stark patchwork of worn tiles and smoking chimneys. Further afield, shrouded in a cold and damp mist, fields and woods stretched into the distance, barely visible in the dreary atmosphere. At least, she thought, it wasn’t raining anymore, unlike the place they had left.

As Severus glided over the streets, where cars and pedestrians hurried to escape the miserable weather, an irrepressible desire grew within her. After weeks locked in a cage, her wings stiff from inactivity, she longed to fly freely. She thought intently of the wind rushing through her feathers, that almost-forgotten sense of liberty, the primal joy of flight that had always made her heart beat with unique vigour. She also recalled the stifling confinement of the cage, the hours frozen in immobility.

Severus, seemingly attuned to her thoughts, raised his wand and lightly tapped her head. “You can now see the broomstick despite the charm. Follow me to the house.”

A joyful hoot escaped her throat as she launched herself into the air, climbing higher. The sensation of cold air sliding beneath her wings was exhilarating, almost ecstatic, despite the weariness threatening to catch up with her. Owl flew just above Severus, her wings slicing through the mist, savouring every moment of her rediscovered freedom. But the effort soon exhausted her more quickly than she had expected. The biting cold, amplified by her fatigue, seeped into her very bones. Resigned, she returned to Severus, seeking refuge in his warmth.

Slipping nimbly under his robes, she found an inner pocket where she nestled with ease. This discreet space was warm, safe, and allowed her to peek outside. From her new vantage point, she watched as Severus landed in a tiny, neglected garden, bordered by overgrown hedges. The house before them, a small terraced building in a grimy street, seemed as calm as it was unsettling.

Severus took a few steps forward, releasing the broomstick, which immediately shrank back to its miniature size before being slipped into a pocket. He pointed his wand at the front door, and a soft click echoed, breaking the silence of the alley. As he entered, he flicked a switch, and a small light bulb hanging from the ceiling on a wire illuminated, casting a flickering yellowish glow.

Owl emerged from her hiding spot, using her little talons to climb up to Severus’s shoulder. She took a moment to observe the entrance of the house. Simple and unadorned, it seemed almost impersonal: a black-and-white tiled floor, walls covered in off-white wallpaper, yellowed and peeling in places. A worn wooden coat rack stood by the door, accompanied by a battered shoe cabinet. Severus sat down on a tired-looking stool to remove his boots and put on a pair of very dark green slippers.

But Owl had already noticed something else: a staircase leading upstairs and a closed door beneath it. Her mind raced immediately. The cupboard. She thought, despite herself, of the dark, stifling cupboard where she had spent so much time, the endless hours in the shadows, the gnawing hunger... A wave of panic threatened to overwhelm her, but Severus, without even looking up, interrupted in a firm voice, “I am not going to put you in a cupboard.”

She turned her gaze to his face. His furrowed brows, dark eyes fixed on a distant point, and tightly pressed lips bore a trace of anger, but she instinctively knew that she wasn’t the target of this emotion. Without a word, he stood up, opening one of the wooden double doors adorned with panes of tinted glass. Beyond lay a dining-living room with a sober and solemn atmosphere.

The space was dominated by a large central table made of solid wood. Nearby, a small sitting area housed three worn armchairs and a sofa positioned facing a fireplace full of ashes and charred wood fragments. On the mantelpiece, several framed photographs were carefully aligned, still and silent. The walls, for their part, were almost entirely hidden behind vast shelves overflowing with old books, their bindings frayed and their pages yellowed. A dark green rug, frayed in places, was spread out in front of the fireplace, absorbing the room's dim light.

But Owl had little opportunity to examine this new environment in detail. Severus, in a calm yet commanding tone, instructed her to settle on the table. Obediently, she leapt from his shoulder, gliding precisely onto the oval surface of the table. Her landing was gentle, but the feel of the smooth wood under her small claws was strange, almost unsettling. She walked hesitantly, adjusting to this new setting, all the while keeping a watchful eye on Severus.

The man pulled out a chair and sat down, his back straight, his long, knotted fingers tapping the table rhythmically in a somewhat distracted manner. Silence stretched between them, heavy, as if he was gathering his thoughts. Owl, perplexed, remained motionless on the table, searching for clues in his behaviour. Finally, he broke the silence.

“You refer to yourself as Owl, is that correct?”

She thought very hard, affirming. Yes, she was Owl. Dudley had chosen that name for her, and it was infinitely better than… the other one.

“It’s not uncommon for wilderfolks to forgo formal names, preferring other means to recognise one another... Very well, Owl.” He paused, his gaze fixed on the void as though weighing each word. “By purchasing you, I’ve placed myself in a delicate situation. We have several options ahead of us.”

Owl watched him intently, her large, round eyes filled with curiosity and a hint of anxiety. This man didn’t seem to mean her any harm, but could she truly trust him? She was entirely at his mercy, after all. Severus seemed capable of invoking immense powers with his magic twig… A terrifying thought, but also strangely reassuring.

“To begin with, would you agree to take human form for this discussion?”

No! The answer came instantly, almost violently, in her mind. She had no desire to return to that clumsy, uncomfortable form where every movement made her feel awkward and vulnerable. A quieter voice, lurking in a shadowy corner of her mind, whispered that if she were to live with this man, she didn’t want him to see her face. That awful, disfigured, mutilated face.

Severus seemed to grasp the meaning of her response. “I understand. In my experience, the human form is often uncomfortable for wilderfolks.”

The Wilderfolks? She blinked, intrigued. Were there truly others like her? Owls who could become... human? This thought, both strange and fascinating, swirled in her mind.

“Yes. That is what your kind are called.” His voice was calm, almost professorial. “There are, of course, other owl wilderfolks, but you are not alone. Wilderfolks take various forms.” He interlaced his fingers before him, continuing in a neutral tone. “As I possess some medical skills. On occasion, I tend to members of a wolf wilderfolk population living in a forest near the school where I work.”

The information raced through her mind at a dizzying speed. Owl was curious to learn more about these other wilderfolks and about Severus himself, but she sensed that this wasn’t the core of what he intended to tell her. Focusing, she pushed aside her secondary thoughts to concentrate on her immediate concerns: her future, her place here, and what Severus intended to do with her.

She thought intensely about that dull worry, that unspoken question clinging to her thoughts like a shadow.

“As I was saying, I can offer you several options. Know that I never suggest a solution I’m not prepared to implement myself. Therefore, the choice is entirely yours. First, I could release you into the wild if that is what you wish. However, I strongly advise against it, as it seems your first attempt did not go as planned.” His voice, calm and measured, carried an undeniable authority. “Alternatively, I could use my connections to find a refuge where other wilderfolks could take you in. Finally, I can offer you a home here, under certain conditions.”

Owl shifted nervously from one foot to the other, her tired mind oscillating between fear and uncertainty. She tried to weigh these options, unable to determine which would be the least risky for her. Finally, she concentrated hard and pushed her question to the forefront of her mind: what were these conditions for staying here?

“Very well. To stay, we must come to an agreement.” Severus adjusted his posture, sitting a little straighter, his long fingers interlaced on the table. “I pledge to protect you, feed you, provide shelter, warmth, care, and everything you might need for a proper life. In return, I will ask you to carry my personal correspondence to its recipients.”

Owl thought deeply, the words he used were a little complicated but she grasped the meaning of the whole. Returning to the wild alone was out of the question. She knew she wouldn’t last more than a few days before succumbing to hunger or the cold. As for the refuge... the idea wasn’t unappealing, but another thought began to form in her mind. Perhaps she could try living here first, proving herself useful by carrying letters as he required. If things went wrong, she could consider the refuge then. She pushed this idea forward, hoping Severus would grasp it.

“That seems reasonable,” he replied without a moment’s hesitation, his face remaining impassive. “I will now show you around the house and explain the rules.”

He rose gracefully, and she leapt onto his shoulder, allowing herself to be carried with a sense of relief. The idea of being useful in exchange for everything he promised to provide appealed to her. Delivering letters would mean she could fly—finally stretch her wings as much as she liked. It was nothing like life with Mister and Mrs., where she was useless, clumsy, broken by the vision impaired by the scar marring her eye. Perhaps that was why they treated her so poorly: because she was good for nothing.

Here, it was different. Severus was clear, precise, unambiguous. She had a role: to deliver his letters. In return, he would take care of her. That was it. Nothing more, nothing less. Unlike Mister, whose rules changed constantly with his moods. One day, she was supposed to answer him; the next, remain silent. One day, she had to look him in the eyes; the next, keep her gaze fixed on the floor.

If Severus was as straightforward and consistent as he seemed, she felt she might actually grow to appreciate this man. Perhaps even as much as Dudley.

He opened the kitchen door, revealing a simple and rustic room. A gas cooker, an old fridge, and a series of food cupboards lined the walls, most of them desperately empty. "I only cook breakfast," he explained, casting a distracted glance at the shelves. "The rest of the time, I rely on takeaway from the local restaurants."

A door at the back of the room led to a narrow garden, bordered by thick, overgrown hedges. A few weeds clung stubbornly to the ground, except for the small terrace near the house and a modest vegetable patch at the rear. Another door opened onto a dark cellar. "Under no circumstances are you to go down there," he said firmly. "That’s my laboratory. I keep dangerous substances there that could ruin your plumage."

She eyed the cellar door warily; it seemed suddenly sinister. She resolved never to go near it and risk harming her lovely feathers.

He then showed her the lavatory adjacent to the living-dining room. "Obviously, I don’t expect an owl to use this," he remarked with a touch of irony. "You’ll be able to go outside. The kitchen window will open automatically when you want to leave."

The staircase to the upper floor led to three doors. Severus indicated each in turn. "The blue door is my bedroom. You are not to enter." He then pointed to a green door. "That one is a guest room I use for storage. And finally, the third door leads to my study. You may go in, but only on the strict condition that you don’t disturb anything."

The study was even more cluttered with books than the living room. Shelves lined every wall except the one with a window overlooking the garden. Against the perpendicular wall stood an antique wooden desk, its surface nearly invisible beneath piles of parchments, quills, and ink pots.

In one corner of the room was a large metal perch with three copper legs, disproportionately sized for her small frame but surprisingly comfortable. She hopped onto it, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other, seeking the perfect position to settle. Once she found it, she let out a soft sigh of contentment... almost immediately interrupted by Severus’s voice.

"Come here, please."

Intrigued, she launched herself into the air, gliding gracefully to the desk and landing carefully on one of the rare clear spots amidst the mountains of paper. She fixed Severus with a curious gaze, observing what he held in his hands: a brown paper envelope, sealed with a wax stamp bearing an unfamiliar design. An address was written on it in fine, angular script.

"Touch this letter," he instructed calmly, placing the envelope in front of her.

Hesitant, she extended her small foot and made contact with the envelope. A strange warmth spread immediately, like an invisible breath, pointing in a precise, almost magnetic direction somewhere to her right. She instinctively turned, trying to see what was emitting this persistent sensation, but nothing was visible.

"That is indeed the direction of Malfoy Manor," said Severus, a barely perceptible smile crossing his lips. So subtle it might have gone unnoticed by anyone else. But Owl had learned to watch for the slightest signs, to detect the micro-expressions in Mister’s face that heralded an impending storm.

"‘Tomorrow morning, once you’ve regained your strength, I’ll ask you to deliver this letter to its recipient, Narcissa Malfoy. As it will be your first delivery, I won’t give you more than one to handle for now. But know that I will expect you to become capable of carrying multiple letters in due course.’ His voice was calm, measured, but his gaze held that calculating intensity, as though he were already assessing her abilities.

Owl, puzzled, pushed her thought to the forefront of her mind. How on earth was she supposed to carry this letter? It was almost as large as she was!

“There are spells to alter the size of objects,” Severus replied patiently. “But this will be simpler. Don’t move.”

He opened a drawer, rummaged briefly, and took out a small black ring.

“Extend your talon and place it in my hand,” he instructed in a voice both gentle and firm, holding out his palm flat on the table.

Owl hesitated, her trust wavering. But she remembered how, just a few hours ago, she had sought refuge with him, frozen and vulnerable, and he had done her no harm. Summoning her courage, she finally placed her talon in the hollow of his hand.

Severus brought the ring closer, and it split in two before delicately wrapping around her talon, instantly resuming its original shape. Owl let out a soft ‘Kiouw!’ of surprise but felt no pain. She nibbled at it cautiously with her beak, expecting it to weigh her down or feel restrictive, but the ring was so light it was almost imperceptible.

Severus touched the ring lightly with his wand, and the letter seemed to dissolve, as though it were being absorbed into the ring. He repeated the motion in reverse, and the envelope reappeared, completely intact.

“In addition to making it effortless for you to carry letters, this ring serves as a locator. As long as you wear it, I’ll know where you are. If anything were to happen, I’d be able to find you. It also makes you undetectable to Muggles.”

Owl stared at the ring with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. This small object, so insignificant in appearance, seemed to hold immense power. She continued to nibble it gently, testing its reality, before resigning herself to its new presence.

“Now that you have this ring and are registered in the house’s protections, all the doors – except those I’ve restricted – will open for you if you approach with the intention of passing through. They will close behind you.”

Severus seemed to anticipate her questions, and Owl focused her thoughts on absorbing all this information. It was a lot for a tired mind to process.

Severus then checked a pocket watch, the silver chain glinting briefly as he drew it out. ‘I need to prepare some potions for the school nurse where I work. I’ll be back upstairs for dinner. In the meantime, you’re free to explore the house or its surroundings. I’ll see you later.’

Without waiting for a response, he rose and left the room with long strides, closing the door behind him.

Owl remained still for a moment, observing the now-quiet room. She felt exhausted, but sleeping without first familiarising herself with her new territory was out of the question. Sleeping could wait. It was time to explore."

oOOOo

The night had fallen, and although the season was usually warm, the bad weather and darkness had lowered the temperature enough for him to pull up his collar and fasten his coat. His complex healing potions, designed to accelerate tissue regeneration, had taken longer than anticipated owing to an error in calculation, leading him to believe he had more of the primary reagent than he actually did, forcing him to synthesise it in a rush. As a result, he had to postpone the errands he had planned.

Consequently, it must have been past 10 p.m. by the time he was finally walking home, a plastic bag in his right hand containing his evening meal purchased from the local Chinese restaurant. In his old shopping bag in his left hand were future meals for the new occupant of his house, as well as a book about owls—the most comprehensive and detailed one he could find.

When Arold was still alive, he had never really had to think about it, simply mimicking the care and accommodations his mother had provided at the time. Arold had never complained or shown signs of discomfort, so he never questioned himself. But he wasn’t naïve enough to believe that all nocturnal raptors of that kind had the same needs.

Buying this wilderfolk had been impulsive, he had to admit. It wasn’t like him to act this way, but seeing her there, locked in a cage, sensing her despair, had been unbearable. Moreover, he was certain that if someone else had bought her, she would have been treated like an animal, given no more consideration than a common post owl.

It had seemed entirely unacceptable to him then, and a few minutes later, he walked out of the shop with a newly acquired wilderfolk staring at him with large green eyes that reminded him of an old friend’s: full of curiosity, anticipation, and fear, hinting at the mistreatment she had likely endured. Frankly, what kind of degenerate keeps an owl in a cupboard under the stairs, barely feeding it? No wonder she fled at the first opportunity.

As he had pondered during the journey back from the pet shop, he felt guilty about not offering the wilderfolk a choice in her own destiny. Forcing her to stay with him to carry his letters felt uncomfortably close to the despicable behaviour of certain nobles who enslaved some wilderfolk populations to profit from their human intelligence combined with species-specific abilities. Releasing her, as foolish and irresponsible as it seemed, had to be offered as an option. But the following two choices were the real ones, the ones he truly hoped she would choose.

He had connections, particularly among the Bulstrodes, that would allow him to find a sanctuary housing other free wilderfolk where he could leave her in good hands. She, who seemed to have spent her whole life in captivity, would need a long education among peers to learn how to fend for herself. And of course, staying with him as a post owl, with the assurance of being well-treated. To his surprise, she demonstrated sharp intelligence by choosing the option he had implied and deemed best for both of them: a trial period to see if they could coexist properly, with the sanctuary as a fallback if things went awry.

Having a wilderfolk as a post owl was a significant advantage for him. After all, there was a reason certain noble families kept wilderfolk as slaves to serve on their estates. With human intelligence, communication would be far less of an issue than with an animal, as his requests could be understood and executed with great precision. She could also have more autonomy, enabling her to accomplish complex tasks. He was already imagining the possibility of gaining much easier access to certain ingredients he preferred to harvest manually, thanks to her small size, agility, and intelligence.

And then, her great magical potential was intriguing. It was not uncommon for wilderfolk to possess enough magic to successfully wield a wand, provided they were given the chance. If Owl eventually showed interest in this area, he wouldn’t rule out teaching her some basics...

He needed to stop projecting so much and let Owl decide whether to stay with him after her trial period. He frowned at the thought of that name, “Owl,” apparently given by the son of her former owners, based on what he had gleaned from the superficial thoughts she had shared with him. Would she oppose the idea of having a more fitting name? He disliked the thought of calling her something so generic and impersonal. She had undoubtedly been abused by her previous owners to the point of fleeing, and her situation in the shop seemed far from ideal. A name change, even if less significant to wilderfolk generally, might help her leave that part of her life behind.

Lost in thought, he had walked all the way home, the door of his old house standing before him. He unlocked it with his wand and entered, closing it behind him. Before leaving, he had seen Owl exploring the house, perched atop the kitchen cupboards, a spider in her beak. Perhaps she had familiarised herself with her new environment in his absence.

Then he heard the cries! “KIOUW KIOUW KIOUW KIOUW KIOUW!!!” coming from the living room. He didn’t take the time to wonder how such a small creature could be so loud before dropping his bags and rushing to the living room, wand in hand. Ready for anything.

When his gaze met his little owl’s, he had to suppress a laugh, letting only a raised eyebrow betray his amusement. A few months earlier, Bathsheda Babbling had given him a set of yarn balls and knitting needles in an effort to persuade him to take up knitting for reasons he didn’t understand. Something about his mood. Since then, the basket filled with yarn balls had been lying forgotten beside the living room sofa. He had more or less completely forgotten about it. Owl seemed to have discovered it and had wanted... to play? For he found her on the floor, legs in the air, completely immobilised and entangled in the multitude of yarn threads she had gotten herself caught in. She looked at him with her two large green eyes, letting out desperate little cries. “Kiouw, kiouw, kiouw...”

“How did you manage this?” he heard himself sigh. He extended a thread of his mind to brush against Owl’s, and he immediately saw the memory and emotions she presented to him in her bright and vivid wilderfolk mind. The boredom after making three rounds of the house following his departure, the fear of touching anything and damaging it, an image of an imaginary version of himself in her mind, finger raised in admonishment, depriving her of food. Then the discovery of the forgotten dusty yarn balls. The joy she felt as she perched on the edge of the basket to extract the balls with her little beak. Then the images became blurrier, imbued with intense joy overshadowing a palpable fatigue. The unravelling of the balls, rolling them under her feet, trying to fly with them... Then excitement giving way to fear as she got tangled in the threads, each attempt to free herself resulting in more threads everywhere, her panic leading to her current predicament. Stuck on the floor, trussed up like a sausage.

Severus hesitated for a moment to free her with a spell but decided against it; better to do it by hand to ensure she wouldn’t get hurt. “Don’t squirm,” he told her as he knelt, both relieved that the situation wasn’t as dire as he had feared upon hearing the noises and amused despite himself. Perhaps he should consider buying her suitable toys to ensure she wouldn’t hurt herself or end up in a similar predicament in the future.

He lifted her gently, still somewhat surprised by how small she was. Barely larger than his hand. He began to carefully untangle the threads, making sure not to twist or break any feathers, the little owl soft and warm in the palm of his hand. He could feel her heart beating rapidly through her feathers, her large eyes fixed on him. He occasionally had to cast very precise cutting spells to free her from the most stubborn threads. He freed her little legs, then her wings, finally letting the last pieces of yarn fall to the floor. Now that Owl was free, he cast a powerful and precise “Reparo” that restored all the yarn balls to their original state in the basket.

“Even if you misbehave, I won’t punish you by depriving you of food. Least of all for something so minor. My only concern was that you might have strangled yourself in the threads,” he said as he gently placed her on the kitchen table. She smoothed her ruffled feathers with her beak, and he perceived thoughts of understanding and gratitude on the surface of the little wilderfolk’s mind.

He returned to the entryway to put away his coat, slip on his slippers, and come back with his bags. He first unpacked his Chinese food, then the offal he had picked up from the butcher for Owl. With a series of cutting spells, he sliced it into fine strips and subdivided them further, taking enough for an owl of her size and placing it on a small board. He cast a warming charm on his dishes and sat down. “I may not be here at midday due to certain social obligations, but I’ll be home every evening,” he explained, taking a spring roll.

He watched Owl cautiously walk toward the small board, her gaze fixed on the meat. “You can eat; it’s for you.” She didn’t hesitate, rushing to the meal and devouring it in a few pecks. As he finished his meal in silence, he saw her, satisfied, puffing up her feathers, her eyes slowly closing. He saw her try to fly, probably to find somewhere to spend the night, but her wings were, of course, far too tired and clumsy. So he was ready when he saw her eyes close as she tried to move forward, and he easily caught her long before she collapsed onto the table...

What was he going to do with this little wilderfolk asleep in his hand... and more importantly, what had become of his life that he was asking himself such questions?

oOOOo

The sound of bacon sizzling in a hot pan and its delicious aroma pulled Owl out of her dreamless, comatose sleep. She blinked her eyes slowly and tried to move her limbs, still stiff from slumber. Her memories of the previous day were hazy, gradually surfacing: being purchased by Severus, arriving at the house, their agreement, exploring the premises, boredom, the balls of yarn, Severus’s return followed by her rescue, and finally, the delightful meal of succulent meat morsels... After that, nothing. She must have fallen asleep at the table. Which meant it had been Severus who had placed her where she currently lay: in a sort of basket lined with a woollen blanket, with another blanket draped over her.

She stretched her legs and shook herself to dislodge the covering. Her basket had been placed in a corner of the sofa, facing the unlit fireplace. A cosy spot, though she would have preferred something more enclosed, like a high perch where she would feel far less exposed. At least she was grateful to Severus for not returning her to a cage and for finding her a comfortable place to spend the night. She must have been truly exhausted the day before to collapse like that.

With a flap of her wings, she hopped onto the backrest of the sofa, which gave her a good view of the dining and living areas. Severus had set out a plate, a bowl, and cutlery on his side of the table. A teapot stood at the centre. He had just returned from the kitchen, a steaming pan in hand, from which he slid a fried egg and strips of bacon onto his plate, while his other hand carried a basket filled with slices of toast. He looked better than he had the previous day, his features more relaxed, though still austere. He was wearing a long, dark grey dressing gown tied at the waist with a thick black sash.

He must have heard her because he glanced her way and said as he sat down,
"Good morning, Owl. Your food is ready."

She hooted timidly in response but leapt onto the table, driven by hunger. Severus remained as intimidating as ever, and she still wasn’t sure how much she could trust him. He had not harmed her, had promised not to deprive her of food, and she remembered, with a twinge of shame, the gentleness with which he had freed her from the tangle of yarn. She decided she had no choice but to see where this would lead.

On the table opposite Severus, she found a few pieces of meat and a small bowl filled with water. It all looked perfectly delicious. This time, she took her time to savour each piece of meat, sipping water between bites. It was far better than what she had been used to at the shop. Not even comparable.

Out of the corner of her eye, she kept an eye on Severus, who had unfolded a newspaper and was leafing through it, a cup of tea in hand. He seemed to be skimming the headlines, pausing only on certain articles. Owl felt curious—she wished she could read and understand what was capturing his attention.

Severus must have sensed her thoughts with his peculiar power, as he said,
"It’s the Daily Prophet, the official newspaper of magical Britain. It’s mostly a collection of gossip and trivial rumours, sometimes bordering on slander, but occasionally there’s useful news. It’s better to know the current affairs than to be caught off guard. The Northern Herald, on the other hand, is distributed across Europe and is usually much more serious. But it’s weekly."

"Weak-le… like something to do with weak legs?" Owl was puzzled. Thankfully, Severus quickly clarified, "It means there’s only one issue per week."

Oh! That made more sense. She swallowed her last piece of meat and shook herself with satisfaction, stretching one leg after another before spreading her wings. Finally, she began preening her feathers. Meanwhile, Severus set down his newspaper, finished his tea, and retrieved the same sealed envelope she had seen the previous day from a pocket of his dressing gown.

"Owl, today is your first job. You need to deliver this letter to Narcissa Malfoy, a friend of mine. Do you think you can do it?"

Owl puffed up with pride, fluffing her feathers in an instinctive reflex. She extended her leg, where the small black ring gleamed, with an almost ceremonial confidence. Of course, she could! This was their agreement. She couldn’t expect to be fed and cared for without doing her part. She would deliver the letter and do it well.

Severus nodded, seemingly satisfied. With a precise gesture, he tapped the ring with his wand, and the letter, still in his other hand, was drawn into the piece of jewellery in a small swirl of light.

"Go whenever you feel ready," he said simply, rising to clear the table.

Owl let out a long hoot, soft yet resonant, as though signalling her commitment. She flapped her wings and took flight with a rustling sound towards the kitchen window, which opened by itself as she approached. A burst of fresh air filled the room as she passed through the opening and soared into the sky.

There, she paused for a moment, suspended in the air, her small wings outstretched, letting the wind carry her light body. The world stretched out before her, vast and radiant under the morning sun. Today, luck was on her side—the heavy clouds from the previous day had cleared, giving way to a pastel blue sky. The golden morning light bathed her feathers, gently warming them. The air, cleansed by the night’s rain, held a crystalline purity, and every breath filled her lungs with an almost euphoric sensation.

She felt that peculiar non-heat, that invisible point in her mind guiding her towards her destination. Narcissa Malfoy, Severus had said. Who was she to him? Owl gave a slight shake of her head. No, that was none of her business. She had a mission, and she needed to be a serious owl.

With a determined beat of her wings, she gained altitude. The roofs of countless houses below shrank as she ascended, becoming mere insignificant dots. A strange exhilaration surged through her. The wind wove between her feathers, both a soft caress and a firm encouragement, while the cool air streamed past her beak. For the first time in so long, she felt truly free.

She turned her gaze towards the horizon, where the sunlight seemed to set the blurred contours of distant hills aflame. Her small wings carried her with a joy she couldn’t contain. She flew as fast as she could, intoxicated by this newfound freedom.

Soon, the city faded behind her. The roads and buildings grew sparse, yielding to lush green meadows and clusters of trees lining glistening streams. In the fields, she spotted tranquil cows and sheep grazing. Some meadows shone a vibrant green, still saturated with the night’s moisture, while fields of wheat and barley, their hues burnished by the advancing season, rippled under the breeze.

A particularly vast meadow, its tall grasses swaying like waves in the wind, caught her attention. Owl dived in a steep arc, skimming the silken surface of the grass with a thrill of excitement. Their synchronised movement gave her the impression of gliding over a verdant sea. She played with the wind, following the undulations, and let out a joyful hoot.

Further ahead, a pond caught her eye. The water shimmered like a mirror scattered with silver fragments, each ripple reflecting the sunlight uniquely. She flew low, her wings nearly brushing the surface, then swiftly ascended to avoid the mast of a small sailboat. The thrill of the manoeuvre filled her with pride—a small, personal triumph.

Time seemed to stretch and accelerate all at once as she crossed winding rivers, soared over shaded groves, and explored vast expanses of countryside. Forests came and went, and she delighted in darting between tree trunks, weaving through them with unexpected agility. Her wings carried her ever farther, each beat serving as both a testament to her resolve and a celebration of the freedom she was rediscovering.

After a while, fatigue began to creep into her muscles. Her wingbeats grew less vigorous, and she decided to take a break. Spotting a church steeple in a small village nestled in the heart of the countryside, she landed there. The perch was cold beneath her talons, but the view it offered was soothing: houses with thatched roofs, fields dotted with wildflowers, and villagers peacefully going about their day. She caught her breath, closing her eyes for a moment to savour the instant.

Once her strength had returned, she resumed her flight. As she progressed, the sensation of non-warmth grew sharper, like an invisible arrow guiding her towards her destination. The sun, now high in the sky, cast a brilliant light that warmed the earth and accentuated the contrasts of the landscape.

At last, beyond a wood of conifers, she spotted her target. Nestled deep within the forest, a grand white stone manor rose, majestic and imposing. From above, the structure had a strange and impressive shape, resembling a "C" with sharply defined corners, like a square cut short before halfway. At each corner stood a round tower, taller than the rest, topped with a pointed roof crowned by a spire. Despite its crenelated walls evoking fortified castles, the building featured expansive lancet windows.

A beige gravel driveway led to the manor's entrance, secured by a monumental iron gate. Surrounding it were impeccably maintained gardens: low hedges forming geometric patterns, bushes trimmed into extravagant shapes, large fountains, and flower beds in shades of white and blue.

Owl fluttered to a third-floor window, drawn to it by an irresistible pull. She perched on the sill and tried to peer inside. But the glass, misted over, obscured her view entirely. Feeling the presence of her recipient just beyond, she grew frustrated at not being able to conclude her mission, already long and exhausting. She had flown for several hours straight to reach this point.

Owl tapped her beak against the glass, hoping to attract Narcissa Malfoy's attention. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the window opened gently, releasing a waft of warm air tinged with a soothing lavender aroma. She hopped inside with a swift motion, landing on the sill. There, she found herself face-to-face with a strikingly beautiful woman.

The tall, slender figure of Narcissa Malfoy appeared as if sculpted from marble, her pale skin illuminated by light reflected from the mirrors in the room. Her long blonde hair, still damp, clung in silky strands to her shoulders and back. Droplets of water beaded on her skin, tracing paths along her delicate collarbones and dispersing over the elegant curve of her neck. Her piercing grey-blue eyes, sharp as polished steel, immediately scrutinised Owl with an expression that blended surprise and calculation. She exuded a natural grace, amplified by her regal bearing and an almost palpable aura of control.

The woman paused briefly, as if to assess the unexpected intrusion, before calmly closing the window behind her without a word.

“What is it?” asked a feminine voice from a corner of the room, out of Owl's sight, with Narcissa still blocking her view.

Narcissa’s keen gaze appraised the small owl from every angle, her fine eyebrows knitting slightly in silent contemplation. “A little Athene noctua. I've never seen this one before,” she replied with a hint of hesitation, turning to pick up a twig resting on an ornately carved wooden dresser, its polished surface adorned with a gilded mirror.

As Narcissa moved, she revealed the rest of the room. Owl discovered a vast and luxurious bathroom, filled with soft steam and floral fragrances. At its centre was a spacious bath, half-sunken into a floor tiled with pearly mosaics. The steaming water was dotted with shimmering bubbles that lazily floated before dissolving into the air. Small candles placed on shelves emitted a gentle, muted light.

In the bath, another woman sat, her body submerged up to her chest. Her chestnut hair, with auburn highlights, was damp and styled into a loose bun, framing a soft, rounded face. Her features were delicate, with a slightly upturned nose, high cheekbones speckled with freckles, and large, deep violet eyes that gleamed with curious astonishment. She was a stark contrast to Narcissa, her slender and modestly graceful silhouette radiating a gentle warmth.

The young woman’s eyes widened in astonishment as she noticed the owl. She rose, water sliding off her skin, revealing a graceful and elegant figure, her complexion glowing with a warm, golden hue under the diffuse light. “Oh, she’s adorable! It’s rare to see one with green eyes,” she exclaimed with sincere enthusiasm, her radiant smile lighting up her face.

“She must be from a magical lineage,” Narcissa replied calmly, a hint of curiosity glimmering in her eyes. She pointed her wand at her own body, and with a precise spell, the lingering droplets of water vanished. Then, she picked up a negligée in a shade of blue so pale it was almost white, slipping it on with a fluid motion.

The young woman also stepped out of the bath, wrapping herself in a thick towel. As she approached Narcissa, her fingers slid gently across the back of Narcissa’s neck. Narcissa shivered slightly but remained impassive.

“I thought owls were supposed to pass through the owlery, and the house-elves delivered the mail at lunch. Unless… it’s a secret correspondence?” the young woman teased, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

Narcissa raised an eyebrow and responded in an even tone, though with a hint of mirth in her gaze, “Lucius is fully aware that I receive private letters. Just as he is aware of your presence, Agnes.”

Agnes replied with a soft, discreet laugh, a warm sound that contrasted with the elegant atmosphere of the room. Narcissa continued, her features slightly softened, “However, only a very limited number of individuals have sufficient authorisation within the wards for their owl to reach me directly. And this one, I do not recognise.”

She leaned closer to examine Owl more thoroughly, her gaze settling on the small black ring affixed to its leg. “It’s Severus,” she said, her tone betraying a noticeable sense of relief.

“You’re far too attached to that boy.”

“What would you have me do? If I don’t look after him, no one will. And I can hardly let my son’s godfather slip through my fingers,” Narcissa retorted with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“True, true… Though I’m surprised it’s a little owl. Didn’t he used to have an eagle owl? Arold, if I’m not mistaken…” Agnes mused aloud.

“Yes, that’s right. He’ll surely explain it all in his letter. A few more days without news, and I would have paid him a visit,” Narcissa replied.

“Poor man,” Agnes remarked with an amused smile.

Narcissa ignored the comment and extended a hand towards Owl, which, though slightly wary, gently nibbled her fingers with its beak. She had no reason to believe Severus would send her somewhere dangerous after their agreement. Narcissa lowered her hand a little further, and Owl understood the implicit message. Carefully, it hopped onto her outstretched hand, making sure not to grip too tightly with its talons.

Narcissa carried Owl into an adjacent room, where Agnes was already waiting. The room was a large bedroom adorned in soft shades of mauve and pastel lilac. A grand canopy bed occupied a spot near an immense window, flooding the room with golden light. The parquet floor was covered with a rug featuring floral patterns and delicate arabesques. A large carved wooden wardrobe adorned one wall, while several shelves filled with books, small bottles, ceramic pots, and ornate boxes completed the refined décor.

Narcissa walked over to a large, well-organised desk, far tidier than Severus's. Everything here seemed of superior quality, making Severus’s home appear almost squalid by comparison. Still, Owl felt she wouldn’t be comfortable in such a luxurious setting.

Narcissa placed Owl on a perch that was slightly too large for her, positioned in a corner of the desk. Then, she picked up her wand and touched the ring. Instantly, Severus’s letter emerged from the ring in a swirl of light.

“Well done,” she murmured, stroking Owl’s head with such gentleness that the little creature couldn’t resist, even surprising herself by leaning into the touch and letting out a plaintive hoot for more.

“It’s unlike Sev to choose such a small owl. He tends to favour more intimidating creatures,” Narcissa observed thoughtfully. “Agnes, could you check the bottom-right drawer of the dresser? There should be some owl treats,” she added.

“Of course,” Agnes replied, getting up from the bed where she had been sitting. Meanwhile, Narcissa broke the seal on the envelope and pulled out the letter. Agnes quickly located a pouch of owl treats and approached with a small metal clip, extracting a piece of dried meat. Its aroma and appearance made Owl’s beak water.

Agnes held out the treat, which Owl eagerly grabbed and devoured with a hoot of delight, her eyes closing in satisfaction. She found herself accepting Agnes’s gentle fingers scratching her head without protest, even leaning into them. “I can’t believe the Severus I know is using such an adorable creature for his private correspondence,” Agnes remarked with a playful tone.

Narcissa set the letter down and turned her gaze towards the window, her expression pensive.

“What does he say?” Agnes asked.

“Several private matters he’s dealing with. But I can tell you that Arold passed away recently, and this little owl is his replacement. He doesn’t elaborate much on his choice, only citing practical reasons like her size, apparent intelligence, and magical lineage. She’ll serve him well for a long time,” Narcissa replied, looking doubtful as she finished.

Owl blinked and observed the two women curiously. Agnes and Narcissa exchanged a glance, and Agnes commented with a sarcastic, amused tone:

“When he saw her at the shop, he couldn’t resist, could he?”

“Reading between the lines, that seems to be the case,” Narcissa replied, a faint smile curving her lips. “He’s trying to convince me that everything is fine… but I think I’ll invite him to our next tea. It would do him a world of good to leave his laboratory for a while.”

“Without a doubt. By the way, did he say what her name is?” Agnes asked, gently scratching Owl’s back.

“No, I suppose it’s still very new for him. I’ve never known him to use any owl other than Arold for our correspondence,” Narcissa answered.

It was Narcissa’s turn to give Owl a small treat, which she accepted happily.

Owl was in heaven. She had only just escaped the misery of the shop, and already her new life seemed full of promise. Between the comfort of Severus’s home, the generous food, the treats, and the sheer joy of finally being able to fly freely… For the first time in what felt like forever, perhaps even the first time in her life, she felt a genuine spark of hope.

She looked to the future with caution but also with a gentle anticipation for the good things to come.

Chapter Text

It was late in the afternoon when she finally arrived at Severus’s house. The sun, low on the horizon, left the ground floor of the house cloaked in shadow, while the first chill of the evening began to set in. Her gaze was drawn to an upstairs window, the only visible room, where a light was on, piercing the aged, ivy-clad facade with an orange glow.

Exhausted from her long journey back, Owl barely hesitated before flapping her small wings toward the window. Earlier, after a few additional treats, Narcissa had finished her reply to Severus and attached it to the small ring fastened around Owl’s leg. Owl had then received a few affectionate strokes and attention from Agnes before taking flight again, delicately carried to a window by Narcissa, who had balanced her on her index finger.

The return journey had mirrored the outbound one, but the excitement and joy of slicing through the air, feeling the sun warming her feathers and the wind playing through her wings, had, after a few hours, given way to genuine fatigue. She had briefly considered resting in a hollow tree, but the prospect of a good meal at Severus’s had motivated her to press on.

As before, the window opened by itself as she approached, and she fluttered into Severus’s study, landing on her usual perch. Severus, seated at his desk, was surrounded by an impressive stack of papers, his fountain pen gliding tirelessly across the sheets. His grey eyes, focused, followed his fine, elegant handwriting, which already covered much of the page in front of him.

Seeing that he was busy, Owl began preening her feathers with care, settling herself comfortably. Her long flight had left her quite disheveled, and this was utterly unacceptable to her. Absorbed in her grooming, she nevertheless started when a deep and soft voice echoed in the room a few minutes later.

“How did your first task go?” Severus asked.

Owl immediately flew over to perch on his shoulder, then concentrated intently, trying to share her memories with him: the wind in her feathers, the blazing sun, the landscape rushing by far below her, her passage through forests, the lake she had soared over, and finally her majestic arrival at Malfoy Manor. She lingered on her encounter with Narcissa and Agnes, attempting to convey that Narcissa would likely wish to see him and that Agnes’s affectionate gestures were particularly irresistible. Once her mental account was complete, she confidently extended her ringed leg.

“I see, so you didn’t encounter any particular issues?” Severus said as he removed Narcissa’s reply from the small black ring.

Owl thought for a moment… Apart from the hunger that had gnawed at her midway through the journey and the fatigue that had accumulated on her return, she hadn’t faced any real obstacles. In truth, she was simply delighted to have flown freely and been rewarded with treats for her efforts!

Under her watchful gaze, Severus began clearing his desk, creating a central space free of letters, newspapers, and various documents.

“Perch yourself on the desk, please. Longer deliveries could take several days, especially those requiring you to carry letters to multiple recipients. I need to modify your ring to enable you to handle such trips.”

Owl watched curiously, not fully understanding how her ring could assist her, but she obeyed without hesitation. After all, she had proven her usefulness by completing her first mission successfully, and Severus had never caused her harm. On the contrary, he had fed and cared for her. Nothing about him reminded her of Mister.

Once perched on the table before him, she extended her leg with a mixture of curiosity and slight apprehension. Despite herself, a hint of nervousness sparkled in her wide eyes, fixed on Severus.

Severus didn’t seem to notice—or more likely, he pretended not to. After all, he could read minds, she recalled with a faint pang of unease. With a precise gesture, he waved his wand over the ring, murmuring strange words, presumably casting a spell, just as she had seen him do the previous day.

Once he had completed his task, he opened a drawer in his desk and retrieved a packet of treats. Owl's reaction was immediate: she began hopping frantically toward him, emitting small pleading hoots and stretching her open beak toward his hands. She wanted those delectable treats! But why was he delaying? Why was he taking out the packet without offering her even a single morsel?

“This treat is your reward for successfully completing your first mission,” he declared evenly, holding up a strip of dried meat that exuded an irresistibly savory aroma. However, he kept it carefully out of her reach.

“Stop fidgeting, and I’ll give it to you.”

Owl froze at once, fixing her hopeful eyes on the prized morsel, her wings neatly folded against her sides. But instead of handing over the treat, Severus made a motion with his wand, and the piece disappeared, absorbed into the ring on her leg. Owl let out an indignant squawk and desperately tried to peck at the ring to reclaim her reward.

“Two taps on the bracelet,” Severus explained calmly.

It took Owl a moment to comprehend his words and put them into action. After two well-measured pecks, the treat materialized between her feet. Triumphant, she devoured it with delight.

“For longer trips, I’ll add food to your bracelet. You’ll be able to access it this way—two taps. Understood?”

Owl responded with an approving hoot, though she remained slightly miffed. What should have been a simple gift had turned into an impromptu lesson! That said, she had to admit that having access to food mid-flight could be a lifesaver if she ever had to deliver messages to far-off destinations, well beyond Narcissa’s home.

As he prepared to put away the packet of treats, Severus hesitated. His gaze shifted from the packet to Owl, who watched him with an intensity full of hope. Finally, without a word, he retrieved a second treat and handed it to her. Owl, overjoyed, seized it immediately and gulped it down with enthusiasm, shaking her feathers in contentment.

“Let’s not make a habit of this,” he muttered, finally closing the drawer. Then, rising from his desk, he asked, “Still hungry for dinner?”

Owl answered with a cheerful hoot and leapt onto his shoulder, clearly ready to follow him. She had flown all day; two treats weren’t going to curb her appetite.

As Severus moved through the corridor and descended the stairs, Owl realized how much she appreciated her perch on his shoulder. His stride was so fluid and steady that it felt as though he was gliding slightly above the ground. From her perch, she felt barely a jolt. Moreover, her position provided a perfect vantage point and spared her the effort of walking or flying. His clothing, made of thick yet soft fabrics, was surprisingly comfortable under her talons.

The only downside? His hair! Hanging nearly to his shoulders, it was often tangled and occasionally a bit greasy. Didn’t this man ever take the time to smooth it out? Even she devoted a significant part of her day to the meticulous care of her feathers.

At the bottom of the stairs, she couldn’t help herself: she began running her beak through his hair, determined to untangle it. Severus paused briefly, surprised, but he said nothing and resumed walking, pretending to ignore her efforts.

As they entered the combined dining and living room, Owl noted that nothing much had changed since the day before, save for one detail: the book on owls that Severus had brought back was open on the table, and an unusual wicker box with a small opening now sat atop the shelf.

Severus raised his hand to her height, and, guessing his intention, Owl hopped onto his finger. She gazed at his face curiously, waiting for what would come next.

“While I reheat the leftovers and prepare your portion, you can check out your room,” he said, placing her gently on a small wooden perch. This brand-new perch extended from the bookshelf, right beside the peculiar box.

As Severus’s tall figure disappeared into the kitchen, Owl hesitated for a moment. Then she realized what he meant by "room." He had prepared her a nest! Owl loved nests, those cozy, enclosed spaces high off the ground where she could curl up safely. The basket where she had slept the night before had sufficed, mostly because she had been so utterly exhausted that she’d collapsed into it, carried by Severus. But she had to admit she wasn’t particularly eager to return to it. Her usual nests had always been makeshift: an abandoned woodpecker’s hollow in a tree behind Mr. and Mrs.’s garden, or a nook beneath the staircase cupboard, slightly elevated from the floor.

She cast a hesitant glance toward the kitchen, still uncertain how to feel about Severus’s gesture. Then, curiosity overcoming her, she hopped into the entrance of the nest.

The interior was dark, but thanks to her owl vision, she had no trouble seeing inside. The first word that came to mind was: perfect. This nest was infinitely better than the woodpecker’s hollow or the nook beneath the stairs.

Beyond the entrance, a small alcove led to a circular chamber perfectly suited to her size. The floor was covered in soft little blankets and carefully arranged pieces of wool. Owl didn’t hesitate for a second before darting inside. She hopped around the space, delighted, testing the blankets' softness with her feet and emitting a few small hoots of appreciation. She quickly found her spot, settling at the front of the nest, her head slightly protruding from the entrance to observe the room outside.

From this vantage point, she had a clear view of the entire living room, as well as the entrance visible through the double doors. It was an ideal angle for keeping watch. She burrowed deeper into the blankets, her small body gradually warming her new haven. She was nearly dozing off when a noise—Severus returning from the kitchen—abruptly reminded her of her lingering hunger.

She left her "room" in a graceful glide and landed on Severus’s shoulder, letting out soft hoots of gratitude. She caught a faint nod of acknowledgment from him, though his face remained as impassive as ever. With a fluid gesture, he placed a tray on the table, one side bearing small pieces of dried meat and the other holding the leftovers from his takeaway meal from the previous evening.

Guided by her appetite, Owl didn’t wait long before diving into her food. She relished her meal with obvious delight, while Severus ate his with stoic detachment.

A few minutes later, satiated, Owl observed Severus from her perch on the back of a chair. He was methodically clearing the table. She was about to return to her newly appointed nest to test it further when Severus reappeared with a parchment in hand. He placed it on the table before sitting down.

Intrigued, Owl cautiously stepped onto the table to inspect what he had brought. But, of course, she quickly remembered that she couldn’t read. The symbols etched on the parchment meant nothing to her, though they seemed arranged in a list of relatively short words aligned under dashes.

She lifted her large eyes to Severus, who remained silent, his scrutinizing gaze fixed on her. “Are you content being called Owl?” he finally asked in a calm voice.

She blinked slowly, perplexed. What a strange question. She was called Owl because Dudley had named her that. It was a much better name than the insults she had endured from Mister and Mrs. But it wasn’t as though she had any particular attachment to the word, which simply designated the species of bird she was.

“You don’t have a strong opinion,” Severus concluded, his gaze as piercing as ever.

That was true. As long as the name she was given wasn’t cruel, she didn’t mind. For instance, she referred to Severus as “Severus” in her thoughts because the name seemed less abrupt than “Snape” and because she had heard others call him that. But in truth, she didn’t recognize Severus by his name. To her, Severus was far more than that: his imposing stature, his generosity in feeding her and giving her treats, his hooked nose, his dark and penetrating eyes, his neatly trimmed goatee, and the angular lines of his face.

There was also his upright, confident posture, his ability to move through crowds effortlessly, his icy calm that nevertheless concealed a certain attentiveness, and his patient nurturing of her insatiable curiosity. To her, Severus was a collection of details and qualities—a whole she recognized instantly. His name was merely a label, a convenient wrapper to designate this unique man.

“Feeding and housing you decently is simply part of our agreement. It’s the least I can do. You don’t need to see it as an act of kindness on my part,” Severus stated in a tone she interpreted as weary.

It was true that he was only keeping his word, but to her, it already meant a great deal! Mister had never kept his word. And Severus seemed to go above and beyond what was necessary: the little house he had built for her atop the shelf was an extra touch he wasn’t obligated to provide. He could have put her in a cage and called it lodging. He could also have fed her carelessly, but instead, he took the time to cut the meat into perfectly sized pieces for her small beak. And those delicious treats… yes, he was doing far more than he was required to.

Severus, deliberately ignoring the flood of her grateful thoughts, continued, “I’m uncomfortable calling you Owl—for both moral and practical reasons. If I understand correctly, you wouldn’t object to us choosing a new name?”

If Severus wanted to call her something else, she had no problem with that. She merely thought it might take her some time to get used to thinking of herself as something other than “Owl.” Responding to a new name would likely be a challenge at first. But… what did he mean by “us choosing”? Was he planning to involve someone else in this decision?

“Forgive me, I didn’t phrase that well,” Severus clarified. “I’ve compiled a selection of names I believe are suitable. I propose reading them to you, and we’ll decide on your new name together.”

His usually stern face softened slightly. Owl hopped closer to him, alternating her gaze between the parchment and his face. Once again, he was showing a kindness she wasn’t used to. It had been less than two days since she had started living with him, and yet, she was beginning to think of Severus as genuinely considerate.

“Your standards for kindness are, I fear, terribly low,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “I am merely doing the bare minimum expected for a wilderfolk with a difficult past who has just come under my roof, and with whom I am likely to collaborate in the long term.”

Amused, Owl tilted her head slightly. That was a lot of words to say that he was, indeed, kind.

Perhaps he sensed the futility of continuing the argument, as he pressed on: “I’ll read you the names, with a brief explanation for each. Once the list is complete, we’ll decide together.”

Clearing his throat, he began reading.

“Ashley,” he said. “It means ‘ash wood.’ It’s a sturdy name, evoking strength and resilience.

Owl tilted her head to the side. The name didn’t resonate with her particularly. It was certainly better than “Owl,” but she felt that almost anything would be an improvement.

Severus continued: “Athena. The goddess of war and wisdom in Greek mythology. She also lends her name to your species: the little owl, Athene noctua. Taking her name could, therefore, be fitting.”

Owl understood the logic, but the idea of bearing the name of a goddess felt misplaced. Such a name seemed far too grand for her.

“Aria,” Severus went on. “It comes from the word for ‘air’ in Italian. It’s a simple, elegant name, particularly suited to an airborne creature like yourself.”

At this suggestion, Owl felt a shiver of excitement run through her wings. She liked the idea: bearing the name of the very element in which she loved to fly. Yet she hesitated. As Severus had said, it was best to hear the entire list before deciding.

“Aislinn,” he continued. “It comes from the Irish word for ‘dream.’ It carries no deeper meaning, but I thought the sound of it suited you.”

Owl watched him without reacting much. The name provoked neither rejection nor enthusiasm.

Severus went on: “Anemone. This one has a double meaning. Firstly, it’s the name of a flower.”

He waved his wand, conjuring in the air a translucent image of delicate six-petaled flowers, their dark centers shifting in hues from blue to red to violet. Owl was mesmerized by their beauty, almost missing the rest of the explanation.

“This flower is also known as ‘windflower,’ because its seeds are carried by the wind. The name thus refers both to the flower and to the wind.”

Severus continued speaking, but Owl was no longer listening. Anemone… It didn’t matter what other suggestions he might have; she had already made her choice! Windflower… The name felt so right, so perfect. It resonated with everything she was: her pretty plumage, reminiscent of delicate petals, and above all, the joy she experienced riding the winds. Whether it was light breezes or powerful gusts, her wings carried her with such grace that she felt as though she belonged to the sky.

Severus was saying something when she suddenly expressed her enthusiasm. Flapping her little wings frantically, she let out a series of determined “Kiouw kiouw kiouw” sounds, her excitement palpable in every note.

He stopped, lifting his eyes to her with an unreadable expression. She seized the moment to convey clear images to him: the delicate flowers drifting in her mind, followed by the wind—the invigorating sensation filling her wings—the gentle light, and the pastel hues she associated with this harmony.

She thought she caught a fleeting smile brush Severus’s lips… No, she must have imagined it.

“You’re certain you don’t want to hear the rest of the options?” he asked with unflappable calm.

“Kiouw kiouw kiouw!” she insisted with renewed energy, flapping her wings again to emphasize her choice.

Severus nodded slowly, as if accepting the inevitable, then methodically rolled up the parchment and stood. “So be it, Anemone. Rest well. Tomorrow, you’ll have more letters to deliver. I have several urgent correspondences that I can’t entrust to anyone else.”

As Severus finished washing the dishes, the lights on the ground floor went out one by one, gradually plunging the house into silence. Each room returned to its stillness as Severus retreated to his study, or perhaps his bedroom, to attend to his own matters.

Meanwhile, Anemone flew to the nest Severus had prepared for her. She nestled in with a soft hoot of contentment, burrowing her small body into the cozy blankets. From her snug refuge, she gazed out at the dimly lit living room. Through the window, she could make out the quiet street, faintly illuminated by a few streetlamps casting an orange glow.

The name “Anemone” swirled in her thoughts. It carried a particular sweetness. How strange to define oneself with a single sound, as though her entire being could be encapsulated in one vibration. But on reflection, if a name was chosen with care, if it was personal, she could understand why it held such importance.

And this new name conjured such pleasant images: delicate flowers dancing in the breeze, free and weightless. It stood in stark contrast to the heavy burden of the past she still carried. The name “Owl” was the last tangible remnant she had brought with her from Mister and Mrs.

She allowed herself a brief moment of nostalgia, thinking of Dudley. She missed him a little, yes, but not enough to regret her new life. Anemone now felt liberated. Light. As though, in adopting this new name, she had broken the final chain tethering her to that old world.

She closed her eyes, soothed by the thought, and let her mind wander, free like the petals of a flower carried on the wind.

oOOOo

Today, Anemone beat her small wings with determination and vigor, soaring eagerly northward. She had taken off at dawn, just after breakfast, proudly carrying four letters to deliver. Severus had explained that he had fallen behind on his correspondences, and until this backlog was cleared, Anemone would have her work cut out for her—far more than usual. He had confided that he maintained prolific epistolary relationships with several private correspondents. Once these accumulated letters were delivered, her workload would settle into a more stable rhythm, with manageable daily trips. For the most distant correspondents, Severus had issued warnings: such journeys could take several days, and he was adamant that she must not risk injury by trying to go faster than necessary.

Anemone had just left Malfoy Manor, where she had dropped off Severus’s reply to Narcissa. Before setting out again, she had enjoyed a brief respite in Narcissa’s study. The lady of the house hadn’t let her leave without a series of affectionate strokes and some delightful treats. Satiated and rested, Anemone felt ready to tackle the rest of her deliveries.

Three letters remained to be delivered. The first was addressed to a certain Marianne Geomont, whom Severus had described as a loyal correspondent. Her finely honed "post owl" senses told her she needed to head northeast, toward the sea, whose vast, glimmering expanse she could already glimpse in the distance. The other two letters were for recipients farther north: one for a certain Minerva McGonagall, and the other for someone named Albus… Bud? Bun? Bumblebee? Severus had repeated the name several times, but Anemone still couldn’t quite retain it. Honestly, she found “Bumblebee” to be a particularly charming name, even though she knew it was wrong. She decided she would simply call him Albus—it would be easier.

Thinking of her own name, Anemone couldn’t help but repeat it softly in her mind. “Anemone… Anemone…” A sweet, exhilarating feeling buzzed under her feathers, filling her little heart with a dancing joy. She loved this new name, far more engaging than “Owl.” The joy of this thought pulsed through her. She would bear the name of the flowers, daughters of the wind! she thought, letting out a small triumphant hoot and performing an aerial pirouette.

As she flew over the bare, verdant hills of northern Scotland, dotted with rocky outcrops, Anemone sensed her next destination drawing nearer. Luck was on her side: the sky was a clear, flawless blue, and the summer sun bathed the moorland in golden light. Below her, a scattered flock of sheep appeared as a multitude of fluffy white dots. Further on, she soared above a charming village nestled in a valley, its stone houses surrounded by countryside crisscrossed with dry stone walls, which she played at following like winding trails.

Anemone veered widely around a group of creatures with equine bodies and the bare torsos of men and women, galloping at full speed across the moorland, their bows drawn, in pursuit of a terrified deer. Their impressive presence deterred her from approaching any closer. Soon after, while skimming along a cliff, she nearly ventured too close to a colossal figure.

It was a gigantic man, five or six times Severus’s height, his rough, gray skin blending with the surrounding rock. A spear, likely fashioned from a tree trunk, rested in one hand, while the other shielded his eyes as he scanned the horizon. The lower part of his face was hidden by a thick beard resembling an intertwining of roots and lichen. An eagle with a human-like face perched on his massive shoulder, murmuring into his ear. Anemone circled prudently around them, her heart pounding, hoping that the magic of Severus’s ring rendered her invisible to their eyes.

It was only when she left this awe-inspiring sight behind and found herself above the ocean that she could finally relax. The steep cliffs plunged into tumultuous waves, and Anemone was captivated by the majesty of the sea. It was the first time she had seen such a vast expanse of water, and the discovery swept away the fears of her previous encounter. Waves crashed against the dark rocks, spraying white foam that sparkled under the sunlight.

She approached the swirling waters and noticed graceful creatures, part seal and part woman, playing in the waves, laughing and splashing. They seemed entirely indifferent to the small owl flying above them.

With reluctance, Anemone tore her gaze from the mesmerizing scene, her instincts signaling that her destination was near. Atop a steep cliff stood a spectacular house, seemingly carved into the very rock itself. Large windows were set directly into the cliff face, while turrets reached boldly toward the sky, and structures propped up by wooden and stone supports defied gravity. The slate roofs, shaped like scales, varied in color from deep green to intense blue, occasionally streaked with vibrant orange. In some places, metallic chimneys released bluish smoke that blended seamlessly with the azure sky.

Anemone could sense her recipient nearby. She alighted gracefully on the edge of a window and tapped her beak against the glass to announce her arrival. A voice rose from within, and, as if by magic, the window opened slowly. Without hesitation, Anemone slipped inside, discovering a room both warm and chaotic—a true kaleidoscope of objects and styles.

The furniture, made from various woods and of diverse designs, seemed to hail from distant places, gathered or gifted with little concern for harmony. The fabrics draped throughout the room—tablecloths, rugs, and curtains—juxtaposed soft and garish tones, creating a visually eclectic and bewildering universe. At the center of the room, a low table was surrounded by an assortment of seating: a plush sofa, a sharp-angled wooden chair, and other equally varied options. Against the walls stood shelves, buffets, china cabinets, and armoires, forming a hodgepodge collection of antiques likely sourced from all over the world.

In the hearth, a fire burned peacefully, its orange glow reflecting off a black cast-iron cauldron, from which rose bluish smoke with intriguing aromas. Anemone noticed with curiosity two luminous, almost lifelike eyes watching her from within the flames, exuding a serene curiosity. Beneath the ceiling beams, translucent creatures resembling fish floated. Their long, pinkish-violet bodies undulated gracefully around the chains of a chandelier, from which dozens of candles emitted a soft white glow.

In a corner near the fireplace, Anemone spotted about ten small black orbs with enormous, curious eyes. The moment they felt her gaze, they vanished in a small puff, hiding behind a broom propped against the wall, under furniture, and between floorboards.

The walls themselves were adorned with tapestries depicting natural landscapes—oceans, forests, and hills—that reminded Anemone of the places she had flown over on her journey here. There were also paintings of charming still lifes and portraits of individuals with a peculiar allure that she couldn’t quite explain.

Anemone had just perched on the back of a chair when the sudden arrival of a creature startled her. A small, vaguely humanoid being covered in thick, dark-brown fur burst into the room through a partially open door. It sported bat-like wings, large, pitch-black eyes, and a snub snout above a mouth bristling with hundreds of needle-like teeth. Its enormous, mobile ears twitched in every direction, and its long tail, tipped with a light-colored plume, swished excitedly in the air.

The creature leapt onto the table, staring intently at Anemone before screeching in a high-pitched, nasal voice, “Mistress! Mistress! A strange owl is in the sitting room!”

The shrill cry sent a shiver through Anemone, who instinctively shrank back.

“I’m coming!” answered a slightly raspy female voice from the depths of the house.

“Stop screeching, Jasper,” growled another voice, much closer this time. Anemone took a moment to realize this one was coming from the hearth. A fiery mouth had appeared beneath the glowing eyes, and every “s” pronounced by the voice escaped in curling ribbons of flame.

“Mistress! Cinder is being rude to me again!” exclaimed Jasper, sticking his tongue out at the flames. The creature approached Anemone, its deep black eyes fixed on her with curiosity. Intimidated, Anemone puffed up her feathers and hissed, prompting Jasper to retreat sulkily to the other end of the table.

“What’s going on now?” asked a woman as she finally emerged from the door at the back of the room.

Anemone regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and astonishment. The woman, petite and noticeably thin despite the multiple layers of red, blue, and violet floral robes she wore, was wrapped in a sandy-yellow shawl and a spotted scarf. Her pale, bald face and head were entirely covered in moving black tattoos, even her lips adorned with the intricate designs. Metal jewelry engraved with minute inscriptions decorated her ears and cheekbones.

What struck Anemone the most, however, were the goat-like legs visible beneath her robes and her left arm, which was made of bluish chitin resembling a crab’s claw but infinitely more delicate, surrounded by slowly moving luminous filaments. One of these filaments coiled around a long glass rod. Her other hand—human this time—was laden with rings, and several silver and gold bracelets jingled at her wrist.

Anemone couldn’t tear her gaze away from who she assumed must be Marianne. An uncanny sensation of coolness confirmed that this was indeed the recipient of the letter. Severus really has some strange acquaintances, she thought. But then again, he had hired her knowing she was an owl capable of disguising herself as human. She shouldn’t be surprised.

Her gaze finally met Marianne’s. The woman’s eyes were blue, almost ordinary, except for the subtle symbols, similar to those tattooed on her face, that seemed to float in her irises.

“A new owl!” exclaimed Marianne. “Why did you let her in, Cinder? All owls should be redirected to John.”

The fire in the hearth responded with a burst of glowing embers, its voice hissing through the air. “She bears the mark. She’s one of the exceptions.”

Half-terrified, half-curious, Anemone tried not to tremble as she extended her leg to display the ring. Drawn by the movement, Marianne’s eyes focused on her.

“Oh, Master Snape’s reply! At last!” Marianne exclaimed, leaning closer to examine the ring. She extended her crab-like appendage, its bluish chitin shimmering faintly, encircled by glowing filaments. Anemone, frightened, suppressed the urge to pull away. She knew she couldn’t leave until she delivered the letter and waited to see if Marianne had a reply for her to carry.

One of the filaments brushed the ring, and a swirl of light erupted, sending the letter spiraling into the air. Marianne caught it deftly and opened it, using a filament to slice the paper with remarkable precision.

As her eyes scanned the letter’s contents, Anemone blinked. She could have sworn the sorceress’s scarf had moved.

“Oh, poor Arold… he was a fine creature. Surprising that he chose a little owl as a replacement…” Marianne murmured as she read. “Ah, I suppose it makes sense—a wilderfolk… Well, his heart isn’t as hard as he pretends.”

She raised her eyes to Anemone, who was trying to make herself as small as possible under her scrutinizing gaze. “Don’t be afraid, no one here is going to eat you…” she said reassuringly.

“Not even me, Mistress?” hissed a low, serpentine voice, seemingly emanating from the scarf itself. Anemone, initially perplexed, felt her heart race as the scarf began to move gently. It unraveled with an almost meditative slowness, slithering like a reptile from around the sorceress’s neck to reveal its true nature. To Anemone’s horror, it wasn’t an ordinary scarf but a snake—with three heads.

The three triangular snouts, adorned with patterns resembling engraved scales, rose, their golden eyes gleaming with a piercing and predatory light.

The heads pivoted to fix their gaze hungrily on Anemone. “She smells good,” hissed the second head, its forked tongue flickering in the air. “Just the right size…” added the third.

“No!” Marianne snapped, reprimanding the serpent. “We do not harm guests.” Turning her attention back to Anemone, she added, “You’re lucky you ended up with Severus… not all postal owls are treated so well.” She cast a quick glance at the letter. “Anemone. A lovely name.”

Despite Marianne’s assurances, Anemone felt cornered and uneasy. Between the talking fire, the three-headed snake, Jasper, and Marianne herself, everything seemed to conspire to unsettle her. Yet, she knew she had to stay professional and uphold Severus’s trust by completing her mission.

“Jasper! Fetch some treats. She’s traveled far and deserves a reward,” Marianne ordered, turning another page of the letter. Jasper scurried off, muttering, “Right away, ma’am!”

Meanwhile, the snake slithered from Marianne’s shoulders, inching closer to Anemone, its forked tongues flickering in the air. Puffing up her feathers with all her might, Anemone faced the serpent with fierce determination. It was much larger than her, but she couldn’t flee—not yet.

She flinched as Marianne let out a wild cry of joy, shattering the tense silence. The sorceress began to dance around the room, her cloven hooves striking the floor in a frenzied rhythm.

“Cinder! Jasper! Safran! He’s accepted the collaboration!” she exclaimed, waving the letter triumphantly.

“Congratulations, Mistress!” the three heads of the snake hissed in unison, followed by a hearty “Bravo!” from Jasper, who returned carrying a tin box. The fire in the hearth flared with a scarlet tongue of flame, illuminating the room with flickering light.

“I’ll start thinking through the details of what to propose…” Marianne muttered. “Jasper, give her a treat. Anemone, you’re free to go. I won’t be responding immediately,” she added hastily before disappearing through the door at the back of the room.

Dazed by the events, Anemone decided it was best not to linger and reflect on what she had just witnessed. She gladly accepted the treat Jasper handed her, and he gave her a cheeky wink before popping one into his own mouth.

Anemone wasted no more time. After a final glance around the peculiar home, she spread her wings and leaped gracefully toward the open window. The cool breeze outside was a welcome relief, dissipating the tension that had weighed on her inside. Before diving into the air, she cast one last look back, capturing an image of the strange dwelling with its glowing windows and the unsettling troupe of creatures residing there with Marianne.

Soaring into the clear sky, she savored the delicious treat melting softly in her beak—a sweet reward after a more harrowing stop than she had anticipated. Her wings beat strongly as she reclaimed the freedom of the skies, recalibrating her senses to determine the next leg of her journey.

Now, her goal was clear: deliver the letter to Minerva McGonagall. The thought of this destination brought her a sense of calm. Severus hadn’t said much about Minerva, other than her name, but surely she couldn’t be more intimidating than Marianne—or so Anemone naïvely thought.

oOOOo

She had been wrong. Completely wrong. Minerva was absolutely terrifying. Hunched on a dark perch in a shadowy corner of the room, Anemone tried to make herself invisible, her small feathery body nearly flattened against the wood. The room itself, stark and austere with its bare stone walls and functional furniture, only amplified the crushing authority emanating from Minerva. Compared to her, Marianne was delightful, and even Safran, the three-headed snake, seemed almost welcoming!

Minerva was tall. Very tall. A good three heads taller than Marianne, and every inch of her height seemed carved from solid rock. Unlike Marianne's expressive and ornately adorned face, Minerva’s was a fortress—her severe features chiseled in stone, her eyebrows like arcs of granite, and her gaze as sharp as tempered steel. Her piercing eyes seemed to peer directly into Anemone’s soul, and the little owl quivered at every movement of this imposing woman.

And yet, Anemone had arrived full of hope, her heart—well, her beak—light. Following the peculiar sense of coolness that guided her, she had landed on the window of a large Scottish farmhouse with a thatched roof, perched at the edge of a village. As had become her habit, she had tapped softly with her beak to announce her presence. But this time, the response was brutal. The window had flown open with a crash, and a firm hand had seized her, gripping her tightly enough to cause her some pain. Panicked, she had let out a series of sharp, shrill cries: “SQUIII—SQUIII—SQUIII!”—until a spell silenced her. Frozen in place, mute, she couldn’t even breathe freely.

Magic from Minerva’s wand had then descended upon her in successive waves. Each spell made her feel something different: icy pricks, suffocating heat, burning tingles. She endured it all, unable to move, as Minerva studied her with intense scrutiny. Finally, the woman had sat down in a high-backed chair and continued to fix her impassively with her gaze. The prolonged silence was almost worse than the spells.

When Minerva had finally extracted the letter from the black ring and deactivated the spell holding her, Anemone had barely managed to summon the strength to fly to a dark corner of the room and perch there, trembling.

If she had been in human form, she would have burst into tears and curled up on the floor. But even in her owl shape, she was still trembling. Minerva, having read the letter with methodical attention, had stood and approached Anemone. Her piercing gaze seemed to probe her very thoughts, and the little owl, petrified, dared not even breathe. She was convinced that this woman was about to devour her on the spot.

And yet, in Minerva’s eyes, there was a strange nuance that Anemone’s terror prevented her from fully understanding.

After setting the letter aside, Minerva opened the window with a sharp gesture. Anemone wasted no time. She bolted, flying away as fast as her wings could carry her without even looking back. Only after putting a considerable distance between herself and the farmhouse did she land atop a pine tree to catch her breath.

The worst was over. But for a moment, she had been convinced she would never leave that house alive.

There was just one letter left to deliver. With a bit of luck, Albus Bumblebee would be more welcoming.

oOOOo

For Albus Dumbledore, the summer school holidays were a blessed time. With most noble families vacationing in distant and extravagant locations, the Wizengamot slowed to a crawl, addressing only a few simple, mundane matters in an almost entirely empty amphitheater. Representatives of the various families' interests were also away on holiday. Furthermore, no one wanted to risk passing any significant laws during this informal truce, fearing it might set a precedent and disrupt the relative political calm of these two months.

Hogwarts, now home only to ghosts, Hagrid, Argus Filch, and Miss Norris, required little of his attention beyond routine matters such as supply orders and the annual ward inspections.

His obligations to the ICW (International Confederation of Wizards) also eased, as the lethargy brought on by the summer heat seemed not only to affect his fellow countrymen but also to permeate all of Europe. The magical world across the continent sank into a gentle apathy, mirroring the excessive busyness of the rest of the year. Exceptions, of course, included agricultural communities for whom the harvest season was in full swing, as well as artisans and the lowest classes of society, who never truly knew rest as they lived perpetually on the edge. Only communities like those of the Greengrass, Lovegood, Bones, and recently, Potter families could claim to be socially balanced enough to avoid the exploitative practices seen in many other households, ensuring their subjects a life consisting of more than mere toil.

Having escaped the worst of the bloodshed and fire of war, magical Britain had remained relatively unscathed. It had thus not experienced the uprisings and purges that followed Grindelwald's downfall across Europe. The nobility on the continent, whether refusing to renounce their titles or bearing accumulated resentment, had faced decapitation—metaphorically and often literally. This led to a wave of democratization across various nations, achieved through blood and tears at the cost of countless lives, made even more precious after the two devastating wars that had torn through the century. Yet the continent, tasked with rebuilding everything, emerged stronger and healthier, its flames having eradicated the weeds along with everything else. This gave rise to new nations, like the Hispano-Aquitanian-French Federation, or the rebirth of ancient entities such as the reformation of the Holy Roman Empire, aimed at dissolving Grindelwald's territorial stronghold and giving a fresh identity and pride to otherwise vengeful regions, dousing embers by mixing them into the pile of ashes.

In contrast, Britain remained unchanged—though shaken enough for Tom's counter-revolution to take root, dragging the nation further away from the progressivism Albus championed. The "Blood War" ended in what Albus bitterly referred to as a "ceasefire." Tom, vanquished in a single night, had taken with him into the beyond the dearly loved James and Lily Potter, victims of a plan both brilliant and terrible orchestrated by Lily. Another two young lives sacrificed, among so many others. With their leader gone, Tom's forces scattered, retreating into the shadows from whence they came. The Ministry, corrupt to the core, attempted an internal purge with... let’s call it questionable effectiveness. Few among the nobility who shared the regressive ideals of Tom's propaganda genuinely lost power. Only the most visible Death Eaters were condemned to that atrocity some dared call a prison—Azkaban—serving as scapegoats for the majority who had acted more discreetly.

After all, hadn’t they achieved their goals? The rights of Muggle-borns had been curtailed, the nobility’s power—shaken by Grindelwald’s ideals—had been reinforced, and the Wizengamot’s voice grew louder compared to the Ministry. Albus had hoped the Ministry could transition into a fully-fledged democracy. Instead, the caste system was now stronger, more stratified than ever.

While some surely celebrated this situation, magical Britain, rotting from the inside out, had become an increasingly dangerous powder keg—torn between separatism and widespread discontent among a growing portion of the magical population, living in conditions worse than the average Muggle. A fragile illusion of superiority, sustained by orchestrated ignorance, led the most gullible to still imagine Muggles as crawling creatures, condemned to abject misery by their lack of magic.

From his position, Albus hoped to modernize the values of Great Britain’s magical society by outlawing the enslavement of nymphs, sylphs, undines, wilderfolk, and other unfortunate magical beings and humans working on the estates of noble lords. This, he believed, would already be a significant step forward. He also dreamed of establishing an effective and non-discriminatory public education system, though he increasingly considered this an unattainable utopia. Education in Great Britain was in a disastrous state: many schools existed, but they were all private, with prohibitive costs that forced the working classes to rely on monastery charity schools or the rare, semi-volunteer teachers compensated with little more than room and board.

With Tom’s return looming on the horizon and the state of affairs as dire as it was, Albus sometimes despaired of steering the country in the right direction without resorting to fear and bloodshed. Everything pointed to an eventual collapse of the fragile balance. For a long time, he had resigned himself to the necessity of mitigating damage as much as possible when the worst came to pass, ensuring that the conflict would yield a nascent, peaceful, and egalitarian democracy, rather than the dark empire Tom envisioned for his throne.

Thus, summer became a time for Albus to soothe his spirit and preserve his mental health. It allowed him to maintain his physical well-being and indulge in activities unrelated to the anxieties that twisted his stomach. One such activity was the engaging discussion he was currently enjoying with Nicolas and Perenelle on their latest research into spectral alchemy. They sat at a sunlit table on his garden terrace, where Albus held a glass of excellent red wine brought by the couple, an aperitif while waiting for the quiche Lorraine baking in the oven. Its enticing aroma wafted from inside the house.

Albus was far from wealthy. He came from a family of commoners, and most of his titles were honorary rather than monetary. Furthermore, the vast majority of his resources were redirected toward preparing for the coming war, striving to save what could be salvaged. Most of his material possessions had been gifts from friends, acquaintances, or admirers over the years. One of the most notable gifts was this small traditional house in a village near Inverness: stone walls, a thatched roof, a large garden—a charming home where he loved to spend his summer months.

As Nicolas refilled Perenelle’s glass with the fine wine, Albus let his gaze drift over his garden, which was vibrant with a kaleidoscope of colors in this season. The flower beds, almost wild in their abundance, displayed a festival of tulips, daffodils, and roses, each vying for the sun’s rays. Not far away, a lush vegetable garden provided much of his pantry’s stock, with neat rows of lettuces, carrots, and tomatoes. Winding pathways of stepping stones, bordered by lavender and rosemary, led the eye to a small stone fountain at the center, its gentle trickling soothing to the ear. The entire space was meticulously maintained by the diligent work of a brownie—a charming creature whom Albus wisely rewarded daily, while never attempting to catch a glimpse of it.

His gaze then shifted to the rest of the village and the gray sea that his home overlooked from its perch atop the hill. As his thoughts wandered back to Hogwarts and the list of things he hoped to organize this year, he recalled something mentioned by one of their mutual friends. Unable to resist, he decided to seek clarification directly.

"Tell me, I’ve heard rumors that you plan to teach at Beauxbâtons starting this year. I’m quite curious to know what prompted this decision, especially since last I heard, you seemed perfectly content dedicating yourself entirely to your research."

"I imagine Jeanne couldn’t keep her mouth shut," said Perenelle with a sly smile.

"Quite so. We intended it to be a surprise. It’s been a little over a century, after all. Only Olympe and Libra were supposed to know before Jeanne, as usual, poked her nose where it had no business being," Nicolas sighed.

Rather than confirm their suspicions about the likely culprit of the indiscretion, Albus swirled the wine in his glass, took a sip, and said, "It’s a splendid surprise you’ve prepared. I’m certain the students at Beauxbâtons will be ecstatic to hear the news. I must admit, however, I’m curious about this sudden change of direction."

"Nicolas and I were beginning to stagnate, our new ideas for research becoming increasingly scarce. There comes a time when merely reading the latest publications is no longer enough to nourish the mind. After a few exchanges with Libra, we decided that engaging with the younger generations would be a refreshing change of pace and perspective," Perenelle explained.

"The old dragon always had a way with words and the art of gentle persuasion. Not to mention, his advice is rarely devoid of at least some wisdom," Albus chuckled. "I can’t help but agree with him. Engaging with Hogwarts students brings me both joy and a great source of motivation and inspiration. I always make sure to teach at least a few classes each week. Besides giving my dear colleagues some much-needed time off, it refreshes my own spirit."

"I’m glad you…" Nicolas began, but he paused, turning his head in the same direction as Perenelle, who was already looking. "…someone’s coming."

"I assure you, I wasn’t expecting any other guests," Albus said, frowning slightly.

His two companions remained silent, their eyes fixed on the sky—or rather, on a small dark shape rapidly approaching. A few seconds later, effortlessly bypassing his wards as if they didn’t exist, a little Athene noctua owl landed lightly on the table.

She was perfectly round, her feathers a reddish-brown speckled with white, typical for her species. She appeared unremarkable, except for her two large green eyes, which gazed at him with a blend of curiosity, apprehension, and an intelligence far too sharp for an ordinary owl—even a postal one.

He had the strange feeling that he’d seen those eyes somewhere before, but he couldn’t quite place them. Often having such impressions, he decided instead to address his companions.

"Forgive me for this interruption, I…"

It was peculiar that an unfamiliar owl could bypass his wards. She must bear some special insignia, at the very least to perceive the house, and surely belonged to one of his most private correspondents.

“Hello, you,” said Perenelle, scratching the little owl’s head with a gentleness that surprised Albus. He had rarely seen the alchemist interact so warmly with postal birds, typically limiting her attention to the bare minimum.

Watching her stroke the small owl, which was practically melting under her touch, Nicolas smiled discreetly behind his glass. “My dear wife has always had a special fondness for wilderfolk.”

“A wilderfolk? Are you certain?” Albus raised an eyebrow, searching his mind for any acquaintances who might employ a wilderfolk as a postal owl. The practice wasn’t entirely obsolete, but it was uncommon. Wilderfolk loyalty had to be completely earned for their service to be reliable. They made exceptional companions, as evidenced by Argus and Miss Norris, and were far more useful than ordinary, even magical, animals. He knew of individuals who had shared profound and enduring friendships with their wilderfolk companions. However, those who came to mind were either deceased or, to his knowledge, did not have wilderfolk of this particular kind.

“Quite certain,” Nicolas confirmed, his tone calm and assured. “Her aura is unmistakable.”

By now, Perenelle had the little owl on her lap, its soft hoots of contentment filling the air. Its eyes closed as it leaned into the expert strokes of Perenelle’s fingers.

“Albus,” Perenelle said, her voice thoughtful, “this might give us some clarity about her origin.” She gently slipped a hand beneath the owl’s tiny body, lifting it slightly to reveal its legs, feathered in fine white plumage except for the tips of the talons. Most importantly, a small black ring encircled one leg—a ring that Albus immediately recognized, though he was accustomed to seeing it on an entirely different bird.

“I can hardly believe it,” he muttered, drawing his wand to lightly touch the ring. A letter burst forth in a fleeting swirl of light, and he caught it deftly, sensing against his skin the faint traces of Severus’s magic.

“What do you mean?” asked Perenelle, continuing to stroke the owl’s head. It pushed against her hand, clearly asking for more.

Casually, Nicolas made his way back toward the house, announcing that he would fetch some treats for the owl.

“I’m simply surprised by Severus’s choice,” Albus began, glancing at the letter. “The Potions Master at Hogwarts…” he trailed off, realizing he had never properly introduced Severus to his two dear friends.

“I’ve heard of him,” Perenelle interjected, her tone bright with recognition. “The youngest Potions Master in Britain in five centuries. He’s a frequent contributor to The Potionologist’s Almanac and The Mandrake Journal. I believe I’ve crossed paths with him at several seminars. A brilliant young man.”

“Brilliant, indeed,” Albus conceded, “but already deeply scarred and embittered. He’s an excellent professor, yet he lacks flexibility and empathy. As a mind mage, Severus would have been fully aware of the implications of replacing his old owl, Arold, with a wilderfolk. Knowing him, this decision was carefully considered. He values discretion and tranquility above all else and is notoriously solitary. This choice surprises me precisely because of that.”

At that moment, Nicolas returned, holding an open bag of treats. Perenelle eagerly took a piece and began feeding it to the little owl, who immediately recognized the packet and began to plead with soft, hopeful hoots. The sound was both endearing and demanding, an unmistakable request for more.

While the two Flamels were busy lavishing affection, compliments, and treats on the wilderfolk, Albus broke the seal of the letter and began reading. Severus’s missive provided a report on the state of the magical underworld and criminal networks in Britain, particularly regarding the Death Eater circles he frequented. Nothing unusual, Albus noted, apart from Lord Nott hiring a clandestine team of cursebreakers to handle cursed artifacts and an incident involving Greyback’s pack having been spotted in northern Norway, now being pursued by local authorities after a village attack.

The letter moved on to Severus’s customary inquiries about the ongoing negotiations between the Wizengamot, the governors, and the Ministry. Severus remained hopeful that these efforts might eventually lead to an increase in teaching staff, finally freeing him from teaching first-years. Albus mused that, while this task clearly irritated Severus, it was undoubtedly beneficial. Severus’s strict discipline set a high standard in his classes, and the results had been exceptional so far. The Potions class, one of the most dangerous subjects at Hogwarts, had not experienced a single accident since Severus took charge.

Albus suspected, however, that if Severus stopped teaching younger students, he would soon lament the poor preparation of those entering his advanced fifth-year classes. Still, he had to admit Severus had a point. His high expectations elevated the skills of talented students but often discouraged others who might have otherwise pursued a moderate, practical interest in potions.

Albus’s solution lay in a hybrid approach: Severus should continue teaching select courses, focusing on safety and essential fundamentals, while organizing tests or perhaps a club for the most passionate students. A new professor could handle the majority of the curriculum. But the persistent challenge remained: convincing the governors that Hogwarts urgently needed more teachers and staff to handle the post-war baby boom.

“Ah, this, I can do,” Albus thought as he read the next paragraph, which contained Severus’s requests for materials and ingredients for the upcoming year’s curriculum. Severus, ever exacting, revised his syllabus annually to ensure Hogwarts graduates had a broad and varied foundation in potion-making. (Albus also suspected that Severus did this to keep himself intellectually engaged.) It was a demand Albus was happy to accommodate—far better to spend public funds on education than see them line the pockets of unscrupulous politicians.

“Ah, here’s the explanation for the mystery,” Albus said, clearing his throat to draw the attention of his companions, who were still doting on the small wilderfolk. “His previous owl, Arold, has sadly passed away, and he’s chosen a new owl… Oh, he’s named her Anemone. She’s a little owl he adopted from a specialized shop in old London. Apparently, the merchant had no idea of the peculiar nature of his wares. That explains a lot,” he added, setting the letter on the table.

“But nothing about his true reasons for the choice,” Nicolas remarked.

“Do you know, Anemone?” Perenelle asked, scratching the owl’s neck. Anemone let out a small, pleased hoot in response.

“Justifying himself isn’t his style,” Dumbledore said, giving in to the temptation to stroke the owl’s soft feathers himself. “He merely states that this owl will now carry his messages.”

A gentle smile spread across Dumbledore’s face as he watched the small creature bask in the attention. Perhaps this hinted at a welcome shift in Severus. Maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to open up, allowing a touch of kindness to seep into the vast sea of his bitterness.

Chapter Text

Anemone flapped her little tired wings with vigour, darting through the air towards their home, carrying Bumblebee’s reply in her ring. The day had been long and exhausting, an early departure at dawn only to return once the sun had dipped below the horizon. She felt a little better imagining the sun as tired as she was after travelling across the sky all day before finally getting to rest. Not that her day had been bad—far from it. Except for the mean lady, the correspondents she had met today had all been kind. Especially Bumblebee and his friends, Nicolas and Perenelle, who had fed her delicious treats and showered her with caresses and attention.

She was also a little excited at the thought of recounting the day’s adventures to Severus. She had seen quite a few things—a giant with a human-headed eagle, and her bald correspondent with peculiar companions…
So, with determination and eagerness, she soared through the cool air, bathed in the twilight glow of the last sunrays as they faded, giving way to the stars, the sky’s sparkling jewels. She flew towards the warmth of a home, a kind master, a good meal, and her cosy nest.

It was therefore with horror and terror that she saw her vision of a peaceful evening shatter as she entered through the window into the living room, only to find the very mean lady pacing tensely back and forth in front of a seated Severus, who was in his armchair by the crackling fireplace.

“Severus! Listen, this is truly serious. I’ve evacuated the estate—if the wards are compromised, who knows when they’ll exploit this vulnerability!” the mean lady exclaimed, her face pale. “I need you to tell me! What kind of enchantment have you placed on your owl for her to bypass our protections like this? This weakness cannot be ignored.”

“As I have already told you, I placed no spell on Anemone aside from the transport ring and a tracking charm in case of need,” Severus replied in a composed tone.

“That’s impossible. I’ve checked the integrity of the wards three times—nothing has changed, and every other postal owl is redirected as expected. I need you to tell me, Severus—my clan has many enemies. If there is a flaw in my wards, I must know.”

“Minerva, be reasonable. I have done no such thing, nor do I have any reason to hide it from you,” he replied, a barely perceptible note of irritation in his voice.

Seeing the mean lady absorbed in her conversation with Severus, Anemone attempted to slip discreetly towards her nest, hoping to go unnoticed.

But it was too late. In a swift movement, Minerva turned towards her and charged forward with long strides. “There she is! I detected nothing the first time, but perhaps this time…” she muttered in a trembling voice.

Terrified at the mere thought of being at the mercy of this very, very mean lady, Anemone froze and attempted to flee, letting out cries of distress. “KIOUW KIOUW KIOUW!!” But it was too late—the woman’s large fingers closed around her. She would have found herself in the worst of situations if Severus’s voice had not resonated through the room. It was glacial, vibrating with an undertone of deep menace.

“Minerva McGonagall. What have you done to Anemone?” he said, rising from his chair.

The mean lady suddenly froze, giving Anemone the opportunity to break free, flying to her nest and vanishing inside, only to turn back and let only her eyes peek from the entrance, watching the events unfold.

"Severus?" said Minerva, surprised by Severus’s reaction. "What do you mean?"

"When Anemone came to deliver her letter, you did something to her. I want to know what."

"I caught her and cast analysis and detection spells on her to try and understand how she managed to bypass my wards and wasn't redirected like all the other owls…" she explained, bewildered.

"Anemone, could you come here, please?" Severus asked, raising his hand, a single finger extended as an invitation for her to perch. After a moment of hesitation, still frightened by the wicked lady, she complied, landing on Severus’s finger before walking up his arm until she reached his shoulder, where she gave him an affectionate nudge before smoothing his hair with her beak, reassured by his presence, feeling safe from the woman.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Minerva watching them, her mouth slightly open, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Anemone wondered what was so surprising about it.

"Can you tell me what Minerva did?" Severus asked in a dry voice, tinged with a hint of anger that Anemone sensed was not directed at her. She pressed her head against Severus’s cheekbone and focused hard on her mission that day—her arrival at the lady’s house, the way she had been caught in those cruel fingers, the terror she had felt, the barrage of magic she had endured, immobilised on the table without understanding what was happening before being cast out of the house. As she relived the events, she could feel Severus tensing against her.

"Severus… You need to explain to me, what is…" It was then that Minerva's eyes widened, as a sudden realisation struck her. "Merlin…" she murmured.

Severus raised an eyebrow, his expression filled with deep disdain. "Anemone is a wilderfolk whom I recently hired. The way you treated her was highly inappropriate—you owe her an apology, Minerva."

The wicked lady fell back into an armchair. "I never thought I’d see the day you cohabitated with someone, Severus," Minerva sighed.

"I couldn't leave her caged at the shop," Severus replied as though that was explanation enough.

"But you didn’t set her free either," Minerva said, raising an eyebrow.

"She was raised in captivity and wouldn’t survive on her own. We reached an agreement, and so far, it has been entirely satisfactory."

The wicked lady turned towards Anemone, fixing her with a piercing, inquisitive gaze, full of curiosity. "I apologise for the way I treated you when you came to deliver the letter. This is not an excuse, but the possibility of a breach in my wards was the reason for my reaction."

Anemone felt that Minerva was sincere in her apology, but she was still too shaken and frightened by what had happened. She did not want to risk going near her just yet. Instead, she gave her a heavy stare before burying her beak into Severus’s hair and closing her eyes.

"We will have to suspend our private correspondence until Anemone feels safe enough around you to approach you again," Severus said.

"Understandable," Minerva sighed. "Fortunately, the school year begins soon; that may give us an opportunity to familiarise ourselves."

"The end of my time away from the damned brats does not fill me with joy, but I hope you are right, Minerva," Severus replied, running his fingers through her feathers, gently massaging the back of her head. Anemone could not help but let out a small hoot of pleasure.

Minerva seemed about to make a remark, a small smirk forming at the corner of her lips, but a sharp glare from Severus made her reconsider. She refrained and instead said, "I am pleased that you have found yourself a companion, Severus, but that does not answer the initial question. What on earth happened to my wards that allowed Anemone to reach me directly? I have checked; my wards are supposed to function on all living beings, wilderfolk included."

"I have a small idea about that; I just need to check something in a book..." Severus said as he stood and made his way to his bookshelf. He spent a few seconds reading the spines before carefully pulling out a large, cracked-leather-bound tome, its title engraved on a copper plate nailed to the cover. Once again, Anemone felt the frustration of not knowing how to read.

He placed it heavily on the table and opened it at the very end, where a sort of list was found. Sliding his finger down the lines, he flipped through the pages in search of something. His finger halted on one line, then moved towards different symbols at the bottom of the page, and he muttered, "Page 392..." before swiftly turning the pages again and stopping at one.

"Heritable trait locus ab anima impressionem, a bio-alchemical trait, created in 1285 by Tristan Bonnet to replace carrier pigeons... Owls have proven to be the most compatible with the ritual..." He continued reading aloud, skipping from line to line, searching for a particular piece of information, using his long index finger to keep track on the page. "Ah, here we are, the different ways in which the trait manifests today. So, six categories: Latens, Errans, Nexus, Fatum, Astralis, and Noctis. Latens, a dormant trait, though still transmissible to offspring. Errans, an active trait, but too weak to be sufficient for an owl to be employable..." He read further fragments of information from the trait classification table for each category, slowly working his way up.

Meanwhile, Anemone was deep in thought. So, if she could find people as long as she knew their name, it was because a wizard, centuries ago, had performed some strange magic on a lot of owls, magic that had then been passed down from parents to baby owls, changing slightly with each generation... Thinking too much about it was making her head ache. At least she now knew her ability had a name, though she was entirely incapable of remembering it properly... Lopus minanem? Something like that?

By then, Severus had reached the Astralis classification.

"Bearers of the locus ab anima impressionem of the Astralis class are capable of creating a sympathetic bond through soul resonance, using the person’s true name and the sender’s impression of them as a vector. This resonance notably allows them to bypass most wards separating them from the intended recipient. It is impossible to distinguish an Astralis owl from a Fatum-class owl except through long and meticulous evaluation of their outstanding service quality. Their margin of error is infinitesimal, and the better the sender knows the recipient, the stronger and more precise the impression will be for an Astralis owl. Only anti-divination wards incorporating soul resonance, physical barriers, or wards based on sacrificial blood magic can divert them. They are highly sought after by high authorities, the upper nobility, and intelligence services... You have your answer, Minerva. Anemone's locus ab anima impressionem manifests in Astralis form."

"I see, that is reassuring; my wards are not failing," she sighed. "Just out of curiosity, what does the book say about the Noctis-type trait?"

"Hm, let’s see… Owls of this type can enter full resonance and completely bypass any kind of wards, as well as travel on dream currents to reach their recipient. They are naturally exceedingly rare. The few that exist are Astralis owls that have undergone a complex spectral bio-alchemical ritual, transforming the essence of the animal... It is also noted that this makes the owl’s existence unstable, pushing it to shift across different planes of existence at random intervals."

Minerva grimaced. "It seems to me that you’ve made an excellent choice in taking Anemone. That’s an interesting book you have there. I’ve consulted works on hereditary magical traits before, but none went into as much detail regarding the classification of the different ways they manifest in individuals. Does it also have an entry on Seers?"

"Yes, the author is the most reliable I know on the subject, and indeed, there is an entry on Seers. I assume you’re referring to Natalia Forest?"

"Yes, the poor girl is really struggling to manage her gift, and I’d like to at least know what to do to avoid making her life even harder. We don’t often have Seers at Hogwarts, let alone one with such a highly developed gift. Thankfully, the elves know what to do for some of the necessary accommodations."

The conversation between Severus and the woman, slightly less frightening now that she had apologised, did not make much sense to Anemone, most of the words flying completely over her head. The essential part was that Severus’s smouldering anger had settled, like embers beneath the ashes, and that Minerva had calmed down.

Sensing that their discussion had drifted away from the subject of owls, she was preparing to fly up to her nest for a nap when Severus pulled a small, unadorned tin box from his pocket and took out a treat. With little hoots of delight, she gobbled it down eagerly, then flew up to her nest, discreetly watching Minerva from her perch.

She kept observing until, after a long while of drinking and talking, Severus accompanied Minerva to the door, then returned alone, the house sinking back into its usual quiet. Relieved to finally be alone with him, she landed on the table and focused intently on the rest of her day, thinking hard about all the exciting things she had seen, eager to share them with him."

oOOOo

It had been three weeks since Anemone had settled in with Severus, and she had never been happier in her life. She was fed, housed, pampered, and given treats, yet she never felt like a burden or useless as she delivered Severus’s mail. A routine had gradually taken shape in the small house—or rather, Anemone had seamlessly integrated into Severus’s routine. Early in the morning, just before sunrise, Severus would leave his bedroom to head to the bathroom, then to the kitchen to prepare himself a cup of very black, acrid-smelling coffee, along with bacon and fried eggs. He never forgot to cut a small portion of meat for her, and the two of them would eat together—she focused on the delicious taste of her food, and he, absorbed himself in the newspaper delivered to his letterbox each morning.

Once breakfast was finished, if he had letters to send, he would entrust them to her, and she would immediately take off for a day’s work. Otherwise, he would retreat to his basement laboratory to brew potions and advance his research, while Anemone enjoyed her free time either by sleeping or exploring the surroundings, using her small size to eavesdrop and gather all the local gossip. At midday, Severus would either eat leftovers from the previous day or leave the house for meetings, conferences, and other engagements with, as far as she understood, fellow professionals from the world of potions or alchemy, and, more rarely, friends.

On the afternoons when he remained at home, he spent his time replying to his ever-growing pile of correspondence, reading complex books and journals, or delving further into potion-making and experiments. Since Minerva’s visit, no one else had come directly to see him, leading Anemone to believe that, just like her, he valued his peace and quiet.

In the evenings, he would order food from inexpensive restaurants in the area, pick up his meal himself, and return with a plastic bag filled with oddly scented dishes. They would dine together, Severus never failing to prepare her small pieces of meat. If anything of interest had happened during the day, she would perch on his shoulder to report every detail. She wasn’t sure if he enjoyed her stories, but he never complained. It was also during this time that he would inform her of the following day’s plans—whether he was leaving, what time she should expect him back, and whether she would have mail to deliver.

One thing that puzzled Anemone was that, despite spending entire afternoons or even whole days away from the house, Severus never failed to return in the evening.

So far, although Severus had warned her that it would not always be the case, her deliveries had never taken more than a full day, allowing her to return home each night to curl up in her nest—warm, safe, and with a full belly. The first few days had been challenging, with large deliveries every day to catch up on Severus’s backlog of letters, but things had since calmed down, regularly giving her free days and shorter routes that allowed her to return as early as the beginning of the afternoon. It had to be said that she only handled a fraction of Severus’s correspondence. For most of his letters, he would go to the local post office to entrust them—those he deemed "non-sensitive"—to a small fleet of postal owls, reserving only his most important letters for Anemone.

It was one of those ordinary evenings, just after dinner, with Anemone’s belly full, having just excitedly reported to Severus that Mr Jacquet’s neighbours had goat legs—which Severus had explained were called fauns—when he straightened in his seat and said in his usual gravelly tone:

"It has now been three weeks since the start of our collaboration."

Anemone tilted her head to the side, blinking her large green eyes, trying to understand where he was going with this.

"When we discussed the details of our arrangement, we agreed on a trial period. That period has now come to an end."

Anemone stiffened, suddenly anxious, fluttering onto the table to get a better view of Severus’s face than from his shoulder. He remained impassive, his piercing black eyes fixed on her. She could feel her little heart pounding beneath her feathers. Had he decided she wasn’t good enough? Was he going to cast her out?

Fortunately, Severus did not give her time to spiral into panic and continued, "I must admit that over these past three weeks, the quality of your work, your behaviour, and your respect for the household rules have been acceptable. As such, I am offering you the opportunity to continue working for me on a long-term basis. If, however, this trial period was not to your satisfaction, I can always find—"

Anemone didn’t let Severus finish his sentence—she flapped her wings and let out a joyful hoot! He wanted to keep her! He wasn’t going to throw her out. She circled his head three times before perching on his shoulder, affectionately running her beak through his hair.

"… In that case, I am pleased to formalise our arrangement. Know that, in addition to lodging and food, I will now be paying you two sickles per week for your services," he added.

Anemone froze. She was going to be paid? But what on earth would an owl like her do with money? She seriously doubted people sold things to owls…

"You are a wilderfolk. I understand that you do not wish to take human form, but know that if one day you feel like taking a stroll in your other form and purchasing some possessions, you will not be entirely destitute. Moreover, if you desire something and have enough savings to buy it, you may ask me. I shall place your wages in a money jar above the fireplace," he said softly.

The idea warmed her heart—Severus valued her services enough to pay her—but she truly had no idea what use money could possibly be to an owl.

"Perhaps a toy would not go amiss on the days you remain at home and find yourself bored. After all, summer will not last forever, and I doubt you will wish to spend your free days outside once winter arrives," he reasoned.

Anemone pondered. It was a sensible argument… As was everything Severus said, really. She would think about it.

"Now, that being said, since you are officially my personal owl from now on, we must undertake a special process with the Ministry of Magic."

That big group of people supposed to stop wizards from doing whatever they pleased? Anemone thought.

"Precisely," he said, an almost imperceptible smile at the corner of his lips. "Animals have no rights or protections under the Ministry's laws. Consequently, should anyone harm you or should you have an accident, my ability to act would be severely restricted. Owls are sometimes attacked mid-flight to steal their letters. Such a thing should not happen thanks to the ring you wear on your leg, which protects you, but nothing is impossible. In short, for numerous reasons concerning your protection and my ability to retaliate, it is necessary to grant you a status in the eyes of the law.

To do so, tomorrow we shall go to the Ministry, where you will be registered as my familiar. In legal terms, a familiar refers to any animal, magical or otherwise, belonging to a wizard and officially recorded under this title at the Ministry. As my familiar, any action taken against you will, under the law, be equivalent to an action taken against myself."**

Severus then fell silent and observed her for a moment.

Anemone was not entirely sure she had understood everything. Many of the words Severus used were complicated, but she could infer the meaning of most through context. So, she thought very hard: she needed to be recognised by the Ministry as his familiar so that Severus could better protect her?

She turned her large eyes to his, awaiting confirmation.

"That is about right. Tomorrow, we shall go to the Ministry. I will ask you to remain on my shoulder and obey whatever instructions the people there give you. Behave yourself, and everything will go smoothly."

The prospect intimidated Anemone, but if it was a necessary condition for staying with Severus, she would do it!

...

Saying that Severus Snape was not unknown at the Ministry was an understatement. Due to his status as a professor at the prestigious Hogwarts institution, his regular deliveries of highly specialised potions to St Mungo’s Hospital, his distinction as the youngest Potions Master in the country, and his ambiguous role during the Blood War, his passage through the Ministry’s atrium never failed to turn heads and stir as many whispers as it did dust.

Even more so this time, as the man whose coldness, bitterness, and power of intimidation were well known to all those who had recently been at Hogwarts—or had children there—was carrying on his shoulder a tiny little owl, a little Athene noctua, looking around with enormous green eyes full of curiosity. A striking contrast that inevitably captivated anyone who laid eyes on the tall, gaunt man, with his forbidding expression, clad in a long black coat and a cape billowing dramatically behind him.

As Severus strode forward with great, purposeful strides, eager to extricate himself from this unpleasant situation—though only drawing more attention to himself in the process—Anemone, for her part, was entirely oblivious to it all. Her mind was captivated by the myriad lights reflecting in her wide eyes, the vastness of the hall, the cyclopean grey marble columns, the monumental arches supporting a vaulted ceiling covered in gigantic, vividly coloured frescoes depicting witches, wizards, and magical creatures in various scenes, the meaning of which, despite their magnificence, eluded her.

And as if the grand appearance of the place were not enough to overwhelm her young mind, the great hall was teeming with people dressed in garish and brightly coloured fabrics, their styles disparate and ostentatious, though some were sober and sombre. Each individual bore a distinct presence, a unique way of carrying themselves, of acting, each seemingly in pursuit of something. Then there were the dozens of broomsticks arriving through high arches set into the walls and ceilings, darting through the air in every direction, landing and taking off.

For a good ten seconds, she could not tear her gaze away from the enormous grey mole carrying a cabin, in which people were stepping in and out onto a platform carved into the wall. A bell rang, the cabin doors shut, and the mole disappeared into the tunnel, vanishing from her sight.

By the time Severus finally reached the intended counter, Anemone was thoroughly disoriented. She heard Severus exchange a few words about registering a familiar, after which the person behind the counter handed him a small round metal token with a number on it and directed him to a waiting area with benches and chairs a few steps away.

As Severus took a seat and unfolded a newspaper, Anemone did her best to slip into the small inner pocket of his coat, the thick fabric offering her shelter from the noise and the lights, which had become unbearable. Severus did not seem bothered, merely continuing to read his newspaper as she burrowed deeper into his pocket. Was she imagining it, or was the pocket slightly larger and more comfortable than the last time she had hidden in it?

After what felt like far too long, she sensed Severus rising, and she poked her head out of the pocket to steal a glance outside the coat. He was heading towards a large opening in the wall, leading into a corridor with a tiled floor and walls covered in an off-white plaster. He stopped in front of a door with a large sign bearing symbols above it and pressed the metal token against it. The door opened on its own, allowing him entry into a rather large room with four counters on either side, behind which sat weary, disinterested clerks.

All of them were dressed the same: beige shirts with green bow ties and suspenders. Other people were present in the room—a tall, willowy woman draped in an impressive blue cloak was setting down a large grey cat on one of the counters, while a short, plump man with a jovial expression was chatting to one of the clerks about a lovely lizard with shifting colours.

While Anemone took in the surroundings with curious eyes, Severus approached the nearest available counter to the right of the entrance, behind which sat a woman of indeterminate age, her fingers dancing deftly across the keys of a large typewriter. She finished her page, then lifted her gaze to Severus.

"Good morning, sir. Your token, please."

"Good morning, madam," he replied, handing her the small metal disc. She studied it for a moment before sliding it into a slot on the lid of a small wooden box at the corner of the counter.

"You are here to register a new familiar. Is that correct?"
"That is correct."
"Very well, please provide me with its veterinary record, the pet shop papers, as well as your identification plaque."

Severus handed over two bundles of documents, placing them on the table, then retrieved a small engraved silver plaque from his wallet and presented it to the woman.

"Severus Snape, for a little owl… very well, everything seems to be in order. There is no name listed on the paperwork; have you not named the little one? It is required for registration."

Severus reached towards his pocket, and Anemone understood his intention. She hopped onto his fingers, then onto his shoulder.

"Her name is Anemone. The name was chosen after the veterinary documents were issued," he explained.

When the woman’s eyes fell on Anemone, her gaze softened, and a smile spread across her lips.

"A very pretty name for a very pretty owl. I would never have imagined you choosing her, Professor."

Severus frowned.

"That is because you do not know me well, Miss Deakin."

The woman’s cheeks flushed, and she cleared her throat.

"Right, let’s proceed to the examination room," she said, drawing her wand to duplicate the documents with a quick spell before returning the originals to Severus.

She stood, stepped out of her booth, and gestured for them to follow through a small door leading into a circular room, illuminated by strange, brightly glowing fireflies and filled with bizarre equipment. Anemone felt slightly intimidated, but Severus’ presence was reassuring.

She was photographed by a loud, bulky machine, measured, weighed, placed on a copper plate, and instructed to remain still for about ten seconds. After that, a large and complicated machine produced several pages of documents along with a small engraved silver plaque, all in duplicate. The woman gathered the documents and plaques, handed one set to Severus, and stored the other in a cardboard file before letting them leave.

Severus tucked the papers inside his coat and made the plaque vanish into the small ring on her leg, just as he did with letters.

To her surprise, Severus had noticed her interest in the enormous mole, for instead of leaving by broom as they had arrived, he headed towards the platform she had spotted earlier.

They did not have to wait long before a colossal mole, even more impressive up close, arrived. The long carriage on its back was secured to the animal by a dozen thick leather straps fastened with iron buckles. As its doors opened, staircases unfolded, allowing around fifteen passengers to disembark before Severus and the others waiting at the platform stepped aboard.

Inside, a man dressed in a black bodysuit and a red cap punched a ticket that Severus handed him, doing the same for the other passengers.

Severus found them a seat at the front of the cabin, on a bench cushioned with some kind of soft padding. The interior, illuminated by lanterns affixed to the walls, was made of wood reinforced with metal beams, and the windows were cut from finely crafted crystal glass.

"The weather has worsened. We will spend less time in the rain by taking this route—there is a stop directly beneath the station," Severus explained.

A few moments later, the massive mole began to move, gliding through its tunnel at an impressive speed, leaving the Ministry of Magic’s atrium far behind.

Despite the ordeal of the registration process, officially becoming Severus’ familiar—knowing that their agreement was now more solid than ever—silenced an anxiety that had quietly gnawed at her without her fully realising it.

This wave of relief prompted her to nuzzle her head against Severus’ cheek, letting out a soft, contented hoot.

oOOOo

For several days now, life in the house had become increasingly unsettled. The first of September was fast approaching, and with it, Severus’s return to Hogwarts – and, of course, Anemone would be travelling with him. After spending just over a month in her new home, the thought of spending autumn, winter, and spring far from the place she had begun to consider as home did not appeal to her in the slightest.

It was nearly noon on this beautiful day, its air crisp and clear, washed clean by the night’s rain, when Anemone flew through the window into the sitting room, carrying Narcissa’s reply with her. Severus was busy closing a second trunk, his features more drawn than usual. Anemone had the distinct feeling that he had slept very little in recent days, spending his time getting ahead of his work so as not to be overwhelmed when term began.

Anemone settled atop her nest and observed the scene patiently. If owning many belongings meant such difficulty in preparing, she was rather glad to have only her small nest and the jam jar repurposed as a money box, in which a few silver coins were already glinting.

With all the belongings Severus was taking to Hogwarts, the shelves were far less cluttered, numerous objects swallowed up by the trunks, leaving the house with a rather unpleasant sense of emptiness… Anemone realised that she did not like change very much. When Severus had finally finished organising his clothes in the trunk and straightened up, she glided down to the table, extending her small leg with the ring, casting Severus a sympathetic look.

He extracted the letter and placed it on the table before returning to his work. Anemone, however, continued to watch him, her growing unease deepening as the preparations progressed. Leaving the house to spend most of the year in a castle she did not know… Certainly, she travelled almost every day to deliver Severus’s letters to their recipients, but this was different. She had always known she had somewhere to return to, a nest she was only just beginning to know in all its nooks and crannies. A neighbourhood in a worn and dusty city – but one that had become her home.

When Severus took hold of the money box to tuck it into a bag, she let out a long, low hiss, her feathers slowly bristling. The dam that had been holding back her emotions broke the moment Severus reached towards her nest to take it. She let out panicked cries, spreading her wings wide to make herself appear larger, placing herself between him and her nest. “KIOUW KIOUW KIOUW.”

His hand withdrew instantly, as if struck by lightning. For the first time, she saw emotions more distinctly marked on his face than usual – his eyes slightly widened, the imperceptible recoil of his body. His piercing gaze followed her as she paced back and forth in front of her nest, feathers fluffed up, hisses and cries of distress mixed together.

She thought she caught a flicker of exasperation pass over his face before he regained his mask of indifference. He took a few steps back, pulled out a chair, and sat down, never taking his eyes off her. Seeing him retreat, smaller and far less threatening, Anemone felt her feathers gradually smooth down, and she positioned herself in front of her nest’s entrance, like a guardian. The idea of leaving the first place where she had ever felt safe to once again leap into the unknown terrified her.

Severus finally looked away, seemingly lost in thought, his index finger tapping rhythmically against the wooden table.
“Anemone, could you come to the table, please?”

She hesitated for a moment, glanced back at her nest, then glided down to land on the back of the chair facing Severus.
“I believe I have already spoken to you at length about my profession as a professor and about Hogwarts itself.”

Indeed, several times over the past few days, during their shared dinners, he had described to her the grand medieval castle of grey stone and numerous towers, nestled in a valley surrounded by the Scottish mountains, perched atop a cliff overlooking an immense lake with dark waters, beyond which stretched an ancient forest, as old as the island itself, teeming with all manner of magical fauna and flora. The series of large greenhouses housed the plants that young wizards learned to cultivate. The vast rocky moorlands, their grass green in autumn and spring, yellowed in summer, covered in snow during winter, scattered with rocks, dolmens, and ancient monoliths adorning the eroded slopes of the ancestral mountains. The village of Hogsmeade, with its stone houses and pointed roofs… No doubt to ease her transition. He had also spoken to her about his work as a professor and the rules she would have to follow there, such as not disturbing him during his lessons and being wary of the students. But he had not really explained how exactly they would live.

She was vaguely aware that Severus would have his lunch and dinner in a large hall at a table reserved for professors, but little more than that.

He had mentioned a vast owlery filled with owls. Would she be placed with them? The memory of the aviary in the pet shop resurfaced brutally in her mind, making her let out a small plaintive hoot. Would she still be able to spend as much time with him? Would this change her way of working?

"I will set up your nest in my quarters. You will be able to enter the same way you do here; the door will open for you. The elves will ensure that you are fed at the usual times. I certainly have no intention of stopping you from eating with me if that is what you wish. If there is any particular accommodation you would like, do not hesitate to tell me. If it is reasonable, arranging it will not be a problem."

Anemone felt somewhat reassured, but… She jumped from the back of the chair onto the table and took a few steps towards Severus. She was also anxious about the journey, the memory of the cage bars still fresh in her mind.

"I do not think there is any need to put you in a cage for any reason whatsoever. Therefore, the journey will take place on my shoulder and/or in my coat pocket. I do not believe that has ever been an issue for you on our previous trips. And your work will not change; you will still be responsible for carrying my most private correspondence. The only difference will be your point of departure, as well as my correspondents, who vary regularly."

She moved closer, her large eyes fixed on his, her little heart gradually calming beneath her feathers, then, once she was close enough, she tugged at his sleeve with her beak. She felt bad for having panicked over this, especially after everything Severus had done for her. Likely out of curiosity more than anything else, he allowed his hand to be pulled until Anemone reached her goal, pressing her head against his palm. Almost instinctively, he began to scratch her, sliding his fingers over her plumage for several minutes, until she gave a little hop and nestled into the crook of his arm.

"We will leave tomorrow morning, take the train to Glasgow, then the Svorakian Flying Line to Inverness. From there, we will take the myriapodubus to Hogsmeade and finish the journey by broom. That will give us a few days to prepare at Hogwarts before the students arrive," he continued to explain, running his long fingers over the feathers on her back. She let out a faint hoot to indicate that she understood. The journey would be long, the change drastic, but now she had a better idea of what to expect. And besides, as long as Severus was there, everything would be fine… Since when exactly had she come to associate him with safety? That question quickly vanished from her mind when he began massaging the feathers on the back of her neck, and she let out a small contented trill.

"I was not going to take your nest—putting it away tomorrow morning just before departure is only logical. I merely need the book beside it. May I take it?"

Mortified, Anemone buried herself even deeper into the crook of Severus’s elbow, not daring to look outside. She had somewhat overreacted.

Then she heard a metallic sound, something being placed on the table. She lifted her head and saw Severus opening a familiar little tin box, a delicious aroma escaping from within.

"Take this as an invitation to behave well at Hogwarts," he said, taking out a treat and placing it on the table.

Fixing all her attention on it, she hopped out of Severus’s arms and trotted towards the treat, snatching it up in her tiny beak with soft hoots of delight. She was so focused on its deliciousness that she did not even notice Severus rising to pick up the book placed just beside her nest.

oOOOo

Both anxious and excited, Anemone paced back and forth atop the shelf where her nest had once stood, before Severus packed it away in one of the trunks that morning. They had just finished breakfast, and Severus was making the final preparations: closing the shutters, washing the dishes, ensuring nothing was missing, or at risk of rotting away in some forgotten drawer or the like.

She watched as he emerged from the now-darkened kitchen, shut the door, and cast a spell on the trunks, causing them to shrink until they fit neatly into his pocket. Anemone was fascinated—how was such a thing even possible? She had no idea. She did not have much time to marvel at it, however, as Severus’s voice resonated through the almost-empty house.

"Anemone, come, we are leaving."

She let herself drop from her perch, stretching her wings wide to glide down and land on Severus’s shoulder. Wasting no time, he stepped outside, shutting the door behind him with a sharp, definitive snap. As they crossed the small garden separating the house from the street, Anemone cast one last glance back at the old, dark-bricked building, its cracked facade partially swallowed by ivy. The windows, usually aglow from within, a promise of warmth, a symbol of shelter and safety, were now grey and lifeless. Feeling her heart tighten, she turned away just as Severus cloaked them in invisibility and mounted his broom. They rose above the rooftops before streaking off towards the station.

When they landed, the platform was nearly deserted, its only other occupants being a witch in an overly large pointed hat, struggling to keep four small girls in check, and a very tall, hunched man dressed in a trench coat of an ominously dark grey. His face was buried behind a newspaper and masked by an old hat, with a rectangular briefcase resting at his feet. It was hardly surprising that so few people were around at this hour. The sun had only just risen, and the morning mist still curled around Severus’s boots. He had insisted on an early departure, wanting enough time to settle in properly by mid-afternoon.

The small green train, composed of four wooden carriages and a locomotive exhaling thick white smoke tinged faintly with violet, did not take long to arrive, pulling into the station with a clamour that startled Anemone, nearly sending her darting for the safety of Severus’s coat pocket. A handful of passengers disembarked, after which they boarded, Severus settling into a wide bench seat, his back to the window. Anemone was somewhat surprised to find that they were the only occupants of the carriage, the silence within carrying an oddly unsettling quality.

The train began to move again, gently, and Anemone nestled into Severus’s shoulder in the most comfortable position she could find. Her gaze was drawn to the world outside, watching the rows of old brick houses pass by, the pedestrians and cars oblivious to the train’s existence.

She was just beginning to feel truly comfortable on her perch, lulled by the train’s motion, when the carriage door slid open. A gust of cold air rushed in, along with the muffled sounds from the inter-carriage space, and the man in the trench coat stepped inside.

At once on high alert, Anemone studied him from head to toe. His gait was slow and stiff, his arms oddly long, ending in hands gloved in white. His face was rigid, entirely devoid of expression. It looked as if it had been sculpted from aged wax to resemble something human. His pale blue eyes were glassy, something unsettling in them—or perhaps in the absence of anything at all. Wisps of lank, straw-coloured hair spilled from beneath his brown hat, framing this eerie parody of a face.

She tightened her talons and ran her beak through Severus’s hair, trying to draw his attention to the strange figure, her growing unease setting her little heart hammering. But he did not react, his focus fixed on the small book he held in one hand before him.

The unsettling man sat down directly beside Severus, placing his briefcase on his lap, despite the carriage being empty enough that he could have chosen anywhere else. At this proximity, Anemone could hear his breathing—shallow, rasping.

He remained utterly still and silent for several minutes, before speaking in a slow, whispering voice.

"Autumn is coming."

Severus slid a bookmark into his book, closed it, and set it on his lap. Without looking at the man, he replied,

"And winter will follow."

"The feast and the pamphlet?" the whispering voice inquired.

"Yes."

With slow, methodical movements, the man unfastened his briefcase, the metallic click of the clasps cutting through the stillness. Inside, Anemone glimpsed a stack of aged papers, each blank, alongside a collection of thin, tall books bound in red leather, equally unmarked. The man extracted one paper and one book, extending them towards Severus with one hand, while his other hand, palm open and facing upward, remained outstretched in Severus’s direction.

Severus retrieved his wallet, withdrawing three large golden coins, which he placed into the waiting hand. The fingers closed over them immediately. He then took the book and the slip of paper, setting them both on his lap.

The man in the trench coat snapped his briefcase shut, rose in silence, and made his way towards the opposite carriage door. When the sliding door finally clicked shut behind him, Anemone realised that the sounds of the train and the world outside were gradually returning, as though the air itself had grown lighter in his absence. As if the man had carried some intangible weight with him.

She lacked the words to shape her thoughts. She shivered, only now recognising just how inexplicably terrified she was.

Severus, meanwhile, stored the paper in his wallet and the book in one of the trunks. She turned her gaze towards the windows. The train had left the city and was now rolling through open countryside, the rising sun bathing vast fields in a silvery light, dotted with groves where flocks grazed, the spire of a distant village visible on the horizon.

What was that? Do you know that man? Anemone thought very hard in Severus’ direction.

“No,” he replied in a low voice, reopening his book.

Frustrated by his lack of response, she gave him a small peck, then looked at him insistently.

“That’s how the secret location of the annual market is passed on. The book is an annually published journal—that’s what makes it so expensive,” he explained.

A secret market? Anemone thought with excitement.

“You may come with me if you wish.”

She let out a small, excited cry!

“It’s a place that can be quite dangerous, so you must promise me never to leave my shoulder or the pocket of my coat while we’re there.”

A secret and potentially dangerous market… Anemone was both intimidated and thrilled by the idea, but her curiosity won over, and she let out a small approving hoot.

The train had left the hedgerows behind and entered a dense forest, the trees standing so close to the tracks that they sometimes seemed to arch over the train.

When they disembarked under the metal-and-glass ceiling of Glasgow’s hidden station, Anemone’s excitement had not waned. Her eyes felt slightly tired from having spent the entire journey gazing at the scenery outside the carriage window, but the anticipation of what was to come made her quiver with eagerness.

She had to suppress an excited hoot when, instead of heading towards the station’s exit, Severus made his way towards a round copper platform encircled by railings, not far from the entrance. He stepped onto it along with three other people, and with a sharp click, the platform detached from the floor and began to rise higher and higher towards the vaulted ceiling of stone arches.

A few moments later, the platform emerged onto the station’s rooftop, locking into place with a clack before the gate in the railing swung open of its own accord to let them out. Anemone’s eyes widened with wonder as she took in the breathtaking view.

On the station’s roof, secured by ropes as thick as Severus’ arms, were what resembled boats, suspended by cables and intricately carved metal beams, beneath oblong white balloons made of a material akin to canvas, reinforced by an orange-hued metal framework. Each vessel was adorned with banners fluttering in the wind, affixed to the white balloons, bearing the emblem of a white bird with a black-capped head, orange beak, and matching feet, soaring in flight.

The boat-like structures were made of wood, reinforced with the same metal framework, featuring insect-like wings folded along their sides and several large propellers at the rear. These vessels possessed a level of sophistication and beauty that Anemone had never seen outside the magical artefacts used by wizards. Yet, here, she felt as though each of these machines was a work of art.

The sound of ropes, banners, and sails fluttering in the wind, along with the smoke rising in colourful swirls from metal chimneys, was mesmerising. All were of modest size, none exceeding that of one of the train carriages she had just left.

Around the airships and along the docks, strange figures bustled about, clad in long-sleeved tunics, often beige, blue, or grey, and baggy trousers fastened at the ankles above heavy, cleated boots. They shouted things to each other in an incomprehensible gibberish. What shocked her most was that each of them wore a plain white mask, with only two holes for the eyes. All had a symbol stitched onto the fabric of their tunics at chest level: sometimes a black gear, other times a golden S, or, most frequently, a wind rose with two outspread wings.

As Severus examined a large wooden board covered with pinned-up sheets filled with colourful inscriptions, each bearing the winged wind rose symbol in a corner, Anemone’s mind overflowed with questions. Who were these people? What was this place? Why the masks…?

Severus must have read her mind, for he began to speak.

"We are in an airport of the Hanseatic League of Svorak. Originally a purely commercial alliance of city-states governed by guilds."

He must have sensed her confusion, for he elaborated, simplifying:

"A sort of nation formed by groups of highly influential merchants, each group specialising in a type of trade or production and known as a guild. If you are truly interested, there are books on the subject…"

Anemone let out a small indignant hoot, reminding him that she could not read.

"Remind me to explain in more detail once we are settled at Hogwarts. As for the masks and uniforms, all Hansiens are members of a guild, and it is customary to erase oneself behind the guild while working, with all the drawbacks and advantages that entails. As long as a Hansien wears their mask and you address them, you are speaking to the guild, not the individual."

He spoke slowly as he ran his finger over one of the sheets on the board, stopping on a particular line. Then, he stepped away with a decisive stride towards one of the docks, where a flying vessel was moored, this one slightly smaller than the others.

"The Hanseatic League of Svorak has signed agreements with numerous other nations, including Great Britain, to establish commercial air routes in their territories. It is the fastest, most comfortable, and most economical means of transport available," he explained as he walked along the gangway until he reached a boarding ramp, beside which stood a tall Hansienne in a beige uniform adorned with a winged wind rose, her steel-grey eyes studying them from behind the mask.

"Good morning, a one-way ticket to Inverness, one adult and one owl, please."

"Good morning, that will be one sickle and ten knuts," she replied with a strong accent Anemone did not recognise.

Severus retrieved the coins from his wallet, and the woman welcomed them aboard, informing them that the flight would depart in twenty minutes. He climbed onto the deck of the vessel and exchanged a few words with another Hansien, giving Anemone time to take in the countless rooftops of the city and the rounded mountains in the distance.

Severus then descended a staircase leading to the cabin, a space furnished with benches and seats of a comfortable appearance, beside large round windows rimmed with copper, offering a magnificent view of the station. There were already quite a few people inside, but fortunately, there was a seat available near a window, where Severus settled, providing Anemone with a splendid view of the outside from her perch.

A few minutes later, after a handful of additional passengers had boarded, a metallic voice resonated, announcing departure along with the various stops and their expected times.

As shaken, unsettled, and frightened as Anemone was at leaving the first place she had ever loved to venture into the unknown, she could not help but feel exhilarated by the promise of a brighter future at Severus’s side, aboard a flying machine that vibrated softly with a low humming sound, its insect-like wings a blur as they left the dock.

Chapter Text

The wizards seemed to have a particularly refined taste for eccentricity when it came to transportation, thought Anemone as she allowed herself to be carried off the myriapodubus, perched on Severus's shoulder. Turning her head 180°, she cast one last glance at the incredibly long vehicle. It looked vaguely like a cross between a train and a bus, made by someone with a passion for copper, and it moved on a multitude of metallic legs instead of wheels. Once the last few passengers had disembarked, she watched with fascination as the contraption became translucent, then completely transparent, until even its outline was impossible to distinguish.

Severus had already pulled out his broomstick and mounted it, rising into the air. Feeling stiff from spending hours of travel immobile on Severus's shoulder, knees, or in his coat pocket, she took the opportunity to take flight beside her owner, letting out little hoots of relief at feeling her feathers in the wind once again.

They quickly flew past the sharply peaked, crooked, and whimsical rooftops of the charming village they had arrived in, gliding above a path that ran along a dense forest of very ancient, diverse trees.

It was then that she saw it, the place Severus had told her so much about. Hogwarts! And indeed, he had not exaggerated. The construction was utterly impressive: a vast fortress rising atop a cliff, towering over a massive lake with dark waters and pebbled shores, bordered by a forest that stretched all the way to the horizon. The armies of pointed roofs on the multitude of towers and turrets shooting up from the ramparts, bastions, and buildings gave the fortress the air of a majestic gothic crown, ennobling the sweeping expanse of worn-down mountains and rock-strewn moors sprawling around it.

She couldn't tear her eyes away from the architecture, every new angle offering a fresh surprise, as they sped through the wind, flying over the lake and then the rocks of the cliff before landing in a large courtyard, in the center of which stood a fountain. Severus wasted no time, striding with long steps toward the arcaded galleries lining the gardens.

As they passed through a small hidden door followed by a long descending staircase lit by a series of flickering orange torches, Anemone burned with curiosity to discover where Severus spent most of the year.

"No, this is a passage reserved for professors. Aside from a few students who are... less limited than the others, no one comes this way," he said in response to Anemone’s silent question at the narrowness of the staircase and its slippery steps.

They continued down long, shadowy corridors before finally emerging through a small door, which, once they had passed, turned into what looked like a solid wall. The vaulted corridor they had entered was austere, nearly gloomy, lit only by a few lanterns filled with fireflies. Uneasy, she nestled closer to Severus.

He led them further in, past a large pointed-arch door surrounded by countless serpent carvings and sealed by massive stone panels, not far from which a portrait of a flamboyant man with a majestic mustache and clothes as colorful as his voice greeted Severus with a complex bow and a flourish of his azure-feathered hat.

"Greetings, Mister Snape, delighted to see you back in your domain!" he exclaimed.

Severus paused before him and gave a small nod. "Any news from the castle, Mister Fitzwilliam?"

The man named Fitzwilliam smoothed his mustache thoughtfully before raising a finger in the air and declaring, "A boggart has taken up residence in the old broom room in the third dungeon, a mischievous salicornia infestation is rising from the lake’s second port, the merfolk are requesting an audience with the headmaster, and Peeves has poured saltwater on all the third-floor door hinges to make them rust..."

"I see. Nothing else?"

"No, sir."

"Thank you, Fitzwilliam," Severus replied, walking a few dozen feet more to stop in front of a wall. He brushed it with his wand, and ripples formed on its surface, like touching the surface of still water.

Anemone let out a panicked little kiouw, but Severus placed a hand on her back to stop her from taking flight as he stepped through the wall with purpose. A brief chill passed over them, and then Anemone blinked, discovering a dark room.

A flick of Severus’s wand sent dozens of tiny flames across the space, lighting the hearth and many of the candle holders scattered about. The warm glow revealed a sparse but comfortable room. One wall stood bare behind them where they had entered; to its left, a large wooden door reinforced with iron. The rest was furnished in a spartan fashion: a wide, flat desk without embellishments, a chair that looked uncomfortable behind it, and three other chairs facing the desk.

At the far end of the room, beside a wall lined with shelves full of neatly ordered books, stood another narrow and discreet door, its only notable feature a thick dark iron lock, into which Severus was already inserting a blackened old key. Without a sound, the door opened to reveal a room far more inviting and warm, though still austere, now illuminated by lamps topped with crystals that lit up after Severus spoke a word she did not catch.

"These are my quarters," Severus declared, removing his coat and hanging it on a tall copper coat rack to the right of the entrance. This forced Anemone to fly up and perch on top of a tall antique cabinet of carved grey wood, from which she had a perfect, panoramic view of the room.

"We’re in the sitting room. Don’t worry, no one but me enters here. If I ever have an evening with a friend or colleague, it happens in the adjacent office. To the left are the toilets and the bathroom. To the right is my bedroom," he continued, pulling the suitcases from his pockets and restoring them to normal size. With elegant motions of his wand, a stream of belongings emerged, distributing themselves throughout the room in a parade of flying objects so eclectic that Anemone didn’t hear Severus’s following words.

She was just about to take off in pursuit of a toothbrush floating toward the bathroom when she heard Severus call her name, snapping her attention back. "Did you hear a single word I just said in the last minute?" he asked, raising an eyebrow with a stern look.

Anemone lowered her eyes, ashamed, letting out a small, sad hoot. To her surprise, Severus sighed wearily and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"The same rules as at home apply: no entering my bedroom. You may come and go as you please in my quarters, my office, and the rest of the castle and its surroundings, unless I or another professor forbids you. As for any other order that might be given, remember you only answer to me and are thus free to ignore anyone else trying to command you. Lastly, entering the potions classroom or my laboratory is strictly forbidden. Is that clear?"

Anemone let out a hoot of approval. It was, after all, only a repetition of what Severus had already explained before their departure.

"Any questions?" he asked.

Yes! she thought. About how she was supposed to deliver mail from Severus’s office—was she meant to cross the entire castle each time? That seemed both dangerous and inconvenient.

"Good question. I asked to have a familiar flap installed in my quarters," he began, nodding toward what looked like a small double-hinged door high up on a wall, no larger than a cupboard opening. "Only you can pass through it. This exit leads directly outside the castle. You may use it as you please."

Severus seemed ready to say more, but Anemone’s attention had been entirely stolen by the sight of her nest emerging from the luggage. At the sight of it, she let out a series of excited hoots, fluttering back and forth atop the cabinet, trying to indicate she wanted the nest placed there—she’d have a perfect view of the sitting room.

With a flick of his wand, the cushioned wicker box flew to the top of the cabinet, its entrance and small perch facing outward. Her piggy bank followed and landed beside the nest with a similar motion.

Exhausted from the journey, she nestled inside, comforted by the familiar and cozy feel of her nest’s interior. If Severus had letters to send, he’d tell her tonight, and she would fly by night. It wasn’t as though darkness or the silver glow of the moon bothered her in the slightest.

oOOOo

Flying between the castle's towers, bathed in the light of the setting sun, was an exhilarating experience. The wind in her feathers carried her like a silent shadow over the rooftops, beneath the parapets, and between the colonnades of balconies and exterior corridors. After a few hours of napping, she felt refreshed, her wings itching with the desire to soar. She had searched for Severus briefly, but he was either in his bedroom or elsewhere in the castle. Alone and with no letters to carry, bursting with the urge to stretch her wings and discover her new territory, she was delighted to find that the small door meant to help her come and go worked exactly as Severus had described.

She had emerged from a little opening halfway up the cliff above the vast, dark lake. For now, she limited her exploration to the exterior of the castle itself, driven by curiosity to understand how this immense building was structured. It was hard to get lost when carrying mail, but since she suspected she would often fly without the strange power granted by letters, it was best to become familiar with the area quickly. She had a feeling it would be complicated: after circling the castle three times, several towers seemed to appear, disappear, or move around with no apparent logic.

Pushed by her growling stomach, she glided toward a large rectangular building, one of the largest in the castle, where Severus had told her she would find the Great Hall. A window opened on its own at her approach, leading her into a vast interior bordered by columns supporting a ceiling that mirrored the sky outside. She was so surprised by the sight that she nearly crashed into one of the columns, dodging it at the last second. She didn’t linger on the thought; hunger drove her to scan the room quickly.

She was relieved to see she hadn’t missed dinner, there was a round table, around which sat a group of disparate individuals. She immediately spotted Severus’s upright, rigid posture, his mid-length black hair, goatee, and the rugged, familiar features of his face. She dove toward him with a joyful hoot, landing on his shoulder and slipping her beak into his hair.

Once comfortably perched, she scanned the table. Her arrival had not gone unnoticed—most of the people around the table were looking at her. Intimidated, she made herself as small as possible, trying to hide behind Severus’s curtain of hair. She immediately recognized Bumblebee, in a shimmering orange robe, as well as the stern Minerva seated beside him. The others were strangers: a towering, shaggy man who loomed over everyone else, a very small man in an elegant jacket with an extremely expressive and excited face, a plump lady with a gentle smile and a face marked by laughter lines, and several others she couldn’t form a clear impression of—some women, a man with a disturbingly maimed appearance, other gentlemen, and one dignified-looking woman with long black hair framing a caramel-colored face. But most of all, there was a thin, grumpy-looking old man picking apart pieces of chicken to feed to a striped cat.

Overwhelmed by all these new people, she was rescued by the timely distraction of Severus offering her a piece of meat, which she eagerly grabbed with her beak. Focused on her meal, she paid little attention to the surrounding conversation.

"Mail, Severus? At this hour?" asked one of the women.

"Nothing of the sort. This is my new owl. My previous one passed away recently. It’s her dinner time."

"I’m sorry to hear that. But I must remind you we agreed on a no-animals-during-meals policy, aside from mail delivery—and Miss Norris."

"Severus is within his rights, Aurora. Miss Anemone falls into the same exception category as Miss Norris," said Bumblebee, reaching out to give her a little scratch. Another piece of meat from Severus completed the distraction.

"You've picked up a wilderfolk, Severus?" asked one of the women, slightly younger than the others, possibly the same age as Severus. Hard to tell—Anemone was too absorbed by the meat and Bumblebee’s attention.

"Yes," he replied, taking a sip of wine.

"Come now, there must be a story behind that!"

"Nothing that concerns you, Bathsheda. But if it eases your mind, know that the terms of our arrangement have significantly improved Anemone’s living conditions."

This conversation seemed to attract the attention of the skinny old man and his cat—both were staring at her intently. "Better than most people’s, isn’t it?" he sneered in a raspy voice.

"So far, our agreement has been entirely satisfactory, Argus," said Severus with disinterest.

The strange fellow gave Severus a carnivorous grin while scratching his cat’s ears—the cat, in turn, stared at her with strange intensity.

"You should let her come visit me. I haven’t seen an owl like her in ages. I’m sure we’d get along. And if there’s any issue, don’t hesitate to come find me," declared the giant man in a booming voice.

"So, she’s just a postal owl to you?" inquired Bathsheda.

"Yes. I’ve had no complaints about her services so far," Severus replied flatly.

Anemone puffed up with pride at hearing her work praised like that! She would be the best postal owl there ever was!

"Where did you find her? I heard those of her kind aren’t usually free," asked the small, previously excited man, now suspicious and concerned.

"A magical pet shop in old London. The shopkeepers had no idea they had a wilderfolk in a cage, but I can give you the address if you’d like to see for yourself, Filius."

"Enough about Severus’s new communications assistant," declared Bumblebee, clapping his hands. "You’re overwhelming poor Anemone, and I’m sure she’d appreciate it if we spared her all this attention."

"Says the man who’s been petting her for five minutes..." someone at the table muttered. But Bumblebee’s request worked—the conversation moved on to other topics for the rest of the meal. Anemone only received the occasional curious glance.

Why did they all seem so surprised to see her by Severus’s side? The most persistent gazes came from the one Severus had called Argus and the creature she now understood to be Miss Norris—neither took their eyes off her for the rest of the dinner.

Was Miss Norris also a wilderfolk? Like her? If so, maybe she should try to visit her later. But she was a cat, and Anemone suspected a cat might make short work of a tiny owl like her... For now, she would observe and decide what to do later.

Until the end of the meal, the conversation turned to school-related topics that went far over her head. She had the uncomfortable feeling of understanding only one word in three. Were things really that complicated? Or did people here just use complicated words to talk about simple things? She noticed that Severus kept to himself, eating in silence, taking the time to chew each bite, his movements slow and deliberate. His deep, gravelly voice only surfaced for brief moments when someone addressed him directly.

Anemone liked Severus even more in that moment. He was like a bubble of calm in the middle of the table’s animation. And when the stares some people gave her became too oppressive, he let her hide on his lap under the table without a word.

She spent the rest of the dinner watching the cat she understood to be another wilderfolk curled up on the grumpy old man’s lap, his hand regularly stroking its fur. Anemone felt overwhelmed—all these faces, names, people... She nestled closer to Severus, feeling more protected that way.

Would it be this intense every evening? She hoped not...

oOOOo

Anemone quickly realized that the start of classes would feel like a vacation for her. Severus seemed busy all day long, locked away in his laboratory or running through the castle handling all sorts of preparations. They only really saw each other in the evenings, when Severus, looking slightly strained, joined the communal meals with the other professors who had arrived early to get ready for the students. He had offered to let her eat in his quarters, sensing perhaps that she was still uneasy around the other staff members she had barely met, but she had refused, preferring to stay with him. Not only was it the only time she saw him during the day (apart from the evenings when he took half an hour to read by the fireplace), but she didn’t want to let him face it all alone.

Maybe it was just wishful thinking, or her imagination, but she felt that Severus was a bit more relaxed with her around. Hard to say, despite the training she’d undergone over the past few months to read his expressions, his mask of impassivity made it almost impossible to interpret his emotions.

All that to say, she found herself with an astonishing amount of free time on her wings. (She had no illusions, once the mail flow resumed, things would get very hard again. Severus would surely want to catch up on his backlog.) Sleeping and lounging were pleasant activities, but they did little to fill her days. Boredom soon overcame her apprehension, and she decided it would be a brilliant idea to explore more of the castle and its surroundings before they were teeming with students.

She quickly discovered that despite her small size, flying through Hogwarts' corridors was difficult. Between the decorative armor, statues that blocked her path, and all the distracting paintings and tapestries, not to mention the winding passages and shifting layout of this maze-like building, avoiding collisions was nearly impossible. She ended up flying only short distances and trotting along the ground for the rest.

So far, the structure of the castle remained a mystery. She had noted a few landmarks, such as the Great Hall, the main staircases that led to every floor, the inner courtyards, and the armory, but the rest, the classrooms and corridors, all were baffling.

Her wandering that day hadn’t been any more successful than the last, and nothing particularly noteworthy had happened (if she ignored the gossiping portraits, the helmets of the suits of armor turning to follow her with their empty gazes, the soot sprites with panicked eyes hiding in the corners, or the awful ghosts…). Dudley didn’t talk much about the school he spent most of his day in. Was it anything like this? If so, she imagined he would’ve put up much less of a fight about going there…

She had, however, run into Miss Norris, whose name she had finally remembered after asking Severus again, but after a long, silent stare, the cat had simply continued on her way.

Unable to open windows with her tiny talons, Anemone was relieved when she found a door leading to a crenelated walkway overlooking the castle’s outer grounds, the moorlands and mountains stretching into the distance. Joyful at her liberation, she launched herself toward the mountains, relieved to feel the wind in her wings again, the sun-warmed scent of dry grass, the soft mineral tang of the lake.

Beneath the castle, just below the ramparts and after a deep ditch, it wasn’t wilderness right away. Bounded by an ancient stone wall, mossy and covered in lichen, lay what she recognized as an old garden, abandoned long enough that its paths had nearly vanished. Only a few crumbling stone benches and scattered groves remained.

Wondering what this garden must have looked like in its time, she recalled Severus referencing a book called Hogwarts: A History in response to one of her questions about the castle’s past. Another book she would’ve loved to read, if only she knew how… A wave of frustration swept over her as she perched on a ruined bench, noticing something carved into it, symbols, writing… more things she couldn’t decipher.

Pushing her frustration away, she took flight again, deciding she would explore the mountains another day. She wanted to see the lake and the forest, maybe discover the secrets they held. Flying over the cliffside, she gazed down at the valley, the great lake nestled at its base like an immense, deeply sleeping serpent. Its far shore was covered as far as the eye could see by the forest Bumblebee had called “Forbidden” during one of the meal conversations.

Anemone was intrigued. Why was the forest forbidden? Were trees not allowed to grow here? If so, Bumblebee’s authority seemed laughable next to the greedy roots of these thousands of gnarled, whispering wooden beings. Did Bumblebee simply not like trees? If that was the case, it was rather sad. Anemone loved trees, they were perfect for perching, nesting, hiding… And besides, most trees were beautiful. They reminded her of Severus: tall, stern, impassive, unyielding. She felt safe atop them…

As she flew high over the lake, lost in thought, she spotted a column of smoke rising from a part of the shore not overtaken by forest. Perhaps that was the place forbidden to the trees… Hmm… She really would have to ask Severus if Bumblebee had a problem with trees in general, or just in that one specific spot.

Curious, she flew toward the smoke. Her large green eyes soon settled on a hut made of stone walls and a mossy, flower-dotted thatched roof. It seemed, strangely, both small and enormous at once. A window, a chimney, a rounded wooden door, and a gigantic dog asleep beside the entrance, not far from the vegetable garden next to the house. Everything was just too big, even the dog.

She perched on a post, safely out of reach of the sleeping dog, and observed the cottage and its surroundings. It was rustic but well maintained, with signs of both old and recent repairs easy to spot. Several flowerbeds added to the oddness, emphasizing just how oversized everything was.

Anemone jumped, her observation being interrupted. A huge, bearded man with a barrel chest and wild hair appeared from behind the house, carrying a pair of shears in one hand and five enormous zucchinis in the other. Hagrid, she remembered. The man she had seen the first night, who had tried to pet her several times. She’d fled then, afraid of being crushed by his fingers.

She considered flying away quietly, but Hagrid didn’t seem mean, and she was curious about him. How could he be that big? What was he doing here? He didn’t look like a professor…

Hearing him approach, the dog woke up and let out joyful, excited barks, bounding around his master. Hagrid tucked the shears into a pocket of his overalls and gave the dog an enthusiastic head rub, to the dog’s obvious delight. As Hagrid was about to open the door, the massive dog sniffed the air and turned his head toward her.

Ready to flee in fear of the giant beast, she froze as the enormous hound stared at her, tucked his tail between his legs, and let out a small whimper of fear, half-hiding behind his master.

“Fang? What is it?” Hagrid asked, following the dog’s gaze until he spotted her. “Oh! Severus’s new owl… Hello, Anemone! That is your name, right? I can’t believe Severus picked such a cute name for an owl,” he chuckled.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve had a wilderfolk other than Miss Norris on school grounds. Welcome, Anemone. People can be a bit strange about wilderfolks, don’t pay them much mind. Most of the staff are nice, though, Albus doesn’t hire bigots. Don’t move, I’ve got something for you.” With that, he entered the house, the giant dog trotting in after him.

Anemone hesitated to leave, intimidated by the thunderous man, but her curiosity urged her to stay. Worst case, she could always fly off… In the meantime, her thoughts drifted back to what the giant had said. Why would people be strange around wilderfolks? She’d have to talk to Severus about that later. But it wasn’t like anyone would announce what she was, unless someone said something, people would assume she was just a regular owl.

Hagrid emerged from the house holding a tin box, from which came a delicious smell. He opened it and pulled out a treat! Anemone shuffled in excitement on her tiny feet. Since arriving at Hogwarts, she hadn’t received a single treat, Severus only gave them to her after completing missions.

“I can only give you one, otherwise Severus will notice,” Hagrid whispered in his deep voice, offering her the treat.

She eyed his hand but didn’t dare snatch it, despite her growing craving. The giant could crush her with a single careless movement.

“Shy little thing,” Hagrid chuckled, tossing the treat.

With an agility that surprised even herself, she caught it mid-air and devoured it eagerly.

“Sorry, Anemone, I’ve got things to do. But if you come back tomorrow, maybe the box will have another treat waiting,” he said with amusement as he returned inside, waving to her.

Had she just found herself a treat supplier? She had high hopes. Hagrid seemed kinder than she had imagined. She would return, she thought as she flew off again—this time toward the forest. Today, she’d explore the edges, then head back for a nap.

The forest’s edge was rather intimidating. The Black Lake was bordered for a long stretch by ancient willows with thick, twisted trunks and long drooping branches that fell like curtains into the water, hiding the underbrush from view. Most of the lakeshore was either overrun with vegetation or made up of marshland dotted with duckweed and water lilies, framed by gorse and tall reeds swaying gently in the wind. The few beaches were either covered in pebbles and strangely shaped boulders or composed of thick gray sand, more like tiny stones than true sand.

And always those willows, imposing and cracked-barked, lining the lake like an army of forest guardians. Wildlife was abundant. In just a few minutes, she had already seen several herons, squirrels, titmice, and a whole array of other small creatures who didn’t bother to hide or simply didn’t notice her silent, gliding flight.

Summoning her courage, she fluttered between the branches until she had crossed the forest’s edge. Here, all sounds seemed muffled. Birdsong was absorbed by the thick foliage and dense ground vegetation. In the understory, the filtered sunlight created a calm and soothing atmosphere.

Anemone found herself enjoying the relative stillness, the tranquility, the low light, and the intoxicating scent of humus, decaying wood, moist greenery, and moss. The trees here seemed so old and massive that she wondered if some had existed even before the castle was built.

Relaxed by this peaceful setting, she flew between branches, perching on any that looked comfortable. The forest floor was uneven, crossed by dozens of little streams and rivers, occasionally cascading over mossy rocks. The sound of flowing water blended with the distant wind and the chirping of birds hidden in the treetops.

It was in the hollow of a branch on a large oak that Anemone settled to rest from her exploration, nearly directly above a stream whose murmuring waters whispered secrets she could not understand. She felt at peace here. The temperature was mild, and she might have dozed off if she hadn’t heard the underbrush moving nearby.

With fascination, she watched as two black wolves and one gray wolf emerged, all three of them very large. She had never seen wolves before, so it was hard for her to tell if these were unusually big, but they certainly seemed enormous. All three were heading toward a fallen tree lying across the stream, likely to use it as a bridge. The gray wolf suddenly sniffed the air and turned its head.

Anemone froze. Had it sensed prey? She didn’t wonder long. The wolf’s gaze locked onto hers almost instantly, looking her straight in the eye. In its amber eyes, Anemone could see a deep intelligence. She felt exposed and vulnerable. For several long seconds that stretched like eternities, the wolf’s eyes did not leave hers. There was something indescribable in the air between them.

Too soon and yet far too late, the wolf looked away and continued walking. Deeply shaken, Anemone didn’t wait around. She launched into the air through the branches, climbing above the canopy, and shot back in the direction of the castle.

Part of her already missed the forest, but at the same time, she was thoroughly unnerved. As she flew swiftly back toward her nest and Severus as the image of those amber eyes flashed again in her mind.

oOOOo

The sun had just dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky tinted with deepening shades of blue. The last light casting hues of pink and orange beneath a few high clouds. In the dusk, through the leafy branches of one of the great willows along the edge of the Black Lake, her green eyes gleamed with twilight reflection.

From her perch, Anemone could see a flotilla of boats gliding silently across the lake. Each small craft bore a warm orange light from the lantern hung at its bow, making them look like a slowly moving constellation drifting across a starless sky. The flickering reflections of the lanterns danced across the surface of the water in mesmerizing patterns. At the front of the leading boat, she could distinguish the massive silhouette of Hagrid steering his armada through the thin veils of mist floating just above the water.

Even at this distance, she could hear the muffled voices of the children, filled with wonder as they caught their first glimpse of the shadowy silhouette of the castle, glittering with a thousand tiny lights.

She watched for a few more minutes, then took off toward the castle. She wanted to be at Severus’s side tonight. Even though he wore the same impassive expression as always, Anemone had the distinct feeling that the beginning of the school year was a difficult moment for him. And perhaps, through her presence, she could make it just a little bit easier. She wanted to help him, not just by carrying his letters.

None of the new students noticed the tiny shape of the small owl darting silently above the boats.

...

That evening, the Great Hall looked nothing like what Anemone had begun to grow accustomed to. The central round table had vanished. In its place were four very long tables of polished wood, filled with dozens of students of various ages chatting among themselves. At the far end of the hall, above the ends of each table, hung four large banners: a green one with a silver serpent, a red one with a golden lion, a blue one with a bronze raven, and a yellow one with a black badger. Opposite them, on a wooden platform, stood a narrower table set perpendicular to the others where the professors sat. Bumblebee sat at the center, his chair’s back rising higher than the rest. Strangely, in the open space in front of the professors' table, an old gray wooden stool waited, placed carefully at its center.

Perched comfortably on Severus’s shoulder, Anemone had an excellent view of the entire scene. She felt intimidated by the sheer number of people and the echoing murmur of hundreds of voices in the Great Hall. But as she pressed closer to Severus’s reassuring presence and turned her gaze to the thousands of floating candles lighting the room with a gentle golden glow, as well as the starry sky and half-moon visible through the enchanted ceiling, she managed to stay calm.

The hour was getting late, and her hunger was beginning to make itself known. Fortunately, the deep voice of Severus, and the rather raspy, gravelly tone of Babbling, the professor of runes and one of the few people Severus seemed to get along with, served as a distraction. It was amusing to hear them calmly betting on which students would cause the most trouble this year, as well as speculating on how the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor would end up leaving the school.

Anemone didn’t quite know what to make of that. When she had first heard about this detail a few days earlier, she had thought her question very loudly in Severus’s presence. He had explained that for decades now, not a single professor in that subject had stayed in the position for more than one full year. It was customary to hire people under a one-year contract, but even that often wasn’t enough to avoid unfortunate incidents.

Anemone was eagerly waiting for Minerva to arrive with the first-years so she could finally receive her portion of meat. She hadn’t yet forgiven Minerva for how she had treated her during their first encounter and was still keeping her distance. Maybe she would give her a second chance once her feathers stopped bristling in fear at her mere approach. Perhaps she would even make a genuine effort. Severus seemed to have a cordial relationship with her, after all.

Waiting patiently on Severus’s shoulder, she thought back on the past few weeks. She missed Dudley, but her life had improved immensely since then. She felt wanted, appreciated, useful. For the first time in her life, she had things that truly belonged to her, and she could remain in her true form without hiding. She could abandon her broken disguise for good. And there were so many wonderful new things. Severus. All the correspondents (except Minerva). Severus. The freedom to fly as much as she wanted. Severus. The existence of magic. Severus…

She had found herself thinking this more and more often. The very idea of a school for wizards was strange, just like the separation between magical and non-magical things. Wouldn’t everyone benefit if there was magic everywhere? As reasonable as her thoughts were, the lack of clear answers and the sense that she was missing many key pieces of understanding were deeply frustrating.

Rather than dwell on these questions, she turned her attention to the four house tables filled with hundreds of young wizards. To her eyes, the four groups looked quite similar, all the students excited, talking loudly in a din that would have hurt her owl ears if she had been any closer. Each student was different—hair colors, heights, faces, voices, postures…

There were, however, small differences that made each table unique. The yellow and black ones seemed to enjoy physical closeness, crowding together. The green and silver ones were divided into smaller distinct groups. The red and gold ones were the loudest and most restless. The blue and bronze ones were the calmest; some of them had even taken out books.

Anemone tilted her head ninety degrees to the side. Why divide the school like this? Wouldn’t it cause problems? She couldn’t explain why, but she had a bad feeling about it, like a subtle tension hanging in the air. It wasn’t like it concerned her directly, and Severus had worked here for years. He surely knew how to manage all this and understood the reasons behind it.

Her drifting thoughts were interrupted when the double doors of the Great Hall swung open with a loud creak, revealing Minerva leading a group of children younger than the rest. She marched with an almost military stride, the little ones following behind like a line of frightened ducklings. She announced in a commanding voice that the Sorting Ceremony would now begin.

Anemone had trouble keeping up. The students would be sorted into four houses? For what purpose? And what houses? They were already in a castle. She vaguely remembered Severus mentioning something along those lines, but nothing specific came to mind.

It was then, with a mix of astonishment, horror, and fascination, that she saw the old, grimy leather pointed hat placed on the stool move. From her position behind it, she couldn’t see very well, but her anxious curiosity gave way to terror when the hat began to sing in a discordant voice that made her shudder, its accent rendering the words nearly incomprehensible.

« Upon thy brow I sit, and thus proclaim thy lot,
Not judge, but bard — though I judge quite a lot.
Four Houses wait, each famed and full of lore,
All flawed, all fine... and all a dreadful bore.

To Gryffindor, where dauntless hearts reside:

They charge at fate with chests puffed wide.
So bold, so brash, so quick to boast,
Yet oft confuse great deeds with toast.
Their courage glows — or so they claim —
But oft it's just a thirst for fame.

To Hufflepuff, the kind and just of soul:

They bake, they dig, they play no role.
So mild their ways, so firm their stance,
They’ll queue for death if given the chance.
Yet in their quiet, meek refrain,
Lies stubborn steel beneath the grain.

To Ravenclaw, the clever and refined:

Their minds are sharp — their hats, maligned.
They speak in verse, they think in ink,
And starve whilst pausing just to think.
Yet brilliance burns, if not misled,
By dreams of wisdom none have said.

To Slytherin, where cunning finds its kin:

They smile and nod... then twist the pin.
With silver tongues and serpent grace,
They climb with mirrors, not with pace.
Yet in their plots and whispered scheme,
Ambition hides a noble dream.

So fret thee not — no House is cursed nor blessed,
All hold their pride... and sins confessed.
For thou art flawed, as all must be —
But fear not, child... you’re flawed with me. »

The hat ended its song with a forward bow, its long pointed tip flopping backward in a swirling motion, as if it were saluting the crowd. This was followed by timid applause, except for Bumblebee, who had risen from his chair to clap with enthusiasm, a tear glistening at the corner of his eye.

"Very well, let the ceremony begin," declared Minerva, unrolling a long parchment that nearly touched the floor. "Alfred Cornwell, please come forward and take a seat on the stool..."

…

"Nym, what are you thinking about?" asked Amy, gently tapping her on the shoulder and pulling her out of her thoughts.

"Oh, nothing in particular," she replied, sliding her arm around Amy's shoulders for a brief squeeze and offering her a smile. "The back-to-school blues just arrived a little earlier than usual, that's all."

"It’ll pass quickly, like always," Amy reassured her. "Here, eat something. You’ll feel better."

Nymphadora, or Nym, as she preferred to be called, sighed and nodded, helping herself to a generous serving of potato puffs, salad, and a grilled pork chop. Like every year, she wished she could have stayed home. Hogwarts was a difficult place for many, but especially for her.

She would sooner die than admit she was a mama’s girl or anything like that, but going home right now was at the top of her wish list. Yes, she had friends at school, plenty in fact. Being in Hufflepuff helped a lot with that. Yes, she generally got good grades, except in History, Transfiguration, and Herbology (which wasn’t her fault, she just understood transfiguration in a radically different way from the rigid perspective taught by MCG).

She had long since given up trying to maintain the same appearance all the time. Trying to hold the same face for more than a few days was not only difficult for her but deeply uncomfortable. She didn’t want to spend fifteen minutes every morning in front of the mirror trying to match an old photo of herself from a time when she was already changing all the time anyway. If it weren’t for her flamboyant hair color and unique way of speaking, she doubted her friends would even recognize her.

Between her metamorphmagus issues, childhood friends who had gone to study at Boggart Hole Clough, antagonistic relationships with certain professors, and problems with other students too stupid to realize that bothering her was a bad idea, returning to Hogwarts wasn’t a joyful experience.

Still, she knew that like every year, she’d get back into the rhythm after a few days and would hold out until the next holiday. Merlin be praised that the Sorting Hat had placed her in Hufflepuff. If she’d ended up elsewhere, she would have left the school a long time ago. Boggart Hole Clough was, after all, a perfectly respectable institution, according to her friends.

Sensing her gloomy state, Amy and the others had, as they did each year, decided to give her space for now. Instead of sulking while chewing on her potato puffs, she turned her gaze toward the staff table. It was always interesting at the start of the year to observe the professors and try to figure out what might have changed over the summer. Especially to guess what kind of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher they’d have to endure this time.

She brushed a lock of bright violet hair out of her eyes and studied the high table. In three years, Dumbledore hadn’t changed at all. Not a single new wrinkle, still that jovial expression, that long, thick beard, and the small round glasses perched on his nose, behind which his steel-blue eyes sparkled with intelligence. Tonight, he wore a flowing golden robe with blue polka dots and had tied dozens of little pink ribbons in his beard. He sipped from a golden goblet adorned with delicate silver arabesques.

Nym froze in surprise. She could’ve sworn the old wizard had just winked at her before turning back to his conversation with MCG on his right. As skeptical as she had been about Dumbledore when first arriving at Hogwarts, she was beginning to appreciate the genius of the man. She really wanted to unravel the secrets she was sure he kept just out of reach from curious minds. If only, every time she started to gain real respect for him, he didn’t show up in another ridiculous outfit. Or maybe that was his plan, to be underestimated? Maybe he just liked being able to break the rules whenever it pleased him, mocking those pompous pure-blood nobles who took themselves far too seriously. After all, as a Grand Sorcerer, no one could really fault his taste.

She turned her gaze away from the visual assault, seriously, gold with blue polka dots? What criminal had crafted such a garment? Unless he had conjured it himself…

Her eyes briefly landed on MCG, stiff in her almost black dark green robes, lips perpetually pursed in disapproval. Nym didn’t linger. She’d see enough of her during lessons.

Now, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, that was always a point of interest. Madame Thornwall, Dumbledore had announced in his brief speech. A very small woman, slim and graceful, with short blond hair forming a kind of golden halo around her head. Her face was delicate and aristocratic, which wouldn’t have looked out of place in Witch Weekly ’s beauty section, if not for the large, jagged scar splitting her upper lip, the nose clearly broken multiple times, and her right eye, which glowed a pale lavender light within a hollow socket surrounded by runes etched directly into the skin. Add to that her dueling attire, partial silver plate armor covered in tiny engraved runes, and the large staff resting against her chair, and she cut a particularly intimidating figure despite her size.

There were no known recordings of Thornwall in combat, and she had never participated in a public magical duel (to Nym’s great disappointment—she would have loved to see her in action), but her name occasionally appeared in international newspapers regarding her involvement in various armed conflicts or battles against local dark lords and other horrors. Nym knew far too little about her. The last event she remembered reading about involved the infamous Dunwich Abomination and how Thornwall’s presence had kept the incident from becoming a national crisis. If only all documents related to that case weren’t classified…

She resolved to take full advantage of having a competent Defense teacher this year, then glanced toward Professor Sprout. The older woman noticed her and gave her a warm smile. Despite her struggles in Herbology, Nym adored Professor Sprout. In her opinion, she was by far the kindest teacher at Hogwarts. She was certain that without her, Hufflepuff wouldn’t be nearly what it was. That made Nym’s poor grades in her subject all the more painful, she really wanted Sprout’s approval.

Nothing else seemed to have changed among the faculty, aside from the fact that Professor Kettleburn appeared to have lost his right leg to some magical creature again. This made it the fourth time Nym had seen him with a new prosthetic since arriving at Hogwarts. Hagrid looked happier than usual, which was surprising, given how affable he always was. Filch was eating with Miss Norris on his lap as usual. Flitwick seemed engrossed in a deep conversation with Snape, or rather, speaking at Snape, who simply ate slowly, chewing every bite with methodical precision.

Nothing too unusual overall, but still intriguing. Maybe… Nym froze. Snape had just picked up a piece of meat with his fingers from a small dish on the table and brought it to his shoulder, where a tiny owl, so small and discreet she hadn’t noticed it before, snatched it eagerly with its beak and swallowed it with expressive delight.

Nym narrowed her eyes to get a better look. An adorable little owl, perched on Snape’s shoulder. And Snape, less severe than usual, feeding it by hand? What the actual hell?

She glanced around at the other tables. She wasn’t the only one who had noticed the absurdity of the sight. Several other students were staring at the staff table with shocked expressions. Snape and a tiny owl? Impossible. What next? Snape adopting a litter of kittens?

She might not have been thrilled to be back, but clearly, this year was going to be interesting.

Chapter Text

The cool, misty morning air slid over her feathers as she darted toward the Great Hall, where breakfast was being served.

The usual time for the castle owls’ morning mail delivery was still a good while away, but Anemone, proud to consider herself the most diligent of all postal owls, was determined to prove it to Severus through sheer zeal. She had to make absolutely sure that the thought of seeking a more efficient owl would never even brush his mind.

The mere possibility that Severus might consider replacing her — or worse, adopting an additional owl — made her feathers bristle all the way to the tips of her wings.

She had to admit, too, that she was deeply intimidated by the other postal owls living in the castle. She had once tried to visit the large aviary where the students’ birds spent most of their time.

But after only a few minutes, she had fled, utterly panicked.

Almost all the owls there were twice her size, their yellow, unblinking stares piercing her with terrifying intensity. Some had even looked at her with barely disguised hunger!

In short, she had fled without asking for more and, ever since that episode, she made sure to avoid the castle owls — even if it meant delivering Severus’s mail a little earlier than necessary.

Trusting her instincts, she quickly spotted one of the Great Hall’s tall, arched windows left open. She slipped inside deftly, skimmed over the floating candles — unlit at this hour — and landed lightly on Severus’s shoulder.

He barely reacted: he simply brushed his wand against the black ring adorning her outstretched leg. Instantly, the newspaper she had fetched from the Hogsmeade postal relay sprang out, accompanied by a more personal letter, signed by Narcissa. Severus unfolded the former before him and tucked the latter into one of the deepest pockets of his robes.

Anemone took the opportunity to cast a sweeping glance over the Great Hall. As on every morning at this early hour, only a few professors and the most determined early risers among the students were present. Most looked half-asleep, their hair a tousled mess for those who had neglected to don their tall pointed hats. She threw a glance toward the windows: not a single owl in sight. She had timed it perfectly.

After what Severus had explained to her was called a "month" — a concept she had vaguely grasped by pecking perplexedly at a calendar hung on the living room wall — Anemone was beginning to understand the rhythms of castle life.

Humans rose at dawn, all wearing grim faces and heavy eyelids, as if they were inflicting some kind of punishment on themselves without knowing why. After feeding, they scattered into various rooms to sit before adults and listen to them talk, all the while frantically scratching pieces of paper with long quills.

At first, this sight had terrified her: she feared she might be captured and plucked to make those writing instruments!

She had only agreed to leave her little nest once Severus, with infinite patience, had convinced her that her feathers — too small and delicate — were of no use for writing.

She had tried to attend a few classes, but more often than not, she was chased out of the rooms on the pretext that she distracted the students.

And when she had managed to stay, she simply understood nothing of what was being said.

Only two subjects still held her interest after all these disappointments:

The first, what the students called "Care of Magical Creatures," because the professor always presented fascinating, strange beasts... and, more importantly, willingly handed out treats to imploring spectators who knew how to use their big round eyes.

She had attempted to apply the big-round-eyes technique to extort more treats from Severus... but the operation had failed miserably. Her owner had simply fixed her with a cold, motionless stare until she fled, utterly ashamed. Perhaps she had not yet perfected the method?

No matter — she would practice! With Hagrid, the Care of Magical Creatures professor, Bumblebee, Narcissa... it wasn’t as if she lacked targets to hone her skills on, after all.

The second subject that had managed to retain her attention was the History of Magic. First, because the professor was a ghost — and that, frankly, was quite extraordinary. Second, because she loved being told stories.

Granted, the spectre’s voice was abysmally monotonous, and his tales sorely lacked variety, but when sleep didn’t claim her before the end, she sometimes found the anecdotes captivating. Even if, in most cases, she retained only a confused half. Sometimes even less.

Apart from that, the castle represented an inexhaustible playground for her.

Dark nooks to explore, ideal hideouts for napping, visual treasures to uncover, and of course, countless students to spy on from her discreet perches.

The said students, moreover, often looked at her strangely, as if faced with a riddle they were utterly unable to solve.

This curiosity toward her puzzled Anemone. After all, she was just a perfectly normal postal owl, free to spend her free time however she pleased. Severus had been very clear about that.

And besides, it wasn’t as if she spent that much time within the castle walls.

She loved soaring through the skies over the vast grassy moors studded with ancient monoliths, gliding over the dark expanses of the Black Lake, or slicing through the thick foliage of the great Forest stretching along the lake’s edge.

Not to mention that most of her time was devoted to her work.

Granted, she had enjoyed a few quiet days after the students’ return — Severus being overwhelmed and too busy to answer his many correspondents — but once he had settled back into a more stable routine, Anemone had seen her workload explode.

Now, not a single day passed without her being sent to the four corners of England and Scotland to deliver letters and parcels to her master's many correspondents.

Among them, two names stood out clearly: Narcissa and Marianne.

The two women were by far the most prolific of Severus's numerous correspondents, sometimes exchanging several letters per week with him.

At Narcissa’s home, she had only seen a few things: the vast dining hall, a bright bedroom, a grumpy husband, and a small circle of carefully selected friends.
The mistress of the house seemed little inclined to let animals — even wilderfolks like her — roam freely around her home. Narcissa always responded to Severus with impressive efficiency, extracting quill and letter paper from a piece of furniture or a drawer nearby.

To her great delight, Anemone had also had the opportunity to see Agnès again several times.

The young woman was a true virtuoso of petting, capable of turning Anemone into a soft puddle of contentment within her skillful hands.

Proof of this was that she rarely retained any of the conversations held during those visits if Agnès was present — too busy being cuddled, fed, and pampered to pay any attention to the discussions.

At Marianne Géomont’s home, however, it was an entirely different story.

The witch, eccentric but kind-hearted, seemed delighted to see Anemone freely exploring her house and getting acquainted with her familiars.

Despite their unconventional appearance, Jasper and Cinder had proven to be excellent playmates... even though Jasper, as mischievous as he was enthusiastic, had hardly given her a choice.
Barely had the mistress of the house turned her back then Jasper would resolutely refuse to leave her alone, relentlessly chasing after her.

Their games, initially limited to chaotic and disastrous chases that endangered the furniture, were soon channelled by Marianne into calmer activities, allowing Cinder — immobilized in his fireplace — to join them as well.

Since then, Anemone had developed a true passion for riddles, puzzles, and charades.

Admittedly, the answers were limited to visible objects in the room — her condition as an owl obviously preventing her from formulating any clear response.

After all, she couldn’t very well answer a riddle like, "The more you take away from me, the bigger I get. What am I?" with a "Hoo hoo hoo," a "Kiouw kiouw kiouw," or a frustrated "Shhhh." (She still hadn’t found the answer to that one… Perhaps she should talk to Severus about it.)

Alongside these intense thinking sessions, Marianne allowed her to roam freely throughout her house, which included long periods of silent observation while the witch prepared potions or bent intently over strange, scribbled parchments.

These activities still escaped Anemone’s immediate interest — far too static for her taste — but her natural curiosity kept her from ignoring them entirely.

Among Severus’s many correspondents, few could rival Marianne and Narcissa in terms of interest.

Most were much older; their faces, worn by the years, would crumple into a grimace each time they spotted her.

They hardly let her wander, preferring to install her on a perch until they deigned to draft a reply — or worse, to dismiss her at once with an impatient wave and a humiliating "Shoo, shoo."

She did not much appreciate such people, all the more so since they displayed a detestable stinginess when it came to treats. Sometimes, they didn’t offer her even a crumb!

Thus, over the past few weeks, Anemone had spent most of her time criss-crossing the skies: she flew over the countryside, crossed seas to reach remote islands, and skimmed over ridges and forests to deliver letters and parcels to Severus’s countless private recipients.

On the evenings when she returned to the castle — which, all things considered, was not that often — she would hasten to the cozy little nest she had fashioned atop the bookshelf. There, she would snuggle warmly, waiting either for her next mission or simply for enough energy to return to go about her business.

If Severus was not yet convinced that she was the best postal owl in the world, it was only a matter of time before he finally acknowledged her merits.

In the meantime, she was hungry.

And he still hadn’t fed her, absorbed as he was in the reading of a boxed article in his newspaper.
Once again, Anemone swallowed her frustration at those lines of little black symbols on a white background that monopolized all of Severus’s attention, while she, famished, remained pitifully ignored.

Thus, she did what seemed to her the most logical course of action: she buried her beak into Severus’s hair, trampled impatiently upon his shoulder, and let out a series of irritable hoots.

She did not have to insist for long.

Hardly had she begun her agitation when Severus, without lifting his eyes, set the newspaper down, pulled out a small white tin box, and, with one hand, stroked the back of her head while, with the other, he seized a piece of meat.

Anemone was torn between two opposite urges:
On the one hand, she longed to tilt her head and press her feathers more firmly against Severus’s palm — a source of such exquisite caresses; on the other, the appetizing smell of the meat was tormenting her fiercely growling stomach.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to choose. Severus gently brought the piece close to her beak, and she managed to seize it without interrupting the precious session of petting.

So absorbed was she in these attentions that she almost missed the words Severus spoke in a calm voice: "No deliveries today."

She tilted her head, perplexed. Yet she had clearly seen mail ready to go on the living room table this morning…

"You need rest. These past days have been too... intense."

It was true that she had chained together mission after mission all week, without a real break. But she was an excellent postal owl! A few more letters could hardly wear her out.

"I am not questioning your competence..." Severus continued, pausing briefly. "I have absolutely nothing to criticize in your work. You fulfill your part of our contract perfectly. It’s simply not necessary to impose such pressure on yourself."

His fingers resumed their slow glide, caressing the feathers of her neck and between her wings.

"What would be far more problematic would be if you were injured... or collapsed from exhaustion. In that case, you would not be able to ensure any deliveries…"

A shiver ran down her spine, and her feathers bristled in a nervous tremor.

If Severus thought a day of rest was necessary, then it had to be true.

End of story.

Without another word, the man drew from another tin box a treat. The scent alone was enough to make her beak water.

All her worries, her scruples, her fleeting urges to argue melted away like snow under the sun, and she let out a series of excited little kiouw kiouw, wriggling on his shoulder with the enthusiasm of a ravenous will-o'-the-wisp, until she finally managed to seize the long-coveted reward.

She was just about to swallow it whole, utterly delighted, when a sound froze her in place.

A low rumble, a multifold stirring of the air... The rustling of wings.

Hundreds of wings.

She turned her head, horrified. She had waited too long.
Only a few seconds remained before the daily swarm of owls — carriers of letters, parcels, and newspapers — would swoop en masse into the Great Hall.

A sharp, panicked cry escaped her beak, and she immediately took flight, darting at full speed toward one of the side doors.

Clutching her treat tightly in her beak, her little heart pounding wildly in her chest, she zigzagged between the floating candles and the first owls diving into the hall.

She only slowed once she was out of danger, slipping into a narrow, dimly lit corridor, where she found refuge inside the helmet of a decorative suit of armour.

There, finally safe, nestled in the shadow and the cold metal, she took the time to savour — with slow, satisfied delight — her hard-earned treat.

oOOOo

Had it not been for the librarian’s heavy, accusatory stare, which felt like an icy weight pressing against her wings, Hogwarts' great library would surely have been one of her favourite places in the castle.

For reasons that completely eluded her, the librarian seemed to harbour a deep aversion to the presence of animals in her domain. Something about scattered feathers, parasites, dirt, or even dreaded traces of guano threatening her precious books.

It had taken a direct intervention from Severus, after Anemone had come to him trembling and terrified, having been sharply reprimanded, for the dreadful guardian of knowledge to finally consent to let her enter.

No, she was not some vulgar owl, yes, she knew how to restrain herself, yes, she groomed herself regularly, no, she did not carry fleas or mites, and, most importantly, no, she did not gnaw on the pages of grimoires nor claw them apart.

Since that day, she was no longer chased out — but the librarian’s dark, narrow, piercing, almost predatory glare remained one of the most unpleasant things Anemone had ever encountered.

She had thus learned to make herself discreet, carefully avoiding lingering near the large counter where the old lady spent her days sorting, classifying, muttering, and sighing. However, whenever she managed to slip into the library without drawing the nasty lady’s attention, she tasted a pure and total bliss.

Anemone adored this place. The muffled quiet, the whisper of pages turning, those indescribable scents blending worn leather, ancient parchment, and old stone…

And above all, the multitude of cozy hiding spots and places where one could observe without being seen.

The library was much vaster on the inside than on the outside — a fact she had verified several times, without ever managing to understand how it was possible.

It was divided into two main areas:

First, the reading space — a vast circle furnished with tables and chairs set near the entrance door and the librarian’s desk. This was where most students settled once they had secured their literary loot.

Then, the true treasure of the place: the labyrinth of bookshelves.

It was there that all the magical appeal of the library resided.

An organized chaos of shelves, winding in all directions, stretching over ten floors, lit by windows placed in the most absurd locations. Stairs, ladders, and even squeaky dumb-waiters allowed visitors to climb higher, while bridges, twisted balconies, and rickety walkways linked the platforms together.

Secret alcoves, nooks lined with cushions, forgotten armchairs, and slanted tables created a world apart, perfect for daydreaming or hiding away. In truth, Anemone sincerely wondered how humans ever managed to find their way around — let alone get their paws on the right book — in such an absurd maze.

At the end of the day, tired from her latest long flight, she had finally found herself the perfect little spot: an almost invisible alcove, tucked away at the very top of the library, reachable only by a rickety wooden ladder leaning against a shelf.

The ceiling was so low that any human wishing to slip in would have to crouch or crawl to avoid bumping their head. But for her, given her size, it was no problem at all.

A battered, soft beanbag sat proudly in the middle, alongside a small low table with an open book left lying on it.

A round skylight offered an unobstructed view over the dark expanses of the Black Lake and the vast forest whose canopies seemed to stretch out to infinity.

Curled up in that corner, perched among old, cracked leather tomes, Anemone should have been perfectly at ease. Here, high above most visitors, the sounds of books being flipped and quills scratching across parchment were but a muffled murmur. Dust, suspended in an oblique beam of light filtering through the skylight, put on a performance like a rain of tiny white stars, falling slowly through the golden silence.

It should have been the perfect place. Perfect for tucking in her head, nestled in the soft folds of the beanbag, closing her eyes, ready to drift off into a peaceful nap.

But no! A book, wide open, had been left abandoned on the low table. And she — poor, innocent owl — had let her curiosity trap her.

She had been staring at the page for far too long now, with an intensity that should have been enough to set it on fire.

She understood nothing. Absolutely nothing.

She knew that those little black symbols were supposed to mean something. She had seen Severus read hundreds of times, utterly absorbed, even fascinated.

But faced with those marks on the paper, she felt as helpless as a hatchling before a big prey.

She pecked at the page in frustration, blinked her eyes…

Nothing. The text remained a heap of mute riddles, as hermetic as the door to the potions classroom.

She hopped around the book, a little jump here, another there, as if changing angles might, by some miracle, illuminate her.

But no — the black marks kept mocking her, stubborn and insolent, like frozen insects stuck on the page.

Then Anemone let out a hiss of rage and frustration, a small sharp and furious noise that escaped her before she could stop it.

It was too much.

She would ask Severus to teach her. Beg him, if necessary. Throw herself at his feet, beak to the ground, wings spread in a pitiful plea for mercy.

With a nervous flap, she took off, plunging toward the exit through the library’s winding rows, darting like an arrow between the shelves. She deliberately ignored the outraged cry of the librarian, though it sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.

It didn’t matter.

Her talons screeched against the tiles as she landed, and within a few heartbeats, she had dived into the castle’s corridors.

Her frustration was so intense that her chest felt painfully tight.

No matter what was written on those blasted pages, whether it was in runes, in English, or in forgotten tongues — she would read them. She would read them all.

As soon as she convinced Severus to teach her.

…

The anticipation made it feel as though Marianne Geomont’s latest letter weighed a ton in his pocket.
His fingers itched, eager to break the lavender-coloured wax seal that kept it closed.

Among all his correspondences, this was one of the ones he awaited with the greatest interest.

Marianne, though her methods differed radically from his own, was a colleague with whom discussion was always invigorating — their shared field, their parallel research, and the recent innovations they exchanged gave rise to passionate, rigorous, and fruitful conversations.

He strode into the Slytherin common room, pausing briefly to sweep the decor with his gaze.

The ancient carved furniture, the thick rugs, and the deep-hued tapestries gave the place its dark, muffled comfort. At this hour, as he had expected, the room was almost empty. Most of his students were in class. He met the gaze of Miss Desmond, a fifth-year prefect, who barely lifted her head from her book upon his arrival. She gave a discreet shake of her head, signalling that there were no important messages to pass on. He nodded slightly in acknowledgment, then continued toward his office.

Once inside, without slowing, he passed through into his private quarters and, with a precise movement, removed his long black cloak, hanging it carefully.

Beneath it, he wore only one of his many shirts of the same colour, along with matching trousers.

Minerva regularly reproached him for his monochromatic constancy, not without a hint of amused exasperation. But he had never been one to linger over such trivialities. And besides, black suited perfectly the image he strove to maintain before his students: rigor, control, distance.

That said, his colleague’s argument in favour of a dark green had, in his eyes, a certain degree of merit.

A slight flick of his wand revived the dying embers in the hearth. He added a few logs, then, with a single gesture, cast a spell on the kettle, which immediately began to heat gently over the flames. A teapot, already filled with bergamot leaves, slowly levitated toward his desk.

He settled into his large leather armchair, pulled paper, inkwell, and quill toward him, then finally retrieved the letter Anemone had delivered to him that morning.

Until now, he had not found the occasion to devote time to it — an unthinkable task without silence, fire, and tea.

With a precise motion, he seized an elegant letter opener with an ornate handle and carefully broke the seal. He immediately felt, at his fingertips, the light but unmistakable electric tingling characteristic of the security spell Geomont systematically placed on her correspondence.

She had given him this knife during their first exchanges, specifying that her letters — protected in this way — would instantly burst into flames if one attempted to open them without the proper tool.

He had to admit that this precaution was an excellent practice.

And even though the enchantments he himself had placed on Anemone made their mail virtually inviolable, he could hardly blame Marianne for exercising a healthy degree of paranoia.

He unfolded the letter delicately and began reading, his dark gaze scrutinizing phrase after phrase with concentration.

No conclusive results on her side either... interesting. A new series of experiments would be necessary. Something seemed to contaminate the distillation of “lunar sigh” in this context. It would be necessary to try more variation in the type of glassware, perhaps attempt using crystal... or vary other environmental parameters.

She had discovered a possible violent interaction between dusk dew and basalt powder. It was true that, to his knowledge, the literature in the field contained few references regarding residual spectral interactions between those two agents…

As he was writing his reply, outlining possible experimental protocols, he sensed a mind passing through the isolation wards of his quarters. After these past few months, it was not difficult for him to recognize the mind — too colourful and vibrant to be human — of the little wilderfolk he had adopted.

The sound of her talons on the wood, her mind closer now, full of curiosity... and... frustration.

He chose to ignore the owl for the time being.

The bird had proven itself perfectly capable of occupying itself without his intervention. He therefore continued carefully calligraphing his response.

The owl caught his attention again a few moments later, her mind still curious, but the frustration stronger.

She was trying to climb onto his shoulder, which did not physically bother him — she was far too light to impede his writing — but on principle, it was a bad habit to encourage. He was about to scold her for her behaviour when, concentrating on her, he caught fleeting snippets of thoughts and emotions.

She looked at him with wide, pleading eyes — the same look she had once tried to use against him to win more treats. Except that this time, on the edge of his mind, he sensed neither hunger nor craving.
Anemone was clearly asking him for something.

He set his quill into the inkwell and turned his full attention to her, drawing his mind closer to hers to scan her surface thoughts and emotions.

There was a great deal of frustration, old and new, built up over weeks. Nervousness, hope, a hint of buried fear, surely a remnant of the inadequate treatment she had suffered under her previous owners.

Flashing in her mind were images of the great Hogwarts library, of their smaller library within his quarters, and of Splinter’s End. Open books lying on tables, fleeting glimpses of him reading letters and tomes. Woven through it all were desire, yearning, a heavy dose of frustration, and that deep, restless curiosity he had come to feel almost constantly within Anemone’s mind.

“You wish for me to teach you how to read,” he said in a neutral tone, raising one eyebrow.

A cloud of pure joy blossomed in the little owl’s mind — images of herself perched on his shoulder, reading a book alongside him — followed closely by growing apprehension, a fear of refusal, and a worried pang at the thought of taking too much of his precious time.

Severus let out a faint, almost inaudible sigh.

The bridge of his nose itched, but he resisted the urge to pinch it.

He had mentally prepared himself for such a request. Anemone was a wilderfolk, not an ordinary owl. A person, above all else. When he had purchased her a few months earlier, one of his clear goals had been to free her from the slavery her condition would otherwise have condemned her to. Thus, that she should seek his help for a personal project was entirely expected.

He took a moment to consider the request.

The mere fact that Anemone wished to learn how to read — and that she would come to him to ask for it — was an undeniable sign: she was adapting to her new life and beginning to establish a true bond of trust with him.

It was an evolution he could only welcome. An excellent development, in fact.

But the situation did pose a genuine logistical problem.

Organizing reading lessons — and perhaps even writing lessons, should Anemone later express the desire — was no simple undertaking. He himself simply did not have the time to take on such a task. He was already struggling to preserve the few hours of sleep he could afford between his numerous obligations.

Moreover, he seriously doubted he possessed the pedagogical skills necessary to teach the fundamentals of reading — especially to someone starting entirely from scratch.

“I could find you a private tutor…” he began thoughtfully. “Finding the right person may take a little time, but I will keep you informed of my progress.”

He already had a few names in mind.

But finding someone capable — and above all willing — to teach a wilderfolk who refused to adopt her human form would be, in itself, a considerable challenge.

Anemone let out a joyful hoot, immediately hopping onto the table, then onto his shoulder. She nestled her beak tenderly into his hair, a flood of affection radiating from her with a disarming intensity.

Severus had indeed considered correcting her, trying to break her of this habit she had developed — burrowing into his hair without the slightest reserve. But he simply did not have the heart to do it.

Anemone needed stability, security, a form of emotional constancy. And if the price to pay for that was to endure her overflowing bursts of affection and her delighted hoots, then so be it.

He would comply.

After all, if these simple gestures contributed to improving the mental health and well-being of the little owl, he was not the kind of man to complain about it.

oOOOo

The day had started off well for Anemone.

Severus had sent her to deliver a letter to a tall, red-bearded man, but since he lived in a coastal village south of a city Severus had called Inverness, and the place was relatively close, she had managed to return by noon.

She fully intended to make the most of her free afternoon to play, explore, and rest.

She was still quivering from the excitement of the day before: Severus had agreed to find her a tutor to teach her how to read! Ideally, she would have preferred Severus himself to pass on that mysterious knowledge — it would have been so wonderful. But the man was overwhelmed, consumed by his countless tasks. She couldn't reasonably hope he would devote regular hours just for her. That would be absurd. After all, she was only his postal owl.

The mere fact that he was taking the trouble to find her a teacher already seemed to her an immense gift.

Despite everything, she couldn't completely banish a small shadow of disappointment… A barely formed longing, a faint ache in her chest: she would have loved to spend more time with him.

With a sudden shake of her head, she ruffled her feathers to drive away such useless thoughts.

No! Severus was already being more than generous. He was looking for a tutor for her, feeding her without fail, and — an unheard-of luxury — he was even paying her for her services, whereas an average human would have been content to treat her as nothing more than a mere delivery animal.

And that very noon, he had even given her a treat.

The very one she now held carefully in her beak.

She had thought of gobbling it down immediately but had finally decided to savour it later, in a quiet spot, far from the bustling parts of the castle. She had recently discovered that a small pleasure could be magnified by drawing it out — letting it melt slowly in anticipation rather than devouring it too fast.

She thus trotted off toward a small, isolated courtyard on the fifth floor. A tiny secret garden, surrounded by galleries sheltered under stone colonnades. Few students ever went there, likely due to its distance from the more frequented areas.

The few she had crossed paths with there usually came in pairs… performing a social ritual of obscure logic: pressing their mouths together while making vaguely nauseating wet sounds.

Fortunately, at this hour, she had a good chance of having the square all to herself. The perfect moment to savour her treat — and maybe even catch a little nap in the sun.

She had barely set her talons down in the grass when her plans were shattered: a group of three students burst in, chasing each other amid a racket of laughter and shouts. The shock was such that Anemone startled, her wings flaring open involuntarily.

Her treat slipped from her beak, escaping her claws.

The world seemed to slow down.

She watched helplessly as the precious morsel fell to the ground… slid… and disappeared beneath a narrow-barred grate, covering a small rainwater drainage canal.

She let out several distressful kiouws, flapping her wings frantically, before managing — barely — to calm herself down.

Fortunately, the gutter was shallow, and, as it hadn’t rained for several days, there was no stagnant water at the bottom that could damage her precious treat.

Maybe she could still retrieve it with a bit of skill…

The bars of the grate were tight, true, but after several clumsy attempts, she managed to slip a frail little leg through.

With utmost care, she stretched it as far as she could and, through sheer effort and determination, finally managed to brush, then grasp the treat with the very tips of her claws. A small puff of triumph escaped her… but her joy was short-lived.

When she tried to pull her leg back, she met an implacable resistance.

Stuck.

Completely stuck.

After several desperate attempts — stretching, pulling with all her might — she had to face the painful truth: she would not free herself that way. Reluctantly, a hoot stuck in her throat, she let go of the treat, letting it fall back to the bottom of the gutter.

The disappointment, heavy and bitter, swelled under her feathers and quickly turned into pure panic when she realized that even without the weight of the treat, her leg remained trapped!

She flapped her wings with frantic vigor, twisted in every direction, pulled, shook, forced — but nothing worked.

Her tiny heart pounded against her chest at a frantic rhythm, her breath came in short gasps, her desperate “kiouw, kiouw, kiouw” cries echoing across the empty courtyard, vibrating with helpless distress.

She was utterly exhausted, her wings drooping, when a shadow loomed over her. Anemone slowly lifted eyes filled with frozen terror toward the approaching figure.

…

The first few weeks at Hogwarts had been frankly awful according to Nym, but once she had gotten through the tough adjustment period, she was starting to see the bright side of things. She missed her friends terribly — they had gone off to Boggart Hole Clough — but they exchanged several letters a week and would reunite during the next holidays. The same went for her parents. Fortunately, the distance from her old friends was softened by the new friendships she had made among the Hufflepuffs.

And then, Hogwarts wasn’t without its charms.

Most of the classes were interesting (except for the accursed Transfiguration), the dormitories were comfortable — even if they lacked a bit of privacy — and, most importantly, the board game and role-playing clubs worked wonders for her mental health.

Adding to that, the school was a real medieval castle — a true one! — and ever since her second year, she had had her own broomstick to explore the surroundings. Which was, frankly, an extreme level of coolness.

If only the school had been a little more serious about the bullying problem and the spells being thrown on the sly in the hallways... Yes, there was an excellent nurse; yes, wizards were tougher than regular children; but still!

Especially for her, since her Metamorphmagus abilities could react catastrophically to even the slightest uncontrolled spell.

That said, this particular year had been surprisingly calmer than the previous ones.

Was it thanks to her excellent results at the dueling club?

To the newfound solidity of her group of friends?

Or rather to Madam Thornwall’s very particular approach to discipline?

Surely a mix of all three, with a distinct leaning toward the last one. Nym had never been given detention by Madam Thornwall, but she knew — everyone knew — that it was an experience one wanted to avoid at all costs. Those who had gone through it had come back… changed. Wiser. Much wiser.

Frankly, Madam Thornwall’s arrival had been a blessing for the school.

The three previous Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers had competed in incompetence, each in their own way, and finally having someone who knew exactly what she was doing was a real breath of fresh air.

Madam Thornwall applied a strict method in three steps: Theory, Demonstration, Practice.

Then you repeated it for every new topic. Simple. Direct. Effective.

Her current good mood was largely due to the fact that she had just come out of one of those Defence classes — and that she had a free hour before her next class.

Today, the practical session had been devoted to detection spells for hidden threats, and to the appropriate reactions depending on the situation: poisons, various traps, ambushes, different types of invisibility…

The class had been intense, and she felt tired — but a good kind of tired: her mind was relaxed, and her arm tingled pleasantly, from her shoulder all the way to her fingertips, after two hours spent wielding her wand.

The very reason for her free hour was tied to that welcome exhaustion: Thornwall’s classes, particularly demanding — especially during practical work — had forced the administration to implement, after only a single week, a mandatory rest hour following each of her so-called "practical" lessons.

Nym certainly wasn't complaining — far from it.

At that precise moment, she was dreaming of stealing a quick nap.

And on this October day, despite the biting chill of the air, it was still warm enough to make a nap on a bench in the small courtyard on the fifth floor quite appealing.

She was almost there when hurried footsteps echoed down the hallways, followed by bursts of laughter and discordant shouting that made her grind her teeth. She barely had time to flatten herself against the wall to avoid three first-year students, hurtling down the corridor like cannonballs.

Rolling her eyes and grumbling — a slight smile tugging at the corner of her mouth — she resumed her walk through the last few corridors separating her from her little sanctuary. She was nearly there when she frowned, catching the sound of faint cries, tinged with distress, coming from the square.

She quickened her pace, her wand slipping instinctively into her hand, pure reflex.

A few seconds later, she emerged into the open air.

The flattened terrace had been transformed into a tiny park: a few stone benches, a scrappy patch of grass, a handful of scrawny bushes, and a twisted maple tree towering over it all. Her little haven of tranquillity, the place where she often came to find refuge, was now disrupted by those plaintive cries coming from the other side of the tree.

She hurried around it and blinked in surprise.

There, on the ground, a small little owl — a little owl — was struggling desperately, one of its legs trapped between the iron bars of a rainwater drainage grate.

It flailed wildly, beating its wings in frantic agitation, and just seeing it like that made Nym’s heart clench painfully.

The owl must have noticed her, for it suddenly froze, slowly turning its head toward her. But terror seemed to overwhelm it again at once: the bird renewed its struggles with even greater desperation, wings thrashing chaotically.

"Shit, shit, shit..." Nym swore under her breath, tearing off her wizard’s robe.

At this rate, the poor thing would seriously hurt itself!

Remembering how her mother had once calmed a panicked bird that had flown into their house, she spread her robe over the small owl like a net. The little owl wriggled under the fabric for a moment longer before finally going completely still. Nym approached cautiously, lifting the fabric just enough to inspect the trapped leg. Well and truly stuck... Hmm…

Carefully, she manipulated the small owl through the cloth, wrapping it tightly enough to pin its wings and prevent further injury. Then, pointing her wand at the metal bars imprisoning the delicate leg, she focused.

Despite her struggles with General Theoretical Transfiguration, Nym was among the school's best students when it came to applying transfiguration in practice—especially in its most elementary branch: form transfiguration.

A simpler and safer domain, since the transformation there was immediate and permanent, with no need for complex essence alterations. Here, it was merely a matter of slightly bending the metal bars, just enough to free the little owl’s trapped foot without frightening her further. Less than a minute later, she held the tiny owl wrapped snugly in her cloak, its leg finally freed from its trap.

Carefully, she inspected the fine scales of the previously imprisoned limb and let out a relieved sigh: the poor creature clearly hadn’t been stuck long enough to suffer any serious injury. A few light scrapes, no more.

The question sprang immediately to her mind: how on earth had an owl ended up in such an absurd situation?

A quick inspection of the scene of the drama swiftly provided the answer.

There, at the very bottom of the gutter, lay the culprit: a treat for owls.

Both amused and aghast, she retrieved the treat and set it down beside her. Then, gently, she rearranged her cloak around the tiny owl to leave its round little head peeking out. The small creature then fixed her with an intense stare from its enormous… green eyes.

A strange glint pulsed within them, an indefinable feeling that Nym couldn’t immediately interpret. Green eyes? That was, to say the least, unusual for an owl. Perhaps it belonged to one of those alchemically modified breeds she had vaguely heard about?

Suddenly, realization struck her like lightning:

At Hogwarts, owls of such small size were rare. Most students and professors preferred larger, sturdier birds capable of carrying heavier loads. And this one… wore a small black ring on its leg. Nym rifled through her memories. She was certain she had already seen this owl, perched proudly on Severus Snape’s shoulder—that man whose face was as expressionless as a stone wall—while he either stroked it or fed it with a surprisingly delicate gesture.

Such an outpouring of affection, however faint, had been the source of endless rumors at the start of the school year. Many had amused themselves speculating about this unexpected companion: most imagined Snape with a raven, a piercing-eyed eagle owl, or, for the more fanciful, a wyvern or even a winged manticore—if such an abomination even existed.

A slow shiver crawled up Nym’s spine.

She was holding Snape’s owl in her arms.

And given the discreet yet obvious attachment the Potions Master bore toward the animal, she had no doubt: if anything unfortunate happened to it, the consequences would be... memorable.

Delicately, she unfurled her cloak, but instead of flying off immediately, the bird fixed her with a long, intense stare, its green irises glowing with a peculiar light.

Following its gaze, Nym spotted the abandoned treat lying beside her. She picked it up and held it out.

"You want this…"

She didn’t even have time to finish her sentence: the treat vanished in a flash, snatched from her fingers, and the little owl took off with a sharp flap of its wings, soaring toward the Black Lake.

Stunned, Nym remained frozen for a moment before pulling an old pocket watch from her pocket.
She still had a good fifty minutes before her next class — more than enough to carry out her nap plan.

A faint smile tugged at her lips as she thought back to the scene, she would have quite the story to tell her friends later.

oOOOo

Anemone was dancing with excitement on the living room table of Severus’s quarters, her tiny wings flapping frantically at the air, hopping from one foot to the other without the slightest concern for the fine claw marks she was leaving on the wood of the desk.

Her gaze was fixed on Severus, who was finishing lacing up a pair of tall walking boots. Beside him, leaning against the wall, a travel staff made of dark wood and a sturdy backpack were patiently waiting for their turn.

Far from his usual black, elegant attire, today Severus was dressed in a deep brown waxed coat, thrown over solid, rugged clothes, far more functional than refined.

It had all begun the night before, when Severus had announced he would be going out this Sunday to gather specific ingredients for his personal projects. Anemone, seized by an irrepressible joy, had immediately pleaded to be allowed to accompany him.

An outing with Severus!

It was so thrilling!

And, wonder beyond all hope, Severus had raised no objection. He had merely laid out, in a neutral tone, a few simple but strict rules: do not stray, do not touch or eat anything unfamiliar, obey immediately without question...

Reasonable precautions, all things considered.

Anemone, who loved flying around the castle and exploring its surroundings, sometimes found those solitary escapades a little lonely, even distressing. Being able to go adventuring alongside her Severus was therefore a true event.

With his classes, the potions he brewed for the infirmary, his responsibilities as Head of Slytherin House, and a whole host of other mysterious occupations, Severus had precious little time to spare for her.

So an entire day together! It was a genuine treasure.

And besides... they were going to visit a magical nature reserve! The mere thought made Anemone’s heart chirp with enthusiasm.

With a bit of luck, they might even catch sight of a dragon!

After a breakfast taken at dawn, as the sun barely crested the horizon, flooding the valley with silvery light over the first autumn colours, they were completing their preparations.

Severus shouldered his pack with a sure, practised motion, seized his staff, and Anemone, impatient, leapt onto his shoulder, perching with familiar agility. Wasting no time, they exited the apartment.

Severus took care to affix a note of absence to the door, out of simple caution, even though he had already warned Bumblebee, the other professors, the prefects, and part of his students. With quick, silent strides, his boots barely brushing the floor, Severus climbed the stairs in long, fluid steps, Anemone tucked close against him.

They slipped through a small hidden door — which, to Anemone’s great surprise, she had never noticed before — and after a short, dimly lit corridor, they emerged onto a narrow, mossy balcony carved straight into the cliff face.

Without a word, Severus mounted his broom.

Anemone nestled even closer, burrowing into his hair, pressing herself tightly against his neck, so as not to be torn away by the icy high-altitude winds. Then, with a smooth, effortless push, Severus soared into the sky.

…

One hour of flight later, nestled safely in the hollow of Severus’s shoulder, Anemone watched with wide, amazed eyes the vast, wild expanses of the magical nature reserve of the High Isles of Mull.

She was fascinated.

Just a few minutes earlier, they had still been soaring over the rocky peaks of mountains worn down by winds and centuries, eroded to the bare gray of their naked stone. Lower down, along slopes softened by time, had stretched vast meadows, yellowed by autumn, interspersed with clusters of stocky trees. In the distance, the sea had shimmered under the first pale rays of morning, an immense sheet of silver trembling gently under the breeze.

Then, without warning, a thick fog had risen, swallowing the landscape in the blink of an eye.

A strange sensation had passed through her, as if everything around her had been muffled: the sounds of the wind, the whistling of the broom in the air. It reminded her of the smothered silence when she buried her head under the small blanket of her little house, high atop the shelf. Then, with a sharp jolt, they had burst through the sea of mist, trailing behind them white tatters that dissolved at once into swirling winds.

Curious, Anemone had turned her head to look back, but there was no more fog, no more clouds — only the crisp, clear air, as if the mist had never existed at all.

As Severus gradually lost altitude, spiralling down toward a modest house of wood and stone clinging to a bare hill, Anemone, clutching his hair, devoured with her eyes the new world unfurling as far as she could see.

What she saw was far vaster than the small island she had been expecting.

Here, the mountains seemed younger, prouder, thrusting their jagged peaks into a hard, clear sky, their summits carved with silver by eternal snows and frosts. Time, it seemed, had yet to wear them down. Long tongues of ice slithered through the sunken valleys, sometimes descending all the way to the sea, where they tumbled in frozen cliffs of dazzling white.

Lower down, the mountain slopes, clothed in golden grasses where sharp rocks jutted out, slanted into valleys shaded by thick forests. Most of the trees were still in their deep green hues, but here and there, a few were beginning to don the golds, russets, and purples of autumn. The tall fir trees, for their part, stood impassive, defying the wind with their dark, unyielding crowns.

Far off, in the sky, she spotted strange clouds with shifting shapes — far too swift to be natural — and, here and there, massive shadows gliding high in the sky: far too large to be mere birds.

When Severus set foot on the round wooden platform adjoining the small house, Anemone could think of only one thing: spreading her wings and exploring the surroundings.

The wild, radiant landscape, swept by the wind, called to her irresistibly. But she had promised to stay close to him. And Anemone was a trustworthy owl — a good owl, loyal to her commitments. She would keep her promise.

Severus pushed open the door of the cottage and entered without a word. The interior was dim, a clutter of objects piled into every corner.

Crumpled clothes lay in one spot, some dishes were stacked up in an old copper sink, and four bunk beds, left in disarray, occupied one stretch of wall. At the back of the single room, the hearth still contained a few glowing embers — proof that someone had only recently departed.

Anemone, perched on his shoulder, watched with curiosity as Severus ignored the mess completely. He made straight for a large leather-bound register resting on a tall table by the door. Next to it, a bottle of ink carefully sealed and a long violet quill were already waiting. Severus opened the book midway, leafed through some yellowed pages, and then stopped at a nearly blank one. He seized the quill and began writing with a firm hand, just beneath another entry penned in a different, more angular script.

He had doubtlessly perceived the mixture of curiosity and frustration simmering in Anemone’s mind, for he spoke without turning around: "The harvesting of wild ingredients is strictly regulated within magical nature sanctuary. Only Master Alchemists, Master Potion-makers, or Master Enchanters are authorized to conduct gatherings. As a Master of Potions, I have that right. But no more than once a month, and strictly within the quantities I have been permitted to collect."

He continued writing calmly, his deep voice contrasting with the light scratching of the quill.

"For this trip, I had to notify the Ministry in advance: specify the date, the objective of the harvest, and collect the amulet that allowed us to cross the reserves magical barrier. Right now, I am filling out the visitor's register. It serves as both a record of our passage, a notification for the reserves guardians, and a way to indicate which areas we intend to visit."

Anemone mentally frowned. If only masters in a discipline were allowed to harvest certain ingredients, then... how did ordinary wizards manage? Most people brewed potions, didn’t they? she thought very hard.

"Most witches and wizards do not brew complex potions," Severus answered. "They stick to basic preparations, using ingredients they can find in their gardens or buy on the market. The art of potions is dangerous, demanding, and very few master its subtleties enough to require exotic ingredients. Herbalists cultivate most of the plants used in common potions. It's safer. And far simpler."

He closed the logbook with a muffled snap, cleaned the quill with a charm, then added: “What I’m looking for today is intended for specialized potions… or for research.”

But then why go to such lengths, with all these security measures, just to stop people from picking plants, if so few were actually interested? she wondered again, with growing intensity.

Severus let out a very faint sigh, his tone growing heavier.

“Many of the ingredients here are extremely rare… and expensive. They attract poachers and smugglers. These measures, while far from foolproof, help to limit the losses.”

He stepped out of the house without further delay.

Anemone lingered a moment, thoughtful, her feathers puffed slightly in contemplation. But excitement quickly swept her thoughts away. What kind of plants would they be gathering? What secrets of magical nature would unfold before them? She looked up at Severus, hoping for an answer, but he remained silent. He merely drew his wand, tapped his broom, which instantly shrank until it could fit in his pocket.

Then, without a word, he began descending a narrow path winding down the side of the hill, through golden grasses and grey rocks with jagged edges.

From that height, perched on the steep mountainside, the sea breeze—cool and brimming with a salty tang—drifted up toward them. The wind rushed into Anemone’s wings with gleeful force, lifting her feathers with gentle insistence.

It took only a few minutes of silent pleading, marked by pointed glances and impatient little hops, before Severus, reluctantly, gave her permission with a curt nod to take flight — on the strict condition that she not stray.

The moment she spread her wings, she felt the updraft catch her.

She didn’t need to flap at all to rise: the wind lifted her with insistent softness, bearing her ever higher.
She even had to slow her ascent, afraid of being carried too far, well beyond the reassuring presence of Severus.

Soaring above the sanctuary’s wild expanse, with Severus’s familiar silhouette far below, the wind whistling through her feathers and the infinite horizon stretched beneath her talons, Anemone felt happier than ever before.

A shiver of pure joy rippled through every fiber of her small body, and she knew that no place in the world could ever suit her better than here, at his side, carried by the wind and the promise of shared adventures.

…

Several kilometres away, well off the main trail, Anemone was perched atop a large grey rock, while at its base, Severus crouched in silence. Focused, he was carefully peeling off a kind of pearly-white, almost opalescent lichen, using a small silver tool she knew nothing about—but which, in her opinion, looked rather elegant.

Meanwhile, Anemone was casting fierce glares at a small six-legged, three-eyed green lizard that had unwisely approached her. Her attempts at intimidation had no effect: the reptile merely blinked slowly with one eye, then the other, while its third eye—embedded in the centre of its forehead like a carved gem—seemed to be watching her, its dark orb shifting restlessly within the iris.

Exasperated, she let out a sharp little hiss — “shhhh” — which finally convinced the lizard to scurry away in haste, vanishing into a crack in the rock.

All the while, Severus continued his work with patient precision, explaining to her what he was harvesting, reformulating again and again whenever he sensed her confusion.

“This is a growth of Auroralytha insularis ,” he said in a calm voice, “a lichen endemic to the western isles of Scotland, particularly valuable in the making of potions meant to affect…” He paused, then corrected himself, “…to influence the mind.”

He went on, unruffled: “This lichen is mostly used in very specific remedies, for healing psychic wounds or afflictions caused by exposure to demons. Seers also use it to enhance their abilities.”

A brief silence.

“As for me, I plan to use it to create a potion of spiritual awakening, which is necessary in the preparation of more… subtle, esoteric brews—ones that require heightened intuition.”

Severus glanced at Anemone, noting her round-eyed look of stubborn incomprehension. With didactic patience, he continued. “It has several vernacular names…” Seeing her tilt her head in puzzlement, he clarified, “‘Vernacular’ means the common names people give things, as opposed to their scientific designation.” He brushed his finger gently across the lichen. “In grimoires, Auroralytha insularis is often called Opaline Fieldmist. But if you ask the locals, you’ll more likely hear it referred to as luainnir .”

Anemone was fascinated.

First, because Severus—despite his usual reserve—was taking time from his precious schedule to explain everything to her, which filled her with gratitude down to the very tip of her feathers. But also because she remained awestruck at the thought that a simple little plant could contain such immense power.

To her eyes, it was still just… moss. Very pretty, certainly, but still moss clinging to a rock lost on the side of a wild mountain.

As if he had sensed her line of thought, Severus immediately corrected her. “It is not moss, but lichen. And lichens, you see, are more closely related to algae than to mosses.” His gaze darkened slightly. “Besides, luainnir are extremely toxic if ingested without proper preparation. Must I really repeat the rule about not eating anything that looks unfamiliar?” he added sharply.

Anemone instantly lowered her head, ashamed.

The truth was that, just for a moment, the temptation to gobble a bit of lichen, just to find out what ‘spiritual awakening’ felt like, had indeed crossed her mind… Don’t eat strange things, don’t eat strange things… she repeated silently to herself. But, in truth, she was mostly just… hungry.

Without a word, Severus reached into the pocket of his coat, pulled out a small white tin, opened it with a precise gesture, and took out a piece of dried meat.

With a hoot of pure joy, Anemone seized it and swallowed it in one gulp. It wasn’t quite as delicious as a proper treat, of course, but it was still a real delight, and more than enough to warm her heart.

“A stomach with wings…” she heard Severus mutter under his breath.

…

Chest swelling with pride, Anemone landed on a small ledge overrun with dark green moss, scattered with tiny white flowers, high on the cliff overlooking the vast, dense forest below. Severus had entrusted her with a mission — and she burned with impatience to accomplish it, to prove to him once more just how valuable she was.

Since morning, they had already gathered together thick bark, tiny multi colored snails, several species of plants, flowers and ferns, along with tufts of coarse, reddish fur caught in brambles — Severus had told her those came from forest trolls. At her unspoken request, he had described these creatures: enormous fellows, as tall as two Severuses stacked on top of one another, as wide as a Severus stretched out at full length, and as strong as ten Severuses combined. Which was… huge!

They were, according to him, surprisingly stealthy for their size, able to slip through the densest forests, their approach heralded only by a pungent smell of damp moss and rotting wood.

Even more worryingly, Severus had warned her they were cunning, always in packs, ready to lay ambushes for careless travellers. Anemone shuddered at the memory. She had no desire whatsoever to encounter one of those beings, not even from afar.

Severus had then compared these forest trolls to their mountain cousins: theses were taller, bulkier, more resilient — but infinitely less dangerous. Mountain trolls were brutish but simple, acting alone, while those of the forest operated in organised groups, armed with items stolen from their unfortunate victims. She shook out her feathers vigorously, chasing away her unease. Severus, as always, had been cautious: he kept to the shadows, wand at the ready, broomstick within reach in case flight became necessary. Not that forest trolls posed any real threat to him — even taking into account their natural resistance to magic — but because they were a protected species, and killing them was strictly forbidden.

At any rate, she wasn’t searching for troll fur at the moment. Severus had given her a different mission: to explore the ledges in search of moss pearls. Or rather… what had Severus called them again? The fancy name escaped her.

Severus had told her that the locals simply called them “ròsgans” — small black, shiny pearls, condensed magic produced by a rare type of moss, used to strengthen certain complex potions or trigger delicate reactions during preparation. She didn’t yet fully grasp all the details, but after hearing Severus talk about potions so often, and watching Marianne work, she hoped to one day understand this fascinating world.

This was the third ledge she had explored that morning, and so far, she’d had no luck. Yet, as she looked more closely into the shadowy hollow, she suddenly spotted a small pile of black pearls, glinting faintly in the dim light.

Her heart leapt in her chest.

Severus would be pleased!

Severus would be proud of her!

Uttering a triumphant hoot, she fluttered excitedly to catch his attention and a few seconds later, Severus arrived, riding his broom with practised ease.

“Did you find something?” he asked as he drew near.

“Hoo Hoo Hoo!!!” she replied enthusiastically, flapping her wings with all her might.

He came closer, leaned over the hollow she was indicating with her foot and his eyebrows arched high on his forehead, and an almost imperceptible smile touched the corner of his lips. Without a word, he pulled out a small glass jar and a fine pair of tongs, and, with great care, collected about twenty black pearls, leaving the rest in place.

Once finished, he tucked the jar safely into one of his inner pockets and turned his dark gaze back to her. An unreadable look — though she thought she detected a trace of amusement. Then, with a slowness full of gentleness, he stroked the back of her head with his fingertips.

Pure bliss: Anemone rubbed against his hand, craving more of that exquisite contact. “Excellent find,” murmured Severus, his deep voice vibrating with rare satisfaction. “You did very well.”

Dizzy with praise, Anemone’s enthusiasm redoubled, driven to extremes, she spent the next hour methodically flying over the surrounding ledges, uncovering two more nests of moss pearls for her Severus — as many gleaming treasures as Severus harvested with care, under the delighted gaze of the little owl.

…

From her perch, nestled in Severus’s shoulder-length black hair, Anemone watched in silence the entrance of a cave nestled at the foot of a towering cliff. He himself was crouched, hidden behind a thick clump of ferns with supple fronds, eyes narrowed, breath held.

In front of them, the gaping mouth of the cavern looked like the maw of a slumbering beast — a wide, shadowy chasm bristling with stalactites, mossy columns, and glistening formations carved by centuries.

But it wasn’t the natural architecture of the cave that held their gaze.

No — it was an enormous creature lying at its threshold.

Stretched out to her full length, a dragon with emerald-green scales shimmered with a damp gleam beneath the diffuse light, her vast wings, gracefully folded around her massive body, draped over her like a mantle. Her muzzle tucked beneath her forepaws, she appeared to sleep in a deep, tranquil slumber, her side rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.

Curled against her, nestled in the warmth of her body, two small scaly shapes lay huddled close together.

One of them, the livelier of the two, stretched its forelegs clumsily, grabbing at the folds of its mother in a touching attempt at climbing. Its uncertain movement sent faint ripples through the group, yet did nothing to disturb the prevailing serenity.

Anemone didn’t even dare blink, utterly mesmerized.

Breath caught, she etched every detail of the scene into her memory. Later, with the same discretion they had shown upon arriving, she and Severus slipped away without making a sound.

One of them still carried, in her shining eyes, the raw emotion of having seen a dragon and her youngs.

The other, as impassive as ever, was tucking into his bag a large piece of first-rate shed skin, carefully rolled.

…

They returned late in the evening, the sun long since slipped beneath the horizon, leaving behind only a faint glow barely perceptible along the ridge of the mountains.

Anemone, so tired she could no longer keep her eyes open, didn’t even notice when Severus laid her down into the comforting warmth of her little home nestled high atop the bookshelf.

Chapter Text

Anemone stared apprehensively at the large envelope of tanned paper in Severus's hand. Not because of the object's size—it would disappear into the small ring on her leg and she wouldn't even feel its weight. The source of this feeling was the address written on it, or more precisely, given that she couldn't yet read, it was the distance to the recipient that her strange postal owl power made her sense.

Since she had begun working for Severus, she had delivered letters throughout England, Scotland, Ireland and even Wales.

The longest journey she had undertaken had lasted five days, to deliver a small parcel to a disagreeable, pot-bellied apothecary with a dusty little shop in a port town far to the south, at the tip of a peninsula, which Severus had said was called Plymouth. To reach it and return within a reasonable timeframe, she had flown almost without stopping, and had returned utterly exhausted.

This time, Severus was sending her even further, much further! And she didn't feel at all confident enough to succeed in such a journey. Severus had explained the maps of Europe to her, in case she ever found herself needing to reach very distant recipients, but she hadn't expected that day to arrive so soon! From what she knew of the direction this letter made her want to go, she would have to cross the sea!

Severus must have sensed her panic, for he placed one of his reassuring fingers on her head, beginning to stroke her gently, his fingers running along her feathers, gliding over their supple surface, a warmth and wave of comfort flowing through her, smothering her worry. She began to reciprocate, pushing her head against his fingers in search of even more contact whilst hooting, to the point where she almost forgot the reason for this situation.

Severus was about to say something whilst interrupting the caresses, but catching his fingers with her beak and a few plaintive hoots discouraged him from this intention. Whilst scratching the back of her neck and between her wings, he explained in a calm voice: "I should have sent this letter months ago, but Arold's death prevented me, and until now, I wanted to see how you were faring before giving you more ambitious work. Today, I am sufficiently confident in your abilities to entrust you with such a long-distance delivery."

As much as Anemone was intimidated by the prospect of going further than she had ever been before, Severus's compliments made her swell with pride—she puffed up her feathers, stood tall on her little feet, and held her beak high! She was such a reliable postal owl that Severus was now entrusting her with international deliveries! How had she not seen things from this perspective just minutes earlier?

Nevertheless, she remained a little intimidated by the distance... could she really... Severus's soft, deep voice interrupted her thoughts. "You won't need to fly the entire way. The Hanseatic League of Svorak provides international transport for owls on long-haul flights. I shall affix a Hanse seal to the letter, and you should feel the destination change to pass through their relay."

Under her curious gaze, Severus took a sky-blue wax candle from one of his desk drawers and lit it. He patiently let a few drops of melted wax fall onto the letter until he had a small puddle. A few seconds later, he pressed a metal cylinder at the end of a smooth wooden handle firmly onto the wax. When he removed it, Anemone could see with interest a drawing of a bird in full flight surmounted by a compass rose seemingly engraved in the wax.

The moment the wax finished solidifying, Anemone felt the direction of her destination radically change, much closer, fifty kilometres at most. This unusual effect disoriented her for a moment, and she had to blink her eyes and shake her head to regain her footing. The strange sensation ceased just in time to allow her to pay attention to Severus's words.

"This letter is for Ondine Duval, a long-standing colleague and friend. She's rather eccentric, don't let that frighten you... Let's just say she can be very... enthusiastic about many things. Once you're there, wait for her to write a reply, it may take a few days. Give me your leg, I need to put a small bracelet on you so the Hanse will let you board."

Anemone nodded, her eyes full of determination. This was her greatest mission since entering Severus's service, and she would not fail in her duties. She extended her leg and Severus attached a small blue bracelet which he had taken from a metal box engraved with the same bird design and compass rose as on the letter's seal.

A few minutes later, she was flying southeast, her wings beating the air energetically, her heart full of determination. Severus was counting on her and trusting her to carry his letter beyond the ocean! She would not disappoint him!

oOOOo

Not far from the town's port, Anemone found the pier for the Hanse vessels of Aberdeen. As its silhouette became clearer upon her approach, she felt her eyes widen with fascination. The small Hanse airport overlooking the station was nothing in comparison. This one was truly impressive. It was a grand structure of patinated copper, multicoloured crystal glass, dark wood and motley-coloured canvases rising in a spiral across several floors, like a sort of sea shell skeleton open to the winds and light. With its wide base, the structure tapered increasingly at each floor.

Like a swarm of insects, dozens of craft of all sizes and varieties came and went in every direction.

Some, insectoid in appearance, were perched on various platforms like great lazy beetles, or strange metallic dragonflies.

Others more closely resembled flying boats like the one she and Severus had boarded during their last journey. Their wooden hulls, reinforced with metal arabesques, were supported by ovoid balloons to the sides of which sails and rigging were attached. Large propellers were fixed to the stern of most; some had, in addition to all this, strange wings resembling those of dragonflies folded against their flanks.

Between the different levels, countless small flying machines buzzed in all directions, like giant wooden and metal flies, transporting their passengers between floors.

Everywhere, Anemone could see the compass rose, symbol of the navigators' guild; more discreet were the golden cogs of the machinists' guild or the crossed black hammer and staff of the builders... The other symbols, Anemone could only guess at their significance, given that only a portion of Severus's explanations to her numerous curiosities had lodged in her memory. Except, that is, for the Arctic Tern, emblem of the Hanseatic League. It was, after all, difficult to miss, being everywhere.

Despite her clear and now very close destination, it was difficult not to be distracted by the throng of motley people embarking and disembarking from the various craft in all directions. Colourful fabrics floated and snapped in the wind, attached to wooden and metal beams. Multicoloured and fragrant smoke, spicy, effervescent, or pungent, escaped from the vessels. The dance of apparatus resembling metallic insects hummed and glittered hypnotically...

She wanted to deviate from her objective and explore this immense construction of absurd dimensions, but she was a serious owl, and she could sense her destination was very near. There was no question of risking further delay to the delivery of the mail Severus had entrusted to her.

Towards the central floor of the Hansian airport, she spotted her destination. An aircraft the size of Severus's house was moored to a pontoon seemingly suspended in the air. It resembled a boat with a wooden hull reinforced with copper, studded with portholes, its bow pierced by a bay window revealing a helm and people bustling about in what she supposed was the command post. Beyond the shape of the hull, the resemblance to a boat ended there. The aircraft was suspended in the air by a large white balloon resembling a lengthwise-stretched egg attached to the hull by thick ropes. It was adorned with a large image of an Arctic tern and a compass rose... Anemone was a bit curious to know why the Hanse was so keen on plastering its symbols everywhere; Severus's explanation had left her confused, something about image, clients, distrust, trust... just thinking about it again gave her a headache.

What struck her most were the insectoid wings folded against its sides, and the four wide, elegant propellers suspended on either side of the hull.

She tore her gaze from this strange vision to concentrate on her acrobatic slalom between dozens of flying craft darting in all directions through the air. A few minutes and three frights later, she landed on the gloved hand of a Hansian. The person was dressed in a long cream-coloured robe adorned with a compass rose on the chest and an entirely white mask made of a material that reminded her of ceramics, with only two slits for eyes and a black compass rose printed on the forehead as ornamentation.

She didn't have to wonder long why her postal owl instincts had guided her towards this person, for they wasted no time and drew a wand from their sleeve, and with a fluid motion placed its tip on the small blue band that Severus had attached to her leg that morning. She watched with fascination as what looked like a farandole of letters and words of luminous black ink extracted themselves from the band to slip into a notebook that the person held open in their gloved hand.

... Anemone was dying to begin learning to read at once, for once again, frustration ruffled her feathers at her inability to read what had just been inscribed in the notebook.

The Hansian then placed their wand on the band on her leg again, and it was with surprise that she felt the destination towards which her power was guiding her change once more. Now, her instincts were screaming that her recipient was in the hold of the aircraft, despite how little sense that made. She flew off again towards a wide skylight in the vessel's deck that opened onto the hold.

Barely had she crossed it when all the deafening sounds of the airport were as if muffled by a thick cotton blanket. The smell of straw, guano and dusty plumage assailed her as she discovered a large chamber following the shape of the hold filled with dozens of perches. The floor was covered with a thick layer of straw, and a filtered light slipped through the skylight as well as the numerous portholes allowing her to see outside. The only sounds resonating in this place were the muffled hoots, whistles, and mews of a good twenty owls of all sorts perched on the various roosts. Almost all had letters, newspapers or small parcels attached to their legs.

Numerous pairs of large yellow eyes had fixed upon her, and Anemone felt very small under the heavy and inquisitive gazes of her many "colleagues". She perched on a roost right next to a porthole and made herself inconspicuous, trying her best to ignore the two eagle owls observing her with their piercing gazes and the large owl with beautiful black-speckled white plumage perched on the roost right next to hers.

She was much smaller than all the other owls present, and also much less experienced; she had only begun this job a few months ago, whereas all her colleagues had surely been practising for years already. And if that eagle owl could stop staring at her with that hungry look, she would feel much better.

…

When she heard the gangway clatter as it detached from the vessel and the distant humming of wings and propellers, the hold had welcomed an additional thirty owls. The cabin now resembled a sack of feathers and hoots more than anything else.

Worried by the large number of her fellow creatures, most twice her size, Anemone had pressed herself against the porthole and was distracting herself by watching the airport slowly recede, and Aberdeen grow smaller and smaller as the vessel gained altitude and speed.

Soon, she saw the grey sandy coast disappear into the distance amidst the mist as she felt the vessel heading southeast. It was with mounting excitement that she observed the sea far below her and the dragonfly wings of the aircraft vibrating in the air on the other side of the bulkhead.

This was her first international flight!

Her first real long-distance delivery!

She swelled with pride and joy, despite still feeling just as vulnerable amongst all these large owls.

Three months earlier, when she had been pretending to be that miserable little human, half-blind and scarred, for the pleasure of sir and madam, with Dudley as her only ally in a grey and hopeless world, she could never have imagined herself as she was now. She was free at last! With a good owner who gave her treats, food, shelter and affection, plus generous payment for her services. And this day was another step in her quest to become the best postal owl and prove to Severus that he had made the finest choice in rescuing her from the hell of the shop.

…

After a good hour and a half of travel, the initial excitement had gradually given way to boredom.

To try to distract herself and ignore the other owls, most of which frankly frightened her, Anemone had moved closer to the porthole and was attempting to distract herself by contemplating the landscape. This wasn't the best of distractions at the moment; after the first half-hour of appreciating the novelty, the marine expanses lost much of their interest. No change in the scenery, just vast blue, green and grey stretches, under a sky studded with cotton-wool clouds, the waves glittering beneath the sun. It was certainly very pretty, but even a very pretty picture, after sufficient time, began to become boring.

However, she had to admit that through persistent observation, she was beginning to notice subtle nuances of grey, white and blue in the clouds, their changing forms evoking images of fantastic creatures or more common animals she had seen in Dudley's picture books.

She amused herself for a while with a cloud whose shape reminded her of Severus's profile when he was vexed, or smelled something unpleasant.

The sea itself was ever-changing, the shades of its colours varying from moment to moment, darker and deeper beneath the clouds, bright and sparkling like a meadow of diamonds and sapphires under the sun... The tongues of white foam forming whimsical and ephemeral patterns at the crests of the waves.

Her passive observation sharpened instantly when she noticed something in the sea far below the aircraft. A black shadow was serpentining at great speed beneath the waves, undulating with fluidity and grace. Without any point of reference, she couldn't judge the shadow's size, but given the distance, the thing must be enormous.

The very long shadow moved at least as fast as the airship; it disappeared and reappeared with intervals of minutes, or seconds, surely plunging into the dark waters before returning to the surface. Her patience was rewarded when she couldn't suppress a hoot, both frightened and fascinated, as, in a swirl of waves and white foam, she saw the thing break the surface. Its bluish scales glinted for a moment in the sunlight, a powerful jet of white water and vapour rising into the air an instant later, before the creature dived again, its shadow still visible for a few seconds beneath the waves before completely disappearing.

So absorbed was she in her observation of the spot where the creature had just vanished that she didn't hear the wingbeat and the sound of something landing on her perch. She startled when something hard and pointed tapped her back. She spun around to find herself beak to beak with an enormous eagle owl with a hungry look.

A wave of terror swept over her, and she fluffed up her feathers and spread her wings to appear as large and imposing as possible. The enormous eagle owl towered over her, leaning above her, its large, terrifying eyes fixing her with intensity.

It was about to peck at her when a white form hurled itself at it. Anemone had no time to comprehend what had just happened; after a chaos of feathers, beaks, talons and dust, the eagle owl was retreating, emitting pitiful little cries.

In its place stood the large white owl that had occupied the perch right next to hers. Its yellow eyes observed her with circumspection as it approached her slowly. Anemone, convinced that her end had come, the new owl having surely fought the eagle owl to steal its meal, backed away step by step, until she found herself pressed against the crystal wall of the porthole.

The large white owl had drawn closer still, towering over her. Anemone, sensing her end approaching, closed her eyes and curled up pitifully.

But the pain never came; instead, she felt a beak slip between the feathers on her head and begin to tidy her plumage, left in disarray after the confrontation with the eagle owl. Anemone opened one eye, then the other, watching the large white owl settle right beside her whilst continuing to groom her feathers.

Fear gradually gave way to confusion, then to gratitude. She had come to save her! She let out a soft little hoot, drawing closer to the large owl until she was pressed against her, seeking comfort.

When she met the white owl's gaze again, she saw a succession of rapid and complex feelings that she was quite incapable of interpreting, but what she was sure of was that there was no hostility there.

Anemone was at a loss—how to thank her saviour? The food she had on her would be necessary for her to survive her journey and fulfil her mission. Hesitant, embarrassed, a little afraid, but above all infinitely grateful, she began to smooth the white owl's feathers.

…

Once again, Anemone felt her recipient change location, now a hundred kilometres to the south, as the aircraft slowed to moor for the fourth time that day. The first time had been at a port town just after crossing the sea, the other three... she hadn't really seen them, busy as she was having an enormous cuddle with her saviour.

Communication between owls wasn't her forte; she perfectly understood what a hoot, mew, and other signs might mean, but to truly comprehend? She hadn't had an owl mother or other owls in general with whom to spend time when she was small to really get all this.

However, spending several hours mutually preening feathers with her new friend had been as clear as could be in terms of communication, and had had the advantage of dispelling any form of boredom.

Once she and White had preened their feathers so much that there was nothing left to preen, so smooth and perfect was everything (she had never had such resplendent plumage), they had pressed against each other, White taking her literally under her wing.

It was good to receive scratches, caresses and affection from a human, but affection from another owl was very different. She couldn't explain it to herself; it just seemed more genuine.

The trouble was that now she had to leave the aircraft to resume her journey on the wing, she had to leave the comfort of the warm and soft space between White's wing and flank.

She had to do it... She had to say goodbye to White. She was a serious owl! For Severus!

She... the problem of choice was removed when White spread her wings and flew towards the skylight opening onto the deck.

White was also disembarking at this stop! Anemone launched herself after her, and both flying side by side went to perch on a railing of the pontoon.

They remained there, silently for a moment, watching the Hansians oddly dressed in their long robes and masks bustling about in all directions, owls leaving the aircraft, others entering... Then, after a while, the aircraft left the pontoon for its next destination, leaving behind a bubble of calm on the now deserted pontoon.

Anemone looked up at White, and froze for an instant, surprised to see that she was observing her with an air of curiosity and intense reflection. Their exchange of glances lasted a moment, but before she began to feel truly awkward being observed like this, White leaned forward, passed her beak through the feathers on her head one last time, before taking flight.

Her gaze followed her for a long while, until the distant white dot she had become disappeared, swallowed by the sky, amongst the clouds.

A few moments later, she too took flight in the opposite direction, her heart warm in her breast.

White had boarded the aircraft at Aberdeen, she was also a postal owl... perhaps they would have the chance to meet again. At least, Anemone truly hoped so.

…

When Anemone came within sight of her destination, the orange disc of the sun was slowly disappearing below the horizon, its last rays caressing the forests, vineyards and fields surrounding the small town.

Exhausted, her wings aching from the long journey, Anemone allowed herself to gradually lose altitude, gliding slowly towards the sea of orange roof tiles. She sensed her destination very close by, just below, in a house leaning over a narrow lane, squeezed between two of its fellows.

Not quite knowing where to enter, Anemone perched on the edge of the gutter on the roof of the house opposite her objective, and observed the building facing her. The walls were covered with cream-white render, and the edges revealed grey stones. The ground floor was occupied by a large shop window obscured by curtains, flanked by a door behind the glass of which she could read a small sign saying "CLOSED".

The wall of the upper floor was pierced by two tall rectangular windows, also closed with light yellow curtains, through which filtered a soft orange light.

Tired, Anemone glanced at the setting sun before flying the distance separating her from the edge of one of the windows and tapping her beak against the glass. "Toc, toc, toc", "Toc, toc, toc".

It wasn't long before she glimpsed a dark silhouette approaching from behind the curtain. A moment later, the curtain was drawn to the side, revealing on the other side of the window a lady in a purple nightgown embroidered with pretty white flowers, with a blue nightcap with a white pompom on her head.

Anemone admitted she was very poor at determining people's ages; her categories worked thus: deep lines on the face meant old, and few or no lines meant not old. And the lady in front of her was in the second category. Long, tousled black hair cascaded from beneath the nightcap, and blue eyes were searching for something from beneath heavy, tired eyelids. Her face was speckled with freckles, and if it weren't for her small pointed nose and the scar running from her ear across her cheek to split her upper lip, Anemone would have noticed nothing strange about her.

She raised one of her fists to her face to rub her eyes, blinked two or three times before finally noticing her. She remained motionless for a moment with a surprised expression before opening the window, and presenting her forearm horizontally in front of her.

The evening chill beginning to make itself felt, even this far south, she jumped from the window ledge towards the interior of the room and the improvised perch, graciously offered by the recipient of the letter she was preciously guarding in her ring.

When she alighted, she took great care not to grip too tightly, sensing that the soft, fine fabric of the nightgown sleeves would be no protection against her small pointed talons.

"Who are you, my little one?" asked the lady in a soft, low voice. Ondine Duval, Anemone recalled. She had been asked a question. She puffed up, fluffed her feathers, and thought with force and pride: Anemone! Postal owl of Severus Snape! The best of postal owls! ... Before remembering that among all the wizards and witches she had met so far, only Severus had been able to read her thoughts and understand her that way.

Her plumage drooped with disappointment and instead of trying to communicate further, she took a few moments to observe the room. From Severus's tone, she had noticed that Ondine seemed to be someone important to him, and she was de facto curious about all the important people in Severus's life.

It was obviously a bedroom; the walls covered with floral patterned wallpaper were largely hidden by tall shelves of raw wood, the lower part closed by drawers, and the upper part cluttered with a chaotic multitude of books, grimoires, scrolls of parchment, hanging dried herbs, coloured candles unlit, strange metallic apparatus, various phials filled with liquids as colourful as they were strange... Some of the phials seemed to glow faintly while others were full of constantly bubbling liquid despite the lack of any obvious heat source. There was even what appeared to be a chemistry kit, as well as a whitened human skull, serving as a bookend.

Anemone quickly averted her gaze, hoping it wasn't a real skull, but having the strong suspicion that to think so would be a grave error. In the corner of the room opposite the window stood a large four-poster bed with open curtains, revealing rumpled sheets of purple colour. Beside the bed, she glimpsed a bedside table on which was placed a candlestick whose flame burnt too intensely to be normal, an open book, face down on the table to keep the page, as well as a teapot and a half-empty cup from which escaped odours and aromas as delectable as they were foreign.

Near the window she had just come through was a large wicker armchair garnished with more cushions than she could count, as well as a low table on which sat an assortment of beautiful flowering succulents. These strange-looking plants were surrounded by a jumble of books, papers, quills and inkwells, as well as empty cups...

An interior all in all most comfortable, even charming, if it weren't for the human skull and some of the ambient disorder. This Madam Ondine seemed to be quite a witch, she thought. Perhaps not as extreme as Marianne — after all, Ondine still appeared to be entirely human — but still. And to be a friend of Severus's surely meant something important.

She was suddenly distracted from her thoughts when nimble fingers began to traverse the plumage of her head, then descend along her back, causing a shiver of pleasure. She quickly looked up at Ondine, finally noticing that she had spent the last few seconds observing her from all angles.

"You are a very clever little owl, aren't you?" Ondine complimented her with a curious smile.

At these words, filled with pride, Anemone puffed up again; she was indeed a very clever owl, and it was good to hear this fact recognised.

"You understand what I'm saying..." Ondine stated with a circumspect air.

Seeing no reason to hide her nature from a friend of Severus, Anemone nodded.

"A wilderfolk?"

She nodded again.

"It's not very common to see wilderfolk as postal owls; they prefer most of the time to live free, or for those who serve, are kept prisoners in farming operations... Your master must trust you incredibly to let you travel like this... Or else, you bear a spell that prevents you from disobeying... But that's not the case, I would have already noticed if it were... The question is, who could have sent you to me... I'm not accustomed to receiving owls I don't know..."

As Ondine continued to think aloud, Anemone extended her leg with the ring.

"Oh, thank you... so..." She took a wand of whitened wood placed on one of the shelves, then placed its tip on the ring. In a flash of light, Severus's letter materialised in the air, and Ondine caught it with a swift gesture. When her eyes fell upon it, Anemone saw her face light up, the traces of fatigue evaporating under the effect of excitement.

"Severus! At last! I was beginning to think he had forgotten me."

A moment later, Anemone found herself enveloped in a hug against Ondine's chest. "Thank you very much, my little one. You must have made a very long journey to get here. Wait, perch on the back of the chair, I'll fetch you a perch and some treats, you've well earned them."

Anemone, once released from the brief embrace, flew to the back of the wicker chair. The prospect of treats being a very powerful motivation for the little owl.

After a bit of bustling about in the next room, Ondine returned with treats and a perch which she placed in a corner of the room, to which Anemone didn't need to be asked twice to go, the smooth wood being much more pleasant under her talons than the wicker.

"So, my name is Ondine, as Severus has doubtless told you. Would you like to transform? If you want to ask anything? I am not a mind mage like Severus."

Anemone shook her head; no question of returning to her hideous prison of featherless flesh, half-blind and disfigured, when she was perfectly fine in her feathers. And besides, with a delicious treat in her beak and on a comfortable perch, she had nothing to complain about.

"All right. You can explore the house if you like; knowing Severus, I'll need a few days to reply to him. There's a water bowl in the bathroom right next door if you're thirsty."

…

When Anemone returned, she found Ondine sitting in her wicker armchair, the low table tidied, and the candlestick placed upon it. The envelope was on the table, opened, and she held the paper itself in her hands. She was so focused that she didn't notice her return. Tired, Anemone went to settle on the perch. The day had been as long as it was exhausting, and she... didn't even feel her eyelids close.

oOOOo

Her mission today was unusual.

Anemone was perched atop the highest cabinet in Ondine's shop. Her piercing gaze watched over one customer speaking to Ondine behind the counter, whilst the other was examining the various products on display.

The shop section of Ondine's house was a single room on the ground floor opening onto the street. The shop window was a gulf of light illuminating the entire room with daylight. On display were several cauldrons of metallic alloys in purplish or bluish hues, pots in which grew plants she had never seen before. A sort of blue vine twisting around a support covered with small white flowers that seemed to whisper secrets to one another, or a cactus whose spines had spines, and whose spines' spines themselves had spines, and so on. Not to mention a few display grimoires, as well as antique maps of paper yellowed by the ages.

The interior was divided into three main areas.

Near the window was a collection of potted plants, each more bizarre than the last (she would never have thought she'd see a forty-four-leaf clover). This gave the front of the shop an almost jungle-like aspect, further enhanced by the soft song of water flowing through small channels at the feet of the pots, forming little waterfalls at each change in level of the tiled shelves.

Just beyond the plant area were displays stocked with objects of all kinds. From cauldrons to delicate crystal phials by way of alembics. Finally, around the counter, the stalls and shelves were furnished with books and grimoires.

Even though Ondine couldn't understand her as Severus could, Anemone had managed to convey her curiosity. Ondine had thus explained that she ran this alchemy shop, offering services creating potions and alchemical compounds to order, in addition to teaching at Beauxbâtons Academy. It seemed like a lot, even though Anemone wasn't quite sure what each of these occupations really entailed in terms of work.

Was it more demanding than her occupation as a full-time postal owl? Probably... Then again, Ondine had said that her work as a teacher-researcher at the academy wasn't regular. So perhaps she wasn't too overloaded... At least, unlike Severus, she seemed to get her nights' sleep.

Anyway, she had a serious mission this morning! Surveillance? Guard duty? Protection? Something of the sort. Ondine had said she needed to do some experimenting before she could reply to Severus, and had offered Anemone a job whilst waiting to be able to depart with the letter: to watch over the shop and its surroundings, because according to Ondine, there were rumours that magical shops in the secret enclave of the town were suffering thefts.

For now, nothing special had happened all morning.

She had perched atop a cabinet full of potions, and had gently dozed whilst keeping one eye open on the shop. Customers had entered, left, bought things, spoken with Ondine... The most notable visit of the morning had been that of a mother with three little girls who had come to collect an order of enchanted balls of wool.

Anemone wouldn't be going near children of that age again anytime soon! Not after what they had put her through. She had approached when the trio had said they wanted to see her more closely, but the clumsy cuddling session to the point of twisting some of her feathers had been enough to make her flee at wing-speed at the first opportunity.

The three little ones had looked terribly disappointed to see her escape, but Anemone preferred to live another day rather than remain in their criminally clumsy hands. Just thinking about it again was enough to make her shudder with horror.

She cast a sidelong glance at the two customers before burying her head in her feathers. They didn't look like wicked thieves, and anyway, after yesterday's journey, she needed to close her eyes, if only for a few moments.

oOOOo

Severus never allowed her to watch him make potions. At Spinner's End, his laboratory was a room in the house to which she was forbidden access. At Hogwarts, it was the same, and he fiercely refused to let her attend his classes. She didn't even dare think it in his presence, but Anemone was a little hurt by this.

She was his postal owl, the owl to whom he entrusted his most important correspondence, and whom he allowed to transport them throughout the United Kingdom and beyond. Why not trust her to remain quiet in a corner whilst he made his potions?

She was dying to see him work. It was a very important facet of his life, and she had never seen him do it. The most similar activity in which he had allowed her to participate was the gathering of ingredients in the magical reserve, the moors around the castle, or the edges of the forest on the other side of the lake.

Consequently, the fact that Ondine let her watch her prepare potions and experiments from a perch in the corner of the room was cause for both joy and bitterness. How was it that, by virtue of being Severus's owl, this kind lady trusted her enough to watch her prepare potions, when it was an unthinkable thing with Severus?

Anemone couldn't even communicate with her! She had simply needed to tilt her head to the side with her big curious eyes when Ondine went into her laboratory for the latter to invite her to come and see. To invite her!

Not only was Ondine making a potion before her eyes, but she was also taking the time to explain everything she was doing; much of what she said went right over her head, but still! And furthermore, when she used a word that was too complicated, she explained that too! She was happy to be able to see this, the indefinable smells, and the changes in colours and textures of the mixture in the large glass cauldron as Ondine bustled about chopping, grinding, and mixing other ingredients.

As the cauldron gently bubbled, Ondine explained the role of roasted and ground valerian roots in the "peaceful night" potion as she called it, whilst soft piano music played in the background from an old copper gramophone.

According to her explanations, it wasn't a sleeping potion properly speaking, as it didn't directly induce sleep in the drinker, nor did it alter the circadian rhythm... whatever that meant. Despite the explanation of what a circadian rhythm was kindly offered by Ondine, Anemone had remained unable to understand. She felt as if she were facing a puzzle of which she had enough pieces to glimpse an overall picture, but not enough to truly understand the details. Which would have been frustrating if Ondine's voice, mingled with the bubbling of the cauldron and the music, weren't so pleasant.

To her surprise, Ondine had then explained that the music was itself an ingredient in the potion. The potion interacted with its environment and absorbed the atmosphere of the place and moment of its creation. She had indeed been flattered to learn that her presence made the potion more effective by her calmness. According to Ondine, it would cause a profound feeling of relaxation and unwinding which, without directly leading to sleep, would strongly encourage it.

Anemone had been curious, and, to her great disappointment, Ondine had explained that the potion would surely have unexpected effects on an owl, and that if she wanted to try it, taking her human form would be necessary. And that was out of the question.

However, Severus might benefit from it. The man slept far too little in Anemone's opinion. Yes, he had an enormous amount of work, but even so! She therefore waited patiently until Ondine had finished bottling all the potions and tidying up cauldron and workbench, to glide to the table and hoot to attract her attention.

"Yes? What is it?" asked the latter.

Anemone, confident in her plan, did her best imitation of Severus. Feathers puffed up, eyes narrowed, doing her utmost to appear surly. Then, she stretched a wing towards the potions.

Ondine's face lit up with comprehension and satisfaction bloomed in Anemone's heart.

"Oh, I'm sorry, haven't I fed you enough? Are you still hungry?" she said compassionately.

Anemone shook her head; the message not having got through, she tried again, then beat her wings forcefully to emphasise the message, before finishing with a little dance, hopping from one foot to the other.

... With no more success; Ondine looked particularly perplexed. "Do you want to go out?" she ventured to say.

"Kiouw! Kiouw! Kiouw!" Frustrated, she shook her head, then deciding that her mimes, despite their undeniable clarity, were not sufficient, she flew to the coat rack, seized a black scarf in her beak, and dragged it with difficulty to the table, before getting underneath it, and arranging things so that only her head protruded.

"Are you cold?"

She shook her head, and did her best Severus imitation again by pacing back and forth on the table, doing her best to keep the scarf on herself, trapped by her wings and beak. Then, she raised her leg with the black ring and tapped it with her beak.

Ondine's eyes lit up. "Oh, Severus. I see." She now looked particularly focused, leaning towards her, hands on her knees. A smile at the corner of her lips, both amused and intrigued.

Seeing this as a victory, Anemone dropped the scarf and flew towards the potions arranged in a small crate on the workbench, ready to be stored in the reserve. She tapped one of the potions with her beak, then showed the ring on her leg again.

The smile was now full and clearly visible on Ondine's face, warm despite the scar on her lip. "You want to take one of these potions for Severus to take?"

Anemone hopped around with joy in circles on the workbench before giving big "yes" nods with her head.

Ondine closed her eyes for a moment, with an exasperated air, and sighed. "He still doesn't sleep enough, does he?"

Anemone lowered her eyes and nodded. How Severus managed to survive at such a pace, she had no idea.

"Very well, I'll include three of them with my reply, and a little note explaining that it was your idea. If I take direct responsibility, he'll be offended," she said with a small smile.

Anemone stiffened. She certainly didn't like the idea that Severus might blame her for having tattled what she thought was a problem to Ondine, but that the man might be in better health, and generally of better disposition was an objective sufficiently laudable to stifle her fears.

"Severus has a high regard for me, you know? Perhaps not as merited as I would wish, incidentally. But when it comes to how he treats himself, he wouldn't listen to me. You, on the other hand, something tells me you might influence him more than I could ever manage," said Ondine with a conspiratorial air.

Anemone nodded. She didn't understand everything, but if Ondine thought that Severus was ready to take better care of himself at her request, she would try! After all, taking care of Severus was but an extension of her duty as a postal owl. If Severus fell ill from lack of sleep, where would he find the energy to write the letters she was to transport?

oOOOo

The next morning, Anemone took flight, her magical leg ring containing a letter and three precious potions. The return journey would be just as long and difficult, but she departed full of determination.

Chapter Text

Severus set the letter down upon the table and rubbed his eyes, overcome by sudden weariness.

He was pleased to finally have Ondine's reply in his hands. Without her alchemical expertise, he dared not risk pursuing his experiments on telluric current concentrations.

The source of his annoyance lay elsewhere entirely. An addendum had been attached to the letter, along with a small parcel. The addendum contained a request in Ondine's handwriting, specifying that Anemone had insisted she send him samples of one of her latest creations along with the associated recipe. The dosage was to drink a sip of the potions contained in the parcel before sleep each evening. This addendum bore the mark of a small owl's paw that had been dipped in ink...

He released a deep sigh, his gaze settling upon the innocent crystal phials within which a vaporous lavender liquid swirled gently, then upon his little owl, shifting nervously from one foot to the other at the corner of his desk. He could still discern traces of ink upon the scales of her right foot...

Since the terrible debacle his life had become from the tragic moment he had felt appreciated for his skills by the Death Eaters, throwing himself body and soul into an unending torrent of work, even at the cost of ruining his health, had been his form of repentance.

Sleeping four hours a night to dedicate every waking minute to advancing projects whose benefits he could perceive in the shorter or longer term for society, such as teaching the noble art of potions, and ensuring that his Slytherins kept memories that were, in the worst case, neutral of their time at Hogwarts.

The condition of his own existence had been, faced with all this, merely a tertiary factor, sacrificed in place of the time he should rightfully have spent rotting in prison, had it not been for Albus's cruel kindness in sparing him that fate.

But now Anemone, the wilderfolk he had impulsively adopted, was presenting her concerns in the clearest of manners.

She was asking him to ease his self-imposed just punishment, with the complicity of a friend who had played a major role in the choices that had led him to turn away from the Dark Lord's cult.

He gazed into her large, anxious green eyes. He could sense, within her inhumanly vibrant and colourful mind, her determination, her fear of being punished or rejected for having dared to involve herself thus in how he conducted his existence. This strange form of affection of which he had never, before her, felt himself to be the target.

His aura merely brushed the agitated surface of Anemone's mind; the emotions and threads of thought he glimpsed just beneath the surface were quite enough to understand the little owl. Seeing him fade so completely behind his duties pained her. It was easy to observe that she had not grasped the subtleties of his behaviour, nor had she the slightest notion of the underlying causes, but she remained nonetheless a perceptive little creature.

She saw him gaunt, in constant motion, his moments of rest far too rare in her opinion, his nights short, the profound tiredness she unconsciously noticed in his manner of moving and acting.

Severus clenched his fist. He was tempted to ignore Anemone, to hand the potions over to Poppy and hear no more of it. To continue at his pace, to grit his teeth. To press forward in his vindictiveness against himself. For changing nothing, staying in his course, however self-destructive it might be, was easier...

Easier.

He froze, startled by his own thoughts. He rose abruptly, Anemone taking flight with a small frightened hoot to seek refuge in her little house atop the wardrobe. He scarcely noticed, his mind in turmoil. He felt his fingers tremble as he paced his study back and forth.

His punishment, his self-inflicted torment to pay the price of his damnation. So thoroughly had he allowed himself to be devoured by this unrelenting rhythm that going on seemed easier than making a small decision, than altering his way of life in the most minute fashion.

He turned his head sharply towards his desk. His fist closing, his nails carving white crescents into his palm. His gaze settling once more upon the crystal phials, the letter, the imprint of his little owl's paw...

Raising his head towards the top of the wardrobe, he met Anemone's gaze, her big green eyes barely visible beyond the entrance to her little house.

Easier...

In any other circumstance, he would have ignored this realisation, would have pushed it to the deepest recesses of his mind, burying it beneath his memories, his thoughts, losing it in the darkest meanders of his soul never to encounter it again. After all, he was merely a man living on borrowed time, awaiting the Dark Lord's return to resume his role as spy, and to fight until getting to pay the ultimate price.

But he was no longer the only one whose life depended upon his own.

He glanced at the clock. 23:10. Two hours before his usual curfew.

Without a word, he seized one of the crystal phials, drank a sip of the vaporous liquid with its lavender colour and taste, and stepped in his bedroom.

oOOOo

Minerva cast her fifth sideways glance at Severus of the morning, and they were still only at breakfast.

Severus sat to her right, a steaming cup of tea in hand, his newspaper resting upon his knees. Nothing unusual at first glance. Save for how the little owl was standing upon his shoulder, prouder and more upright than usual. But to Minerva's keen eye, after years of acquaintance with the man... She could clearly see the change.

For several days now, his gaze had been sharper, more focused. His movements seemed more fluid, his speech sharper, his bearing more dignified. Truth be told, she had seen Severus in this state before, several times in fact, but never for days on end, and always upon returning from holidays... This realisation did not, however, solve the mystery... Rather than continue to rack her brains over this unsolvable puzzle, she spoke to Severus directly.

"You're looking well," she declared, raising an eyebrow.

Severus shot her a jaded sideways look and took a sip of tea before responding. "Indeed, I guess I am."

Minerva was surprised by Severus's tone; it was as though admitting this fact was akin to biting into a sour lemon.

Sensing the potential for good, tasty, gossip in the air, she pressed on. "Has something pleasant happened to you recently? A new acquaintance?" She had never seen nor heard tell of any romantic entanglement involving Severus. From what she knew, the man had likely never experienced such a thing. Judging by his pinched expression, her barb had sufficiently needled him to make him open a little.

"Anemone and a colleague have provided sufficiently acceptable arguments for me to take a dose of relaxant before retiring each evenings," he offered by way of explanation.

Minerva froze for a moment, her gaze drifting to settle upon the little wilderfolk comfortably perched upon Severus's shoulder. The latter, noticing her attention, puffed up her soft feathers with even more pride.

With amusement mingled with horror, she recalled the whispers in the corridors after each return from holidays. "Will the students survive you with so much energy?"

"I doubt my new improved wellbeing will impair my teaching abilities, Minerva."

"I've no doubt of that, Severus," she sighed, hoping that at least some students survived the week.

oOOOo

"I'm sorry, Mr Snape, I haven't time to waste on such nonsense. Please leave my office."

...

"An owl? You want me to teach an owl to read? Are you having me on?"

"It's a wilderfolk, I..."

"No, Mr Snape, my refusal is absolute."

...

"Does your... Anemone intend to take human form during teaching time, should I agree?" asked Mrs Wallis.

"Anemone firmly refuses to take human form. I don't know the cause of this choice, but as a mind mage, I can attest that Anemone is indeed a wilderfolk possessed of human-level consciousness and intelligence. Your teaching would not be wasted," he explained for the umpteenth time.

"Mr Snape, I'm not qualified to teach reading to an owl. Consequently, I must refuse. However, I do recommend you seek a psychiatrist for your owl. It's recognised that many wilderfolk experience discomfort in their human form, but such aversion is suspect."

"Thank you for your time, Mrs Wallis. I shall take your advice into consideration..." He had been planning for some time to broach this subject with Anemone, but it was still too early. She surely didn't trust him enough yet to open up in such a way to a stranger simply because he had asked her to.

oOOOo

Anemone was not in the habit of spending much time in the Slytherin common room. It was far easier for her to pass directly through the owl flap in the cliff face to access Severus's quarters and her little house.

These past few days, she had developed a certain fascination for the huge window strengthened with bronze arches and arabesques that opened onto the depths of the lake. She found herself spending many long minutes perched upon the backs of armchairs, her gaze seeking to pierce the mysteries of those aquatic expanses stretching before her. She had seen merpeople with half-human, half-fish bodies undulating gracefully through the greenish waters. Schools of eels and silver-scaled fish. Once, she had even found herself face to face with the gigantic eye of an octopus of absurd proportions looking at the inside of the common room, each sucker on its tentacles several times her size.

Moreover, she had realised that the Slytherin common room was quite a peaceful place despite the presence of students. Conversations were generally held in hushed tones, with the notable absence of the shouts and overly loud voices that most children she'd had the misfortune to encounter in the corridors seemed to like using so much.

She even received a reasonable amount of positive attention, with certain students coming to stroke her and scratch her head. She received no treats from them, however, something about "Snape's privilege," whatever that meant.

Today, she'd had the pleasure of discovering that a perch had been installed just beside the great glass wall, at a spot from which she could both see the entirety of the common room and admire the vast underwater world.

She was rather more pestered than usual, several groups of students coming to shower her with attention and pets. She didn't really mind... even though Severus's caresses were far superior.

oOOOo

It was during one of those evenings shared with the least insufferable of his colleagues, usually spent drinking, speaking, and generally allowing her to ensure he was not at risk of reaching breaking point, that he set his pride aside. He had reached a difficult choice, and he needed to speak about it.

"I need your advice, Minerva." Severus declared, breaking the thoughtful silence towards which their conversation had slowly drifted this past half-hour. His voice was weary, his gaze fixed upon the embers glowing softly at the bottom of the grate, ephemeral gems gleaming from within, rendered more beautiful still by their mask of ash.

With fluid movements of his wrist, he delicately swirled the amber stream of firewhisky in the bottom of his crystal glass, his thoughts entirely focused upon the problem that had been vexing his mind for several weeks now.

"What is it, Severus?" she asked in a measured voice tinged with surprise and curiosity. It must be admitted that it was not often he acknowledged such vulnerability.

"It concerns Anemone."

"Is your wilderfolk causing you problems?" she enquired, concern in her gaze.

"Anemone's work and behaviour are entirely satisfactory thus far. Unless you have something unpleasant to report about her, I have no complaints." Until now, though being far more affectionate, greedy, and demanding of attention than Arold, Anemone had fulfilled her part of the contract to perfection. "The difficulty I face is of another nature. You see, Anemone has expressed her desire to learn how to read, and I have since been searching for a suitable tutor. Thus far, I have been met with refusal after refusal."

Minerva frowned. "It's an admirable initiative on Anemone's part, and you seem to be taking it very seriously. It must be difficult to find someone willing to take seriously the task of teaching a wilderfolk to read, but with your contacts, you should have found someone by now."

"Indeed, several of the tutors I've contacted are receptive to the idea of teaching a wilderfolk, but they have a condition I cannot satisfy. They require that Anemone be in human form during their lessons, so communication is possible. Anemone, for her part, refuses to take human form, even when she is alone. She has a profound revulsion for her other form that I struggle to explain." He could not prevent a note of frustration from creeping into his voice.

"And is there a reason why you don't try again? I'm certain the person you're looking for exists, somewhere."

"I do not wish to expose Anemone's wilderfolk nature more than necessary. People talk, and I already fear that rumours might begin to spread. That could put her in danger."

"I imagine you're considering alternatives?"

"I'm contemplating widening my search to the Muggle world. I believe there exist institutions specialising in teaching mute children, or at the very least people trained for such work. Which is sufficiently similar to Anemone's case to be viable." he explained in a thoughtful tone.

"What you're proposing is very risky, Severus." Minerva said, straightening in her chair and setting down her glass.

"Don't worry, I shall take the necessary precautions."

"How do you intend to go about it?" she asked with a pinched expression.

"Andrew Richmond's parents are Muggles, both literature teachers at a secondary school in York. I'm on good terms with them, and have good reason to believe they would have the contact of a teacher with the pedagogical skills I'm seeking."

Minerva rose from her armchair and moved towards her drinks cabinet, a handsome piece of polished wood furniture from which she slid open a panel. To his great surprise, she withdrew a bottle of elven wine, which Severus knew she kept for special occasions, along with two crystal stemmed glasses.

"What's the occasion?" he asked without bothering to hide his surprise.

"In honour of the fact that for the first time in far too long, you give me the impression of being alive, Severus. That little owl works wonders." she laughed softly whilst pouring him a glass.

Severus suppressed his bitterness and took a sip of the delicious tannic nectar. Minerva was right, making what she had just said all the more vexing.

oOOOo

The previous evening, Severus had announced that he would have no post for her to carry today. Feeling a strange mixture of disappointment at having no work, and joy at the prospect of having an entire day free, Anemone had departed in the dead of night through the familiar's passage.

She had flown towards the wild mountainous moors, above the rounded and weathered peaks whose grey forms she could see by the light of the moon and stars dotting the night sky.

Her large owl eyes afforded her vision entirely in shades of grey, yet detailed despite the darkness, offering her sight of the tall monoliths standing out from the landscape like ancient fangs.

She took great care to skirt the will-o'-the-wisps dancing in soft, gentle waltzes in the hollows of the hills, or the long tongues of mist moving in fluid curves, both too swift and coherent to be natural.

Just as the very first glimmers of dawn began to draw the black of the sky towards its shades of blue and slowly erase the stars, she reached a small sleeping village surrounded by vast meadows enclosed by dry stone walls overgrown with moss. She perched atop a tall wooden post at the village entrance and scrutinised the ground in search of a rodent.

Anemone still did not know how to hunt, and was terribly ashamed of it. What was an owl worth that could not capture a field mouse? Not much, obviously.

After half an hour of intense observation, she was distracted by the soft, melodious sound of a flute, accompanied by the noise of dancing footsteps. She turned her head behind her to discover a strange procession.

A being with goat's legs clothed in a great grey cloak, from whose hood protruded four long twisted horns, playing an odd twin-piped flute, was leading some fifteen cats towards the village. Small ones, large ones, fat ones, thin ones, grey ones, white ones, ginger ones. All were walking and trotting, squabbling, some even walking on their hind legs as they entered the village. A shiver ran through her plumage when from beneath their strange guide's hood, two yellow eyes with horizontal pupils fixed upon her.

The sound of the flute was bewitching; misty silhouettes dancing amidst will-o'-the-wisps sprang to life in her mind, whilst her wings itched to join the procession.

When the very first ray of sunlight crossed the horizon, extinguishing with it some dozens of stars, the sound of the flute ceased, and the cats dispersed, returning to the houses, passing through cat flaps. There was no longer any trace of the flute player.

Anemone remained perched atop her post for a long while, until light flooded the misty moor. She was distracted from her thoughts and confusion trying to grasp the nature of what she had just witnessed when she spotted slipping through the grass the silhouette of an innocent field rat.

An hour later, she departed for Hogwarts, her stomach and talons empty, and full of frustration.

oOOOo

That morning, Lucy received a strange letter in her letterbox. An envelope of fine thick paper, sealed with red wax, its contents written in beautiful, careful calligraphy.

Mrs Sinclair,

I am Severus Snape, chemistry teacher at Hamlice School.

I obtained your contact details from Mr Ethan Richmond, who told me he knows you and assured me that you are competent in pedagogical methods concerning the teaching of disabled children.

Would you be so kind as to confirm this and tell me whether you would be open to discussing the possibility of giving private lessons, remunerated at negotiable rates.

I wish you a good day.

With my distinguished salutations, Severus Snape

Lucy set the letter down upon the table and, intrigued, she picked up her phone and dialled the Richmond household number. It had been a long time since she had spoken with this colleague, and he owed her some clarification.

...

Mr Snape,

Please know first of all that I appreciate your offer, and your willingness to find someone capable of providing teaching adapted to the particularities of the person for whose benefit you are approaching me.

I can indeed confirm that I am trained in teaching and pedagogical methods concerning persons affected by mutism, deafness and visual impairments.

However, I would rather recommend that you approach the local Council Education Department and request the "Additional Support for Learning" service. You will thus be able to access the necessary resources to help the person for whom you are making this approach.

Yours sincerely, Mrs Sinclair

...

Mrs Sinclair,

Thank you for your prompt response, as well as your recommendations.

However, I cannot go through official channels for the case with which I am dealing. Anemone Snape suffers from a condition which, in addition to rendering her mute and unable to learn sign language, prevents her from appearing in public.

I therefore find myself compelled to contact competent persons directly, capable of providing her with appropriate teaching. I ask you to consider my request, and am prepared for us to meet in person to discuss what I cannot commit to paper regarding Anemone's case.

Mr and Mrs Richmond will doubtless be able to attest to my good faith and my intentions.

Yours sincerely, Severus Snape

oOOOo

Before leaving the home of Mr, Mrs and Dudley, Anemone had never really had the opportunity to explore anything. She was always put to work on household chores, and was rarely allowed outside, save to help tend the garden. So much so that never before had she been able to enjoy the beauties of autumn.

Early that morning, when the first rays of sunlight had just crossed the peaks of the mountains surrounding the valley, caressing with their golden light the grey stones of the tall spires soaring towards the sky dotted with small cottony clouds, she had launched herself skyward.

The air was cold between her feathers, enough to make her shiver, but not enough to force her to turn back and retreat to the warmth of the castle. She flew over the lake covered with thick mists, and headed towards the great forest. The shimmering colours that the autumn foliage had taken on delighted her eyes. The forest that just a few weeks ago had been an ocean of different shades of green was now a palette of magnificent reds, oranges and yellows verging on gold.

She would soon have to go to Hogsmeade to fetch Severus's newspaper, but she still had a little time left to enjoy flying over the multicoloured canopy. The infinite colours streaming past at full speed beneath her wings whilst the castle receded behind her.

What secrets did this foliage conceal? Her curiosity urged her to slip between the branches to discover them and perhaps even bring back a precious ingredient to Severus. Her previous attempts had not been crowned with success, Severus having looked at her with outrage when she had brought him a pile of blooming moss, blades of weird grass or even pretty branches. Before taking the time to explain that not everything was an ingredient and that this was perfectly ordinary moss.

By Christmas, she had sworn to find a suitable gift for Severus, and thus thank him for everything he had done for her. Now was not the time to advance in this quest, however. She therefore turned towards the Hogsmeade postal relay.

She crossed the edge of the forest, beat her wings above the meadows until finally performing acrobatics between the rooftops of Hogsmeade.

The village's owl post relay was on the third floor of a round tower of old stones overgrown with ivy, topped with an upturned bowl-shaped roof. Several windows were wide open, their red-painted wooden shutters fastened to the exterior. She slipped inside, her eyes adapting instantly to the dim light. A small clerk worked there, organising newspapers into different piles.

He saw her arrive, and watched her perch upon the pile of the Northern Herald. She gave a small indignant hoot to spur him into action. She had to hurry if she wanted to succeed in bringing Severus his newspaper before the horde of other owls descended upon the Great Hall.

oOOOo

It was with apprehension that Lucy Sinclair waited in her personal office at Victoria Primary School, perched upon one of the windswept shores of Edinburgh Bay. The small room with walls covered in white roughcast and flooring made of imitation parquet would have been impersonal, had said walls not been adorned with the colourful results of her class's latest art project, and had several photographs of herself and her three beloved daughters not graced her desk, always bringing her a little cheer even on her most difficult days.

Today could have been one of those very bad days, when the dark abysses of her mind called to her with their deadly sweet voices, had she not had the prospect of this strange appointment hovering over her thoughts throughout the day.

She glanced at the clock hanging on the wall: only five minutes before her mysterious correspondent's arrival.

Nervously tapping her pen against the chipboard surface of her desk, she reorganised once more the sheets she would use to take notes, as well as the few letters she had exchanged with Mr Snape that had led to this interview.

In other circumstances, without this lengthy exchange, and without the Richmonds' confirmation that Mr Snape was an honourable man, Lucy would never have accepted such a dubious proposition.

Throughout their epistolary exchange, Mr Snape had been quite clear: he was requesting her services as a private tutor, specialising in the education of disabled children, to teach Anemone Snape to read, whom he had described as having unique difficulties requiring an innovative approach. For these services, he proposed to pay her three times the average hourly rate of her profession.

His apparent refusal to go through legal institutions to provide Miss Anemone with an education was highly suspect, and triggered all sorts of alarm bells within her.

If Mr Snape had not implied in his letters that the aforementioned Anemone Snape was a rare case combining mutism and inability to use sign language, making her one of the few options with the pedagogical background to teach the poor girl to read. If she hadn't been struggling to make ends meet to house and feed her three daughters after their father had decided to abandon them. And if Professor Richmond had not vouched for Mr Snape's good intentions, she would not have considered accepting such a questionable opportunity.

She did need to pay for Marine's studies and continue buying medicines for Emilie's condition...

When three distinct knocks sounded against her door, she straightened in her chair, took a deep breath, and said in a strong voice: "Come in!"

The door opened silently, revealing a tall, thin man dressed in a great black coat covering a three-piece suit that was admittedly old but of great elegance, in black and charcoal grey hues. His mid-length black hair, somewhat greasy, framed his face in undulating curves. His face was hard, closed, his grey eyes sparkling beneath thick eyebrows, above a strong aquiline nose, thin lips and a pointed chin at the end of his square jaw, adorned with a carefully trimmed goatee.

He cut an imposing figure as he advanced into her office with long, determined strides, his gaze plunging into hers making her shiver with apprehension.

"Good morning, Mr Snape, I presume?" she said, straightening in her seat, back straight, refusing to be intimidated.

"Good morning, Mrs Sinclair. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he replied in a baritone voice.

"Please take a seat," she said, indicating with one hand one of the chairs facing her desk. Said standard metal chair padded with black fabric suddenly seemed quite inadequate for such a visitor, but she banished this thought, concentrating on the stakes of this meeting. At least Mr Snape seemed at first glance as polite and refined in person as in writing.

He sat with dignity on the edge of the seat and addressed her. "First of all, I wish to thank you for considering my proposal," he said, studying her.

She glanced at the notes she had taken from their epistolary exchange and replied: "Mr Snape, whilst I am pleased that you care about Miss Anemone's education, please know that it is very unusual for me to receive requests from a private individual, and this type of approach is discouraged. I advise you again to seek an institutional way."

A strange gleam of satisfaction was born in Severus's gaze. "Mrs Sinclair, your integrity is one of the reasons I turned to you in the first place. I am pleased to see that I was not mistaken. But as I told you, Anemone's particularities make it impossible to go through normal channels for this type of case whilst being taken seriously. Anemone's condition is more... comprehensive than I think you imagine, and closes these possibilities to her."

Lucy could not help grimacing; the poor girl, she preferred not to imagine what might have happened to her for Mr Snape to consider these avenues of action as closed to her. But it was also very suspicious; perhaps Anemone was undocumented and Severus was harbouring her illegally? The disturbing possibilities coming to mind were not lacking.

"So, if I understand correctly, you wish to engage me as a private tutor for Miss Anemone Snape, with the aim of teaching her to read. And you are turning to me because many of your previous contacts have refused this opportunity because of the learning difficulties inherent to Miss Anemone's physical condition."

"That is correct," he replied, a gleam of interest in his gaze.

"In our correspondence, however, you did not explain said difficulties that Anemone encounters. I imagine it concerns a medical secret that you did not wish to commit to paper?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, confident in her deduction.

"You may indeed consider the problem to be of similar nature. However, before explaining what it entails, I need to apprise you of a broader context, necessary for proper understanding of the situation."

She leaned forward. The discussion was becoming increasingly interesting, and she appreciated the fact that Mr Snape had not wasted several minutes of their time on pleasantries before addressing the heart of the matter.

"To do so, however, it is necessary that you understand that what I am about to share with you is an important secret. The choice is yours: you may either agree to listen and swear to keep the secret, or refuse now, and we shall leave it at that," he explained in a calm voice.

A new shiver ran down her spine. Her curiosity was piqued to the quick; nothing so interesting had happened to her for years. She could not quite see why such a secret needed to be divulged for her to be able to teach Miss Anemone, but...

Warily, she asked: "In the event that I agree to keep the secret and listen to you, but find myself also unable to help Miss Anemone? What happens then?"

"I would find myself obliged to erase your memory of this meeting as well as all the letters we have exchanged. You would resume the course of your life, and it would be as though nothing had happened."

Erase memory? What sort of nonsense was he telling her? But his most serious demeanour contrasted terribly with the absurdity of the declaration. So much so that she decided to wait before judging. "And I imagine the same thing happens to me if I refuse to keep the secret, or if I end our exchange right now?"

"That is correct," he said calmly.

She took a deep breath and stiffened further, casting him an assured look. "I swear to reveal to no one what you are about to tell me."

"Very well. In that case, know that magic exists," he said, withdrawing from his sleeve a slender stick of dark wood.

Taken aback, Lucy watched Mr Snape warily. Was he having her on? "I need more than tangible proof in the face of such absurd allegations."

"Do you give me permission to give you a demonstration?" he asked politely.

Expecting a trick worthy of a low-grade street magician, and more out of amusement and surprise than anything else, she nodded. "Go ahead..."

He described an elegant and precise movement, like a chief musician, whilst murmuring a short litany, gibberish to her ears.

Then, all at once, she felt her chair lift off the ground, her desk and Mr Snape's chair as well, before slowly rising into the air. Taken aback, fascinated, entranced, she gripped her armrests with all her strength for a few seconds, before beginning to relax again whilst taking deep breaths. When she gently pushed against the ceiling with her hand, she felt the chair begin to descend, along with all the other furniture in her office, before settling gently on the ground at their exact starting positions.

She closed her eyes for a moment and massaged her temples, concentrating on the sensation.

She pinched the skin of her arm until she felt a sharp pain, and reopened her eyes. Mr Snape was still there, facing her, putting away his... magic wand in his sleeve.

"You are not dreaming, Mrs Sinclair."

"So..." She was seized by a coughing fit and blinked. "Can you do it again?" she asked to ensure she had not simply hallucinated.

A minute later, her chair and all the other furniture in the room settled delicately on the ground again, and Lucy, astounded, desperately tried to maintain her facade of calm and logic. "You are a magician? A real magician?"

"The term generally used in Britain is wizard and witch, but magician will suffice. To put it simply, magic exists and has probably always existed. For both genetic and environmental reasons, certain humans are born with the faculty to channel this magic and generate it within themselves. Until the seventeenth century, the existence of magic was widely known, but for social, economic, religious and military reasons, an international decree called the Statute of Secrecy was adopted. This decree organises the establishment of as complete a separation as possible between everything relating to magic and the rest.

This decree separating magical and non-magical people is still in force today, and violating the Statute of Secrecy incurs very serious sanctions."

Lucy massaged her temples again, a headache blooming behind her forehead. "So you're telling me that an entire society of wizards and witches has been living hidden for several centuries? Right under people's noses? That no one has noticed?"

Mr Snape nodded gravely. "That is not entirely accurate. Magical governments collaborate with their counterparts to maintain the secret. The Queen of England, for example, is perfectly aware of magic's existence. Legally, the Ministry of Magic is one of the official ministries of the British government. As for what enables such discretion... let us say that the means put in place to guarantee secrecy are gigantic."

"If all this remains secret, why are you taking the risk of revealing it to me? And..." a shiver of terror suddenly ran through her. "After what you've just told me, I'm not going to be assassinated by wizard assassins or something of the sort for knowing too much, am I?"

"Rest assured, Mrs Sinclair, the worst you risk is losing memory of what we have just discussed. The protocols are clear: non-magical people who learn of magic's existence must not suffer from this knowledge."

"And you? You are taking a risk, aren't you?"

"Indeed, intentionally divulging magic's existence to an unauthorised person is punishable by a heavy prison sentence."

"But... Mr Richmond told me... Wait, Mr Richmond knows? But normal people aren't supposed to know that... is Mr Richmond a magician too?"

"No, rest assured, Mr Richmond is hiding nothing of the sort from you. There are exceptions to the Statute of Secrecy. Being the direct relative of a wizard puts you in this category. Now, Mr Richmond's son is a wizard."

A million questions jostled in her skull, battering her poor brain in all directions. Instead of tying her tongue in fifteen knots trying to ask the most pressing of them, she clung to the only source of stability she could perceive in this discussion: the original reason for Mr Snape's visit to her office. "I imagine you chose to take the risk of coming to see me and revealing all this because no wizard agreed to help Anemone learn to read, and you don't have the time or aren't capable of doing it yourself... Is that it?"

"You are most perceptive, Mrs Sinclair."

"And you also told me all this because this knowledge is a prerequisite for understanding Miss Anemone's... particularity in order to help her?" she asked, trying to steer the exchange towards more familiar ground in hopes of regaining her footing. Teaching someone to read.

"Yes, it is important for this discussion that you know the following: Certain magical people are capable of changing into animals, whether through ritual, certain potions, or as the result of an inheritable magical trait. In cases where these magical people spend much time in their animal form, they sometimes reproduce with animals of the species into which they have transformed," he explained in a calm, measured tone, in complete contrast to the enormity of what had just come out of his mouth.

"Wait, isn't that illegal for your..." She searched for words for a moment. What had he called it again? "Ministry of Magic? That's bestiality!"

"Indeed, it is forbidden, but such a rule is impossible to enforce, and shape-changing magical people guilty of such things often are so after having spent too much time in animal form, which is known to cause psychological disorders," he explained patiently.

Lucy gritted her teeth. She did not like hearing such a thing and could not see the connection with Miss Anemone, but was prepared to let Mr Snape continue, seized by morbid curiosity to know where he was going with this. "I see..." she contented herself with saying.

"When this happens, the descendants of this type of union are called wilderfolk. They are animals endowed with intelligence equal to that of humans and having the capacity to take human form. In human form, it is difficult to distinguish them from normal humans, even though certain physical characteristics sometimes pass from one form to the other. Moreover, their psychology is impacted by their animal nature, which can sometimes make them strange from a human point of view."

He paused in his discourse, looking her straight in the eyes, watching each of her reactions. "Anemone is my postal owl. She is a wilderfolk and has been more than clear in her desire to learn to read these past weeks."

Lucy nodded slowly. It was indeed a decidedly specific condition. She was going mad, wasn't she? To consider accepting this... Could she really teach an owl to read... But if this owl was, as the... wizard facing her said, of human intelligence and capable of taking human form, then she should be able to do it, shouldn't she? "I'm having trouble understanding why you have so many problems finding someone who would agree to teach Anemone; her wilderfolk condition doesn't seem to be a barrier..."

"As astonishing as it may seem, many magical people are more closed-minded than you and have difficulty accepting wilderfolk existence and what it represents. Moreover, Anemone presents a particular difficulty. She firmly refuses to take her human form. Consequently, if you accept, you would be required to teach Anemone to read in her little owl form."

Lucy grimaced. Indeed, she now better understood the refusals Mr Snape had encountered. Teaching an owl to read, without possibility of verbal communication, constituted a challenge that most of her colleagues would refuse, even knowing the owl possessed human intelligence.

After several long minutes of silent reflection, Lucy said: "Before making my decision, might I meet Anemone? I shall also think about the pedagogical tools necessary for such a... case."

"Of course, we can arrange an appointment. What do you say to next Friday?"

She consulted her diary and nodded. "6 o'clock at the same place, would that suit?"

"Perfectly. I wish you a..."

"Wait!" she cried, seeing him prepare to leave.

"I would like to ask you some questions, you see. You have just overturned my view of the world, and I think you owe me a few answers."

At these words, Mr Snape sat down again and withdrew a pocket watch from his pocket which he consulted. "I have an hour and a half of my time to give you, I'm listening," he said.

Lucy leaned forward, her throat and heart burning with curiosity.

oOOOo

Even the wind howling through the trees in gusts and the curtains of rain hammering Severus's cloak had no effect on Anemone's great mood. From her hiding place in the inner pocket of the cloak, she could glimpse the storm, the rain transforming the path leading to Hogsmeade into a true river, drops striking the ground like liquid spears, raising a cold mist.

When Severus dismounted his broomstick before Hogsmeade station, the square had become a large pond, the central fountain was overflowing, and only a translucent blue magical barrier prevented the waters from surging into the station. The shutters of all the houses were closed, and no one else but them seemed brave enough or mad enough to face the storm.

To her great relief, Severus needed no persuasion to enter the station, the roar of the rain quickly becoming a muffled and more distant sound, large drops smashing against the roof. The few travellers present in the station all looked grey and morose, their mood tinted by the weather and the torrents of water pouring from the sky. The sun's rays themselves barely managed to pierce the thick dark grey clouds laden with rain, plunging the world into an evening atmosphere, forcing the station to light its lanterns even during the day. The orange glows of the dancing flames gave her the impression of being outside time.

When she felt the wave of warm air accompanied by a loud "whoosh" from Severus's spell to dry his soaked clothes, she slipped out of her hiding place and clumsily climbed up the cloak until she perched upon his shoulder. She ran her beak through his hair for a few moments to thank him for protecting her from the rain, before watching around her.

Hogsmeade station was truly a station in name only. The interior resembled a large drawing room more than anything else. It was a great hall with floors made of red and ochre brick tiles, with several wide pillars of solid wood rising up to the roof to support a vast framework. If the noise of rain on the roof had not been so loud, and Severus's shoulder not so comfortable, she would have flown off to perch on one of the large beams and have a fine bird's-eye view of the entire station whilst remaining hidden.

A ticket window opened in one wall, where a person dressed in a black uniform trimmed with red and an elegant cap upon their head was selling train tickets to a small taciturn man. Several benches and old sofas were arranged here and there, most facing a large blackboard suspended high on the wall. Giant pieces of chalk and cloth flew about, as though they were conscious. Suddenly, a cloth erased writing from the board, and a large piece of chalk wrote something else in its place.

Having doubtless sensed her curiosity, Severus explained: "It's the information board. The chalk writes the timetables and planned stops for upcoming trains, the cloths and sponges allow the chalk to indicate changes."

Ingenious... she thought to herself. And soon, she too could benefit from it! For today, the reason for her extreme good mood despite this execrable weather, Severus was taking her to meet her private tutor! She was so eager and so excited that she found herself swaying on her feet whilst giving small joyful hoots.

To her surprise, she heard a tiny laugh come from Severus, and he gently pinched her beak, Anemone immediately taking advantage to bury her head in the hollow of his hand seeking pets which she was quick to receive. "Patience, Anemone, you'll meet her soon enough," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

She saw him glance at the blackboard, and felt him sit down in one of the comfortable sofas, then he took out a newspaper. As for her, she snuggled into the hollow of his neck, hoping the train would not be long.

...

It was with great interest that Anemone discovered that rain, when not being under it herself, could be very relaxing. Especially right now, perched on the back of one of the train seats carrying them towards Edinburgh. The rain streamed in rivers and streams across the surface of the window, blurring the exterior landscape, which was already plunged into semi-darkness due to the thickness of the dark clouds. The great expanses of Scottish plains dotted with villages stretched as far as the eye could see between mountains, lochs and hills, all draped behind veils of rain. The purring of the train engine mingled with the soft hammering of rain on the roof and windows, acting like a lullaby that would have been enough to send her to sleep if she were not so excited at the prospect of meeting this kind lady, Lucy Sinclair, whom Severus had described.

Several stops followed one another, Anemone amusing herself watching groups of people as diverse as they were motley getting on and off, but all having in common being soaked to the bone and visibly bothered by the bad weather.

When Edinburgh station finally arrived, Anemone needed no persuasion to take refuge in the inner pocket of Severus's cloak. It was not because she had internally mocked all those poor people smelling of wet dog that she wanted to join them in that category.

That said, she would rather smell like wet owl.

From her hiding place, she saw only fragments of Severus's journey, him leaving the station, hurrying through the rain before taking shelter at a bus stop. The bus packed with wet, cold and discontented people shook them on the road and through puddles until finally Severus got off a few stops later and walked again in the rain for a few minutes.

It was with relief that she saw from her hiding place that they were entering the hall of a large, very cubic building. There were not many people inside; the place was quiet and very bright, lit by long bright tubes attached to the ceiling casting no shadows. Everything was far too white for Anemone's taste, so much so that she preferred to close her eyes and sink deeper into the pocket.

She heard Severus exchange a few words with a gentleman at reception, something about an appointment, being expected, and Mrs Lucy Sinclair. There was Severus walking again, this time through corridors with pale lavender walls, when she ventured to look. With each of his steps, she became more excited. He stopped before a door and knocked three firm knocks against it.

"Come in!" said a voice inside.

When Severus opened the door, Anemone exploded out of his pocket, the intensity of her excitement being unbearable. She did a lap of the room hooting joyfully, barely noticing Severus hurrying to close the door behind him.

It was a small room with off-white roughcast walls on which colourful drawings were hung, and shelves filled with files. A window at the back of the room gave a view over Edinburgh Bay, and towards the middle of the room stood a large, well-ordered desk behind which sat a lady. Lucy Sinclair, Severus had said.

Anemone landed on the desk, hooted joyfully whilst spreading her wings to say hello, before tilting her head to one side to observe Lucy. She was a tall, very thin lady with long red hair tied in two pretty thick plaits on either side of her face falling onto her chest. Her amber eyes were wide, above a small, fine nose and high cheekbones dotted with freckles. Her mouth was half-open, revealing her white teeth. She wore a green woollen jacket, open over a black dress covered with white floral patterns.

She closed her mouth with an audible snap and blinked several times before rubbing her eyes and blinking again. Was Lucy all right? Odd reaction...

"Good morning, Mrs Sinclair," said Severus, approaching before sitting on a seat facing the desk.

"Good morning, Severus. Good morning... Anemone, is that right?" she asked in a hesitant voice.

"Hooot!" replied Anemone joyfully, nodding her head.

"You... understand what I'm saying? One hoot for yes, two for no," said Lucy in a hesitant voice.

"Hoot!" replied Anemone enthusiastically. Then, finding this question strange, she turned towards Severus. Hadn't he explained to Lucy?

"Anemone, Mrs Sinclair is a non-magical person. She discovered magic's existence only a few days ago, and therefore requires regular proof that all this is not a hallucination, or a hoax as elaborate as it is cruel," explained Severus in a calm voice.

Anemone nodded slowly. That made sense; the poor lady must be quite surprised. After all, she could easily imagine that discovering magic and all these absurdities could be more than unsettling. Seized by a sudden wave of compassion, she approached Lucy and grasped her sleeve with her beak, pulling gently until she could rub her feathery cheek against Lucy's hand. She had heard Severus grumbling about the difficulties he had had finding her a teacher, and this lady was prepared to teach an owl; she well deserved all the comfort she could provide.

It was with great satisfaction that she saw a smile appear on Lucy's face and her features relax. Soon, she felt Lucy's hand glide gently over her plumage with surprising gentleness and care.

She saw Lucy's gaze fill with determination. She cast a quick glance at Severus before turning to her again. "Anemone, know that I am happy to be your reading teacher from now on. Do you agree to learn with me?" she asked in a gentle voice.

Overflowing with joy, Anemone nodded with a resounding "hoot." Lucy's smile widened, illuminating her face, and she turned to Severus again.

"Mr Snape, I propose two hours every Saturday morning, from 10 to 12 o'clock. Would that suit you and Anemone?"

As this depended mainly on her work as a postal owl and when Severus entrusted her with letters to carry, she turned her large hopeful eyes in his direction, dancing from one foot to the other in her excitement.

"That seems very reasonable to me. I deduce that Anemone would come to study at your home?" said Severus.

"Yes, if that doesn't trouble you."

"Very well, Anemone will come to find you on time every Saturday. If you wish to contact me, write what you have to say on paper and attach it to her leg. She will bring it to me."

Lucy straightened a little in her chair. "By the way, Mr Snape, I can only communicate non-verbally, or through binary questions with Anemone. Yet you seem to understand her. If ever Anemone has complex questions, requests, or anything else to tell me, do you think you could write them down? I could thus read them at the beginning of each session and answer to Anemone."

Severus nodded. "That's a good solution to this problem." Then, he withdrew from a pocket of his cloak a yellowed paper rolled and tied with a black ribbon. "Here is the contract I propose to you, it consists of..."

Anemone quickly lost all interest in what Severus and Lucy were discussing. There were many complicated words and it seemed very boring. Instead of paying attention, she enjoyed the caresses Lucy was giving her.

Despite the rain beating against the windows, it was one of the most beautiful days of her life.

She was going to learn to read!

Chapter Text

Since her beginnings as Severus's postal owl, Malfoy Manor had been one of her regular destinations. At least once a week, Severus took the trouble to send a letter to Narcissa, more rarely to Lucius. Truth be told, Anemone rather liked delivering to them.

Lucius was someone cold, his face hard, with an implacable way of acting. When she had to deliver mail directly to him, the rare occasions when it wasn't Narcissa who collected both letters, he would simply take the post without a word, ignoring her entirely.

Not much to say about this gentleman, save that he had a rather fine walking stick.

It was better when Narcissa collected the mail. Though stern, she always gave in to the temptation to scratch Anemone's head and give her treats.

The pinnacle of happiness came when Agnes was with Narcissa. Which was very often the case. Agnes seemed to adore her! And her caresses were simply delicious. More than once, Anemone had fallen asleep on her lap whilst waiting for Narcissa to write her reply to Severus, thanks to Agnes's talented fingers reducing her to a puddle of pleasure as they massaged her plumage.

Today was one of those happy days!

For when she came within sight of the tall white stone manor, she felt the magical link guiding her to her destination pull her towards the grand gardens. In this autumn season, the trees were losing their multicoloured leaves, revealing their skeletal branches, and no flowers adorned the flowerbeds and bushes any longer, but it seemed mild enough that she could spot Narcissa and Agnes seated around a small metal table in a gazebo.

Neither of them heard her, allowing her to perch discreetly on one of the white-painted wooden beams where vines and ivy climbed, to observe them. Both were engaged in conversation around a pretty teapot and matching cups with floral patterns, with small colourful cakes available in a shallow bowl.

Both wore light robes in pastel colours, falling to their ankles, with delicate sleeves reaching just above their wrists. Rather light garments for the season... Perhaps the gazebo was protected from the chill by one of those magics she'd heard Severus mention? She also noticed that they were holding hands across the table, Narcissa's thumb caressing Agnes's delicate knuckles.

Deciding that the two ladies wouldn't mind seeing her, she glided down to perch on the edge of the table and drew their attention with a soft little hoot.

Agnes startled, but not Narcissa, who merely glanced at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Severus's reply arrives rather early," said Agnes, having recovered.

"I think he's contacting me about something else, it's not like him to break the rhythm of our correspondence like this."

Whilst the two ladies discussed her unexpected arrival, Anemone hopped closer, proudly extending her leg adorned with the small black ring to Narcissa, proud of having accomplished another mission with aplomb!

Narcissa retrieved the letter, whilst, as had become custom, Agnes caught her and placed her delicately on her lap before beginning to scratch her head and stroke her back just as she liked. Oh, and indeed, it was warmer than usual beneath the gazebo.

Under Agnes's hands, almost all thought ceased, Anemone abandoning herself completely. She noticed from the corner of her eye Narcissa's expression hardened, and a pained sigh escaped her lips as she read the letter.

She exchanged a few words with Agnes about needing to fetch something... information? Severus needing help with... yes, just there on the neck... Her own little hoots prevented her from hearing the rest... not that it mattered much. Nothing could be more important than Agnes's hands on her wings at that moment.

Anemone remained in this state until, despite her hoots of distress, Agnes rose to join Narcissa, who had called her for assistance. She remained collapsed on the table for a moment, motionless to recover from the cuddle.

She was beginning to be convinced that Agnes's hands were magical...

After a few minutes, she struggled upright on her two small feet and looked around. Narcissa and Agnes had gone, doubtless into the manor, leaving her alone in the garden, the silence broken only by wind in the branches and the songs of a few birds.

This was the first time Anemone had been left alone at Malfoy Manor.

Usually, Narcissa always kept an eye on her and, in any case, she only stayed at the manor long enough for Narcissa to write her reply (and left immediately in Lucius's case).

She straightened further, great excitement growing beneath her feathers.

No one to watch her.

No requests from Narcissa or Agnes.

This was the perfect opportunity to explore the grounds!

She spread her wings, let the wind fill them, testing the air with her feathers. Then, with a wingbeat, she took flight, letting herself be carried from the gazebo, rapidly gaining height, until she was gliding some ten metres above the garden.

Perhaps she could amuse herself searching for the strange large white birds she'd seen wandering about here several times. Flying over bushes, paths, vast expanses of well-trimmed lawns, she didn't encounter the peculiar birds she sought.

Perhaps they were on the other side of the manor.

But she did hear a voice coming from the end of a narrow gravel path leading into the woods at the back of the garden.

Curious, she approached, flitting between the branches with dexterity, until she reached a clearing offering her a most unusual spectacle.

There was a sort of large oval structure, made of wood, whose edges were stepped and rose outward, with a floor of packed earth. In the centre, a blond boy dressed in a forest-green robe and white scarf over a too-well-tailored suit giving him a strange appearance for a boy his age, was flying on a broomstick just above ground level.

He seemed to be pursuing a small yellow ball flying around him.

Neither the ball nor the broomstick flew very fast, nor very high for that matter, but the boy seemed to be doing his best, multiplying his efforts to seize the agile object.

On one of the high step-like seats of the wooden construction surrounding the field where the boy played, clad in dirty cloth, a sort of small creature with greyish, wrinkled skin, large bat-like ears, eyes too big for its face, and thin limbs ending in hands whose fingers had too many joints, was watching the boy with attention.

Anemone observed this spectacle for a moment, trying to understand what she was seeing.

The small yellow ball fled from the child, again and again, his fingers closing on empty air. A realisation struck Anemone. Was this how humans trained their young to hunt? She'd never seen any human try to catch field mice and rats as her instincts urged her to do, but perhaps some humans did this anyway?

She'd ask Severus when she returned.

Meanwhile, if this was a hunting exercise, she needed to participate. Perhaps by training this way she'd finally manage to capture her first vole!

Anemone dropped from her perch and glided towards the yellow ball, beating her wings at the last moment and extending her talons. The ball was so close, she could already imagine it captured! But at the last moment, it veered and slipped between her feet, her talons closing on empty air.

Surprised, she let out a hoot of sadness mixed with frustration.

She continued her flight to the top of a wooden post, needing to observe her prey more before trying again. The boy had landed, and was watching her with astonishment, his brows furrowed, as if trying to think very hard, or remember something complicated.

"Dobby! Catch the owl! She tried to steal my Golden Snitch!"

The strange creature then launched itself towards her position, so fast it was a blur, almost as if it were flying, cutting through the air until it took shape just beside her, its long fingers ready to grip her.

An instant earlier, Anemone had spread her wings, frightened by the boy's sudden cry, and taken flight. She didn't wait about, fleeing at full wing towards the manor, her little heart pounding beneath her feathers.

The creature tried to catch her once more by projecting itself towards the sky, up above the treetops, but she managed to escape once again, "Dobby's" fingers sliding over her feathers.

Frightened, she fled without looking back.

She needed to remain in the vicinity to collect Narcissa's reply, but there was no question of approaching that corner of the gardens again.

oOOOo

Severus was not a man capable of tolerating inactivity for long.

Consequently, when, in his early days as an apprentice potioner, he had gone to harvest "tinted dew" without the necessary working materials within reach to make the wait bearable, he had sworn never to repeat such an error.

He was therefore seated cross-legged atop an ancient dolmen, in the midst of moorlands of tall yellowed grasses swept by winds. The ancient standing stones, carved with symbols some so old they were completely indecipherable, dotted the landscape with their forms. Sometimes tall and straight, like stoic stone guardians meditating on the ravages of ages. Sometimes round and elongated, their soft forms distinguishable from the gentle curves of the hills only by the grey, ochre and russet colours of stone invaded by lichen and moss.

In the distance, he could see the grey silhouette of Hogwarts's tall towers emerging from the mist, dark forms somewhere beneath the sky in which very large cottony clouds drifted, some forming veritable white mountains. Their vast shadows glided across the moors.

The air was clear, crystalline, washed by recent rain that had brought all the dust to ground. Giving it an almost briny taste, accompanying the growing freshness of this mid-autumn, heralding the first breaths of nascent winter.

Apart from the wind, a few animals slipping between the grasses, and timid birds, silence reigned. A jewel he knew all the more precious and fragile after an entire week spent suffering the incessant chatter, cries and screams of the horde of turbulent monsters having the audacity to call themselves students.

This relative silence was also what allowed him to hear the regular "plop, plop" of drops of "tinted dew" falling one by one into his carefully placed vials beneath the dolmen.

Water infused with moonlight and starlight, running over ancient rocks placed at telluric nodes, finally to be filtered through "percolite mosses". The resulting milky liquid was very precious for all manner of uses. Its essence charged with neutral, pure elemental magic served marvellously as a base for all sorts of potions based on elemental theories, and as a stabilising agent to allow the mixing of naturally incompatible ingredients.

He had to make the harvest himself, his magic indirectly influencing the process, making use of the liquid risky for any other potions master due to questions of aura compatibility.

For this reason, tinted dew was nowhere to be found on the market, save in the form of poor, diminished imitations, bordering on fraud. And many practitioners of the art of potions less zealous than himself preferred not to use this ingredient at all, not being prepared to devote the hours, technique and concentration necessary to harvest it themselves.

Meanwhile, he sat cross-legged on a dolmen, the latest issues of "Natural Alchemy" on his knees, reading with attention the published results of his American colleagues' latest work. Whilst gradually, his vials filled.

Regularly, he descended from his perch to look beneath the dolmen and adjust the vials, so that the thin stream of liquid falling drop by drop from the fine fibres of the grey mosses fell properly into the bottom of the crystal vials. Moving those whose source had dried up to other strands of moss still filtering the tinted dew.

A small flash of amusement crossed his mind when he thought back to the last time he'd taken a seventh-year class to harvest, and one of the fools had thought it wise to milk the mosses, believing himself cleverer than everyone else, before proudly bringing him vials full of corrupted dew.

He had then accepted his work without saying anything.

When the time came to use the said dew, he had let the idiot proceed, until his cauldron exploded in his face. It was with great satisfaction that he had used this unfortunate accident as an example to explain to his class that if things are done a certain way, it's because there's a reason. All the more so in a quasi-ritual act, such as harvesting this precise ingredient.

He had returned to reading an article about the potential discovery of a new reactive agent to moonstone, when he felt, before seeing, an approaching presence.

First a patch of colour and vivid emotions, bright and above all familiar, at the limits of his perception. Far more complex than the erratic minds of animals he could sense in the vicinity.

Then, the appearance of that small dark form standing out against the sky.

Anemone flew to him, let out a hoot full of joy, accompanied by sensations crossing the surface of the little owl's mind, erasing all doubt about what she felt.

She circled the dolmen three times, vivid curiosity clearly visible in her, before coming to perch delicately on his shoulder. Her beak immediately found his hair, which she'd taken to trying to untangle, without much success, incidentally.

He should have scolded her for that the first time. Set clearer boundaries... But now, it was far too late. He suppressed a sigh, and his hand came to stroke Anemone's head whilst his lips fought against the formation of a smile.

Anemone's desire to tell him something was clear, so he concentrated on the surface of her mind, coloured, ever-changing, traversed by waves of thoughts and emotions which he chose to interpret from the surface. A vision of a white stone manor, white birds strolling in the front garden. Narcissa reading a letter. The intense pleasure of Agnes's caresses. Wind in wings, moorland rushing beneath her, pride in a mission accomplished.

He therefore retrieved Narcissa's reply, which he slipped into his pocket, and retrieved the small metal treat tin he'd taken to carrying with him permanently. He extracted one that Anemone hastened to seize in her small beak with joy intense enough to surprise him.

It was something he'd not yet grown accustomed to. Emotions so visceral, pure, more intense than human consciousness allows one to experience. Freed from invisible bonds.

Anemone having settled on his shoulder in such a way that it was clear she had no intention of moving anytime soon, Severus was about to read Narcissa's letter when another wave of emotion ran through Anemone. Curiosity, mixed with a certain fear? No... A memory, something had frightened her, but curiosity dominated. With a strange nuance of guilt.

His owl had an important question, it seemed.

A clearing in the woods behind the manor, the mini Quidditch pitch where he himself had been dragged more than once by his godson. Said godson on a toy broomstick trying to catch a practice Golden Snitch. Association with hunting memories, Anemone's talons closing on empty air, whilst her prey escaped once again into the tall grass. Frustration, a desire to do better.

Ah.

"The boy you saw is called Draco. He's my godson. I'm an honorary member of his family in a way. Don't ask me why Narcissa chose me, I'm not certain myself."

Anemone tilted her head to the side with curiosity.

"No, it's not hunting training. Remember the large stadium where students regularly gather to fly on broomsticks with balls flying in all directions. What you saw is a children's version of the activity. It's a leisure pursuit, a way to have fun."

At these words, Anemone looked very disappointed. But she seemed to recover quickly, a discord in her mind becoming harmony again. She'd probably just rationalised or justified to herself what he'd just explained... Still concentrated on the surface of her mind, he then saw Draco pointing at her, shouting something, a house-elf in the stands, the latter distorting space to project itself at her and try to catch her.

"Draco must have misunderstood your intentions. He's never been able to bear the idea of sharing his toys. As for the creature, it's a house-elf. Draco must have ordered it to catch you. Be careful around them, they're more dangerous than they appear."

Anemone pressed closer to him, settling in the hollow of his neck, her curiosity satisfied.

So, this reply... He truly hoped Narcissa would agree to arrange a meeti ng with Mr Rothschild for him. What he'd learned about his way of "educating" his daughter was completely unacceptable, and he needed to try addressing the problem diplomatically, before being forced to act in a more... drastic fashion.

oOOOo

Today, Anemone had received no mission from Severus. She was therefore free to do as she pleased.

However, the driving rain against the castle windows, giving the impression that the landscape was hidden beneath a shroud, had discouraged her from the idea of going out for a fly.

Tired from several recent long journeys (Marianne had been very pleased to receive a letter from Severus, and playing with her familiars, Cinder, Saffron and Jasper had been almost as tiring as the journey itself), she'd chosen to remain in her nest quite determined to nap all day.

Well, until evening, having indeed slept all day, she found herself full of energy, with nothing to do. Especially as Severus's sitting room was most tedious. She glanced at her money jar now almost full of her accumulated wages since beginning her employment with Severus. Perhaps she should consider the option of asking Severus to buy her a toy with the money she'd earned. After all, she couldn't very well present herself at a shop in the nearest village and hoot at a shopkeeper until he attached the desired toy to her leg.

She'd considered the option of going to the common room to watch the lake waters in hopes of seeing a mermaid or the giant squid, but with all this rain, the waters had become too murky to properly enjoy the underwater spectacle.

If it were up to her, she'd have gone to perch on Severus's shoulder for a cuddle, but he hadn't yet finished his class, and she wasn't allowed to disturb him at such times.

In the end, she remained in her nest, half-dozing, imagining adventures she might have. All the voles she could catch with a bit of training, her imagination carrying her far above the clouds, to heights where she knew her little wings were incapable of bearing her. Well... she'd never really tried, flying very high should be possible, just not something normal for an owl like her... Perhaps it would be good to know her limits...

Her thoughts scattered when Severus entered the sitting room with determined steps. Then into his bedroom... He emerged a few minutes later muttering something unintelligible and headed for the exit.

Anemone immediately took flight and came to perch on Severus's shoulder, no question of letting him slip away, not when she could finally have her much-desired cuddle! Once properly settled on what had become her favourite perch, she felt Severus's fingers scratch the back of her head. Bliss.

Having nothing better to do, she decided to stay with Severus as long as he'd let her.

Oh, perhaps she'd discover new parts of the castle?

Indeed, Severus left his quarters almost immediately, and set off through the castle corridors. Taking staircases and passages of whose existence Anemone had been unaware until now. He occasionally checked his pocket watch, but didn't seem hurried.

After yet another turn revealing a long corridor whose ogival windows were adorned with rather sad-looking stained glass beneath this driving rain, Severus pushed open one of the leaf of a heavy wooden door to enter a large square room.

This was illuminated by candles floating in the air, as well as a large wood fire. Coloured banners with various motifs hung from the walls. Four that she recognised as symbolising the four different groups of students at the school. The others... were unknown to her.

In the middle of the room, a large round table of rough wood banded with iron was surrounded by high-backed chairs, in which some of the professors were seated. Dumbledore sat in a chair with a higher back than the others, looking bored. His gaze brightened and a smile was born at the corner of his lips when he spotted her on Severus's shoulder. Something gentle in his expression.

When Severus sat down, all the other seats were occupied. The terrifying Minerva, Pomona, engaged in discussion with a lady with thick spectacles and a lost air... Hagrid looked half-asleep, his large dog on his lap, in a chair sized for him. Filch was upright and dignified, his inquisitive gaze and posture contrasting with his frail, thin appearance. On his lap, Miss Norris imitated her master, her bushy tail resting on her large paws with nobility, her golden gaze fixed on Anemone making her shiver with its intensity. Lydia was seated on the edge of her chair, straight as a poker, candlelight diffusing through her golden hair, the symbols around her magical eye seeming almost to vibrate. Her gaze was fixed on Dumbledore with strange intensity.

The only seat still empty was strangely filled with piled cushions. The answer to this enigma came tumbling through the door, his small arms laden with documents, Professor Flitwick perching himself atop the pile of cushions, so as to reach the same height as everyone else.

"Now that everyone has arrived, we may begin," declared Dumbledore.

During the hour that followed, Anemone tried to understand what was being discussed, even though most subjects went well over her head.

How Hogwarts managed the thing called "budget" and why everyone seemed to demand more of it so fiercely was bewildering. Especially since according to what Dumbledore said, the said "budget" wasn't sufficient to accommodate everyone's requests...

And figures, numbers, so many figures! Her head was spinning. So much so that she had to bury her face in Severus's hair several times and force herself to think of other things to avoid collapsing.

There were more interesting moments, though.

Like when the professors spoke of new students and their impressions of them. There were however far too many names for Anemone, these going in one ear and out the other.

A few names marked her nonetheless. Nymphadora Tonks, whom the terrifying Minerva seemed to have trouble tolerating. Something about her condition preventing her from grasping the subtleties of the theories on which metamorphosis is based...

Joffrey, a second-year student she'd already heard Severus mention. He was complaining about the harassment this boy suffered from a group of students from several other "houses", but Dumbledore and the other professors said they couldn't act without concrete proof. Which seemed to frustrate Severus.

Perhaps she could help? She really didn't like seeing Severus frustrated. A frustrated Severus could become a grumpy Severus, and a grumpy Severus gave fewer treats...

After the students, several projects were debated. Filius's exotic charms festival, Lydia's duelling tournament, something about needing to order a large quantity of sponges... Her attention was eroding little by little, her large eyes blinking slowly.

She thought she heard someone make a remark about her very regular presence on Severus's shoulder at one point, the latter replying something unintelligible in return... Anemone was warm, comfortable, pressed against her Severus...

When she reopened her eyes, it was because of the sensation of movement, Severus having gently seized her to place her in her little house atop the wardrobe. She let herself be handled, and when she nestled into the blankets, and felt Severus's hand stroke her head, she let herself sink into sleep without further resistance. It wasn't so often that she had an entire day to rest, and sleeping was an excellent activity.

oOOOo

Despite the discomfort of having a piece of paper wrapped around her leg, despite the swirling wind making flight difficult, despite the icy rain, fine but heavy, seeping to the heart of her plumage, Anemone overflowed with joy and excitement.

As she streaked at full wing above the rooftops of Edinburgh's tall stone houses, she felt her destination approaching more and more. Her heart was pounding in her little chest, for today would be her first reading lesson.

There, on the other side of this street, the penultimate floor of a grey stone building. She perched on the window ledge and tried to observe the interior, but with all the rain and condensation, she couldn't see much.

Anemone shivered and tapped her beak against the glass. After a few minutes, she saw the window open. Shivering with cold, she immediately rushed through the gap and perched atop a table just behind. She shook herself to rid herself of what moisture she could before looking around.

It was a rather small room, a mixture of sitting room, office, kitchen etc. The place seemed rather cramped even with her small owl size. She didn't have leisure to observe long, her gaze was almost immediately captured by the girl staring at her, eyes wide. She was tall, red-haired and dressed in a long fluffy green dressing gown. Her still-damp hair falling on her shoulders. She bore a striking resemblance to Lucy, but much younger, perhaps the same age as the seventh-years at Hogwarts. One of Lucy's daughters?

She hopped forward and gave an enthusiastic "hoot!" to say hello.

The sound brought the girl out of her stupor as she heard her murmur... "There's an owl on Mum's desk... bloody hell..." Then in a louder voice, "Mum! You weren't dreaming! The owl's here."

"Coming right away" replied Lucy's voice from behind one of the doors.

The young girl moved her hand towards her hesitantly, but interrupted her gesture. "May I touch you?" she asked.

"Hoot!" was Anemone's response whilst nodding her head. This was Lucy's daughter, she had to be nice! And she'd asked, which was a good sign.

Her fingers then settled on her head, stroking her with delicacy, as if she were made of crystal liable to shatter at any moment. Wanting more cuddles, insatiable, Anemone pressed her head against the girl's palm.

"My God... I'm stroking an owl..." She heard her whisper to herself.

They didn't have time to become better acquainted, for the second door opened revealing two other girls, much younger than the one she'd already greeted.

The first was rather stocky with square features, her very short dark reddish hair dishevelled, dressed in a purple hooded sweatshirt and old faded jeans. Her hazel brown eyes were surrounded by dark circles giving her a striking resemblance to an animal she'd seen in one of the picture books in Hogwarts library, over a student's shoulder. A raccoon, the student had said when she'd given an interrogative hoot to express her curiosity.

"What's all this racket, Annette?" grumbled the first newcomer.

Behind her, visibly the youngest of the three, too thin, skin and bones, was a child dressed in sky-blue pyjamas on which were printed dozens of images of gambolling sheep. Her large blue eyes seemed even larger on her emaciated face, topped by a blue bobble hat on her head.

"She really came!" the smallest said, approaching. Her voice was a bit hoarse, her gaze fixed on her. "May I say hello to her, Annette?"

The girl in the purple sweatshirt placed a hand on her shoulder to prevent her approaching. "Lila, you're not supposed to come into contact with animals, you mustn't catch anything."

At these words, Lila seemed to deflate, her so expressive face filling with sadness.

"Lynn, it's not a wild animal. It's not an animal at all if what Mum says is true. And I was able to say hello to her, she's perfectly well-behaved... She just needs drying with all this rain soaking her plumage. Anyway, go fetch me a towel, would you?" said Annette.

Lynn went off grumbling towards what Anemone supposed was the bathroom.

"May Lila come say hello to you?" asked Annette.

Anemone shook herself again, and gave an affirmative "hoot!"

Lila cast a questioning look at her big sister, seeking reassurance, and moved towards Anemone when Annette smiled at her.

"Hello little owl, I'm Lila. Is it true you've come for Mum to teach you to read?" she asked, approaching to see her better. These people really mustn't be accustomed to meeting owls, she told herself.

"Hoot hoot!" she replied whilst nodding her head.

A few minutes later, she'd been dried in the towel brought by Lynn, the latter having proved particularly delicate in her handling despite her grumpy expression, and the three girls were seated around the desk, amusing themselves by asking her to do what they called "tricks". Sorts of games and acrobatics. Lila suggesting things with great enthusiasm.

All four were so absorbed in their games that they started when they heard the sound of someone clearing their throat.

Anemone looked up and Annette, Lynn and Lila turned to discover Lucy, dressed in a black professional suit, her hair tied in a chignon, and her arms crossed over her chest. Her amused gaze surveyed the scene for a moment then she said. "I see you've already conquered my daughters' hearts, Anemone. Sorry for the wait, I had to prepare some materials. Annette, Lynn, Lila, off you go, I have a reading lesson to give to Anemone."

The three girls rose from their seats with regret, Lynn returning to the bedroom where she could see bunk beds through the crack of the door, and Annette towards the bathroom. Not without the latter sending her an encouraging look.

Lila meanwhile turned her large eyes towards her mum. "May I stay and watch?"

Anemone saw with amusement all resistance in Lucy's gaze crumble in an instant. "All right, but be good, don't distract Anemone." She said whilst stroking Lila's head through the hat.

"So, Anemone, I see you have a message for me." She said whilst Lila sat in a corner resting her chin on her hands and her elbows on her desk to observe with a curious expression.

Anemone extended the leg where the parchment was wrapped, and Lucy delicately detached and read it.

"I see, I see..." She folded the paper and slipped it into a pocket. "So, Anemone, from today onwards, I'm your private reading tutor. And perhaps writing depending on how things go."

Lucy then unfolded several squares of fabric on the table, each with coloured squares containing inscriptions. Then she pointed to the smallest fabric, the one with a red square and a green square. "On the red square, it says 'No', on the green square, it says 'Yes', for questions where you can answer yes or no, you can hop onto the square that corresponds to your answer. For example hmm... Did what my daughters did bother you?"

Anemone didn't need to think long to answer that. She hopped onto the red square, and looked curiously at the signs on it, a sort of badly drawn lightning bolt and a circle.

"I'm glad that's the case." Lucy smiled. She turned to Lila who was observing with curiosity. "Lila, if you want to play or do things with Anemone, don't forget to always ask if she's willing first. All right?"

"Yes Mum!"

"So, Anemone, on the large fabric, there are twenty-six squares." She said, pointing to the largest fabric with lots of coloured squares. "On each square, there are two signs that look alike. The pair of signs on each square are letters, and each letter corresponds to a sound."

Anemone walked around the fabric to position herself on the same side as Lucy and thus see the fabric from the same angle as her. Lucy placed her finger on the furthest square to the left. "So, this is the letter 'A' and 'a'. The capital letter is called an uppercase, they're used to emphasise the most important letters. Like those at the beginning of a sentence, a name, or a first name."

Anemone nodded her head, it was relatively clear. So this was a sort of secret code!

"Do you understand well so far?"

She hopped to the green square on the yes/no fabric, and spread her wings with pride when she saw the smile on Lucy's face.

"The small symbols are lowercase letters, those are used in all other cases. Right, so, I'm going to tell you what the letters on each square are called, and make the sounds that correspond to each one. Once done, go to the yes square if you think you've remembered everything, and to the no square if you want me to repeat, all right? Don't forget to look carefully at the signs that correspond to each sound." Lucy explained.

She then placed her finger again on the square with the crossed triangle sign, and said "This is the letter 'A'" and made the corresponding sound several times. Then, she went to each square slowly. From left to right and bottom to top, then did it again from right to left and top to bottom starting with "Z" and its vibrant sound.

Anemone went to perch on the no square twice, to ask Lucy to start again, before going to yes, feeling sure she'd retained most of it.

"Super! That's already very good. Imagine that each letter is a little brick used to build a word. And each word is a bigger brick that, arranged correctly, makes sentences. Now, we're going to play a little game, all right?"

A game!?!!! Anemone hooted with joy! This was even better than she'd imagined.

"The aim of the game is simple, I'm going to say a word or a name, spell it for you, that is give you the list of letters that compose it in order. Then, you must go to the squares with the sign corresponding to the letter. Make a little 'hoot' each time you think you're on the right letter. Lila, can you show Anemone an example?"

Lila who'd been observing passively until now straightened and beamed at her mum. "Yes!"

"Show me the letters of your first name in order. L-I-L-A." She said, naming each letter and making their corresponding sound.

Lila complied and placed her fingertip on four squares, one after the other, repeating the names of the letters on them each time. "Very good Lila." Lucy said before stroking her daughter's head with such a tender look that Anemone felt herself almost melt.

"Anemone, for each success, you'll get a reward." She said, rising to head towards the fridge. She took out a white box from which escaped a delicious smell that Anemone recognised immediately. These weren't the treats she was accustomed to, but she was already salivating.

Lucy sat back down and indicated the large square of gridded fabric. "We'll begin with your first name. Anemone, A-N-E-M-O-N-E." It took her three attempts and Lucy reading her all the letters once more for her to manage to put everything in order. Her first attempt, Amenome, wasn't very glorious. But on the last one, she fluttered from square to square with confidence, giving a confident "hoot!" each time. Then, perching on the last letter, she spread her wings and hopped victoriously!

"Congratulations Anemone! Now, a promise is a promise." Lucy said, opening the box and using small tongs to offer her a small piece of delicious-smelling meat that Anemone devoured with joy.

Time seemed to pass so quickly in Lucy and Lila's company that the end of her first lesson arrived far too soon for her liking. In the end, she'd managed to spell her first name, Lucy's, Lila's, Severus's. Then there had been words. "Fly", "Owl", "Feathers", "Beak"... and a few others. She was even beginning to understand the logic of this mysterious code.

Once the lesson was finished, whilst Lucy wrote a report for Severus, Anemone had nestled on Lila's lap. The girl looked far too thin and fine to be normal... But she seemed joyful and full of life nonetheless. And if Anemone could bring her a little comfort, it was with pleasure that she devoted herself to it. And it wasn't as if Lila's hands on her plumage were unpleasant, quite the contrary.

After Lucy had delicately wrapped and attached her report around her leg, Anemone said goodbye to everyone by perching on each one's shoulder in turn, Annette and Lynn having emerged from the bedroom. She even got a little scratch from Lynn.

When she flew off through the window, the rain had stopped, golden sunrays filtering between the clouds, slowly dispersing. She flew over Edinburgh Bay, playing with the foamy wave crests, enjoying the wind in her plumage. She streaked above meadows yellowing with winter's approach, the multicoloured trees gradually becoming bare, each breath of breeze carrying away more leaves swirling in the air before joining the carpet of their fellows colouring the ground.

In the distance, she could see a rainbow standing out against the clouds, where the sun mingled with the last few veils of rain.

It had been a marvellous day...

oOOOo

Comfortably settled in the armchair of his quarters' sitting room, by the crackling fire in the hearth, its dancing gleams reflecting on the walls, a steaming cup of lime blossom within reach, Severus let his gaze rest on the silhouette of his little owl asleep in her "nest" atop the bookshelf.

He skilfully unfolded the letter he'd retrieved from Anemone's leg a few hours earlier, when she'd returned from her first reading lesson, an aura of intense joy illuminating her mind.

She'd shared with him her impressions and thoughts about her first reading lesson. From his owl's point of view, Lucy had been a perfect teacher. To what extent her overflowing enthusiasm at the idea of finally doing something about her frustration at not being able to read coloured her vision, he didn't know.

The main thing was that it wasn't a sad and disappointed owl who'd returned to the castle that afternoon.

Despite what he'd been able to glean directly from Anemone's thoughts, he remained curious about Mrs Sinclair's impressions. After all, Anemone wasn't a very good judge of the quality of her own behaviour, and he'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit to being curious about a professional's opinion on his wilderfolk's first steps in a pseudo-academic environment.

He'd also need to consider the possibility of finding a psychologist for Anemone. Try to understand what put her off so much about taking human form. He was accustomed to frequenting the wilderfolk of the Forbidden Forest, and he knew that when it was practical for them, taking human form wasn't a problem. And like most wilderfolk who'd ended up in pet shops, there were probably traumas to soothe...

All this was thinking for the future, Anemone seemed to be adapting to her new life, and that was what mattered most for now... A feeling of amusement almost made him smile. It was both admirable and surprising how this little owl had come to occupy such a large part of his thoughts recently.

He remembered appreciating Arold, his old taciturn owl had been a companion of great quality. But their relationship had never been more than... professional in a way. He had remained his mother's owl above all, even after all these years.

With Anemone, there was something more, which he couldn't define for the moment...

Rather than let himself be drawn into the introspection to which the flames dancing in the hearth like little flame demons in a farandole invited him, he finished unfolding the letter and began to read.

Mr Snape

I must first thank you for the opportunity you've given me to teach Anemone. I admit to having been until recently dubious about Anemone's capacity to receive education, and am happy to have been wrong.

Anemone arrived today a few minutes early, which gave her time to make acquaintance with my daughters. I'm still astonished that Anemone proved so patient and kind with them.

Regarding the lesson itself.

Anemone was willing and enthusiastic throughout the session. Despite some initial difficulties perfectly expected in someone who's never had the basics of education, she quickly demonstrated excellent memory and good capacities for logic and reasoning.

Your owl also showed great curiosity. If her disposition regarding education is confirmed during the next sessions, considering teaching her other subjects could be beneficial. If I've understood correctly what you explained to me, she's capable of taking human form. Should she wish to integrate more into society or experiment in her other form, having benefited from more complete education would be a considerable advantage.

Communication, which I feared would be the major challenge of this first session, proved not to be a real problem. Anemone is very expressive, and reading her feelings, desires, and emotions from her postures and other body language was easier than expected. Moreover, the binary yes/no communication system is sufficient for now. I'm considering, depending on Anemone's progress, creating a modular letter system with which she could "write".

One session per week is rather little, and could endanger her learning through lack of reinforcement of acquired knowledge. I understand that her work as a postal owl is as important for her as for you, and therefore that more sessions aren't possible for now. However, I suggest making some arrangements so that Anemone can continue learning even at home.

I therefore suggest installing somewhere accessible to her a surface with squares containing the letters of the alphabet large enough for her to perch on. During your exchanges, having her spell certain words using the squares would be beneficial to her learning.

I'm at your disposal regarding your feedback, and Anemone's.

Yours sincerely.

Lucy Sinclair.

Severus refolded the letter, rose and went to slip it into one of his desk drawers, with the other important correspondence he wished to keep record of. As he returned to settle by the fire, he cast a quick glance towards Anemone, atop the wardrobe, a strange feeling blossoming in his chest.

Pride...

As for the alphabetical table... a conjuration would suffice, whilst he found a more long-term solution.

Chapter Text

When she still lived with Mister and Missus, Anemone was fascinated by everything that happened outside. Not that this fascination had diminished with time, far from it, but now that she was free to spread her wings and soar over the world, it had gained a different taste.

She was no longer the little girl imprisoned behind walls, curtains, and windows, watching the world through the keyhole. She tasted it fully, cleaved through it with her wings, gripped it with her talons.

Each new day was a discovery, a joy, each new mission a way to lift the veils of simple, discreet, or subtle mysteries upon which her eyes fell.

When today Severus had entrusted her with a new letter for Marianne, she had puffed out her chest with pride and taken flight, determined to accomplish another mission. She had flown off after claiming her lucky pet, a habit she had pushed Severus to adopt, consisting of him stroking her head before each departure on a mission. A sign of more cuddles to come and that he wished her a good journey in a way far purer than words could convey.

It was grey and cold when she emerged from the owl-flap high in cliff’s rocks under the castle walls and above the great dark lake.

Thick clouds in shades of grey rolled across the sky like a cottony blanket stretching to the horizon.

The wind whistled against the ancient stones covered with lichen and dry or succulent plants clinging to the antique ramparts of the castle she flew over, then through the tall grasses of the rocky moors stretching as far as the eye could see beneath her as she launched herself in the now familiar direction of Marianne's house.

Even this weather that she had heard described as dreary by students and professors seemed to her like a new stretch of sensations to discover and enjoy. The smell of damp earth rising up to her, that particular feeling of air in her feathers, the muted but so soft colours, as if the light was smoothed and diluted by the thick clouds.

She appreciated all of this, especially when memories returned of Missus screaming at her to get away from the window while she looked over the garden. Only Dudley seemed to understand. Many times, he had brought her dried flowers, pretty stones, and stories of the world. Of him and his friends running through the streets, of his new red bicycle of which he was so proud...

She missed Dudley, perhaps she would see him again, perhaps she would seek a way to remember his address or for Severus to find it. But getting anywhere near Mister and Missus again was far too great a risk for her to think of this idea seriously.

Instead of letting her mind drift toward these dark thoughts, she focused on her sensations.

The landscape rushing past at full speed beneath her wings, grassy hills, bare rocks, rivers, lakes, and bony forests touched by winter. The soft and rough kiss of wind on her feathers. The filtered light seeping through the clouds. The slight burn of her muscles working to push her through the sky… Every sensation a new sort of delight.

She was flying over a small isolated village surrounded by meadows when she noticed a first delicate white point falling from the sky, landing on her beak.

A small cottony frozen round with a crystalline structure.

Then another.

And yet another.

Until, from the sky, countless white fluffy dreamlike little shapes fell gently, carried in swirls by the winds, softly gliding their way toward the ground.

A flame lit in her heart. She had already seen this, from behind the window, while Missus scolded her for daring to think of anything other than washing the floor with the disgusting sponge full of astringent liquid burning her hands. She had so wished to touch with her fingers those downy flakes falling gently from the sky in a white waltz. She had so wished to join Dudley as he played in the thick white carpet that had covered the garden that night.

Finally, for the first time since her liberation, she felt the flakes on her plumage, the feeling of joy floating among all these soft white forms falling from the clouds.

She flew through the snow falling in increasingly thick veils, masking the ground and sky in an almost silky white and grey veil. In the cold, only guided by the point of warmth she felt as the expression of magic guiding her to her destination, she felt herself relax, her mind lighten...

Time itself seemed to lose its coherence in the midst of the curtains of flakes masking the world from her sight. So much so that she only realised she had arrived at her destination when she saw through the thick veil of dancing snow one of the tall windows with thousands of multicoloured diamond-shaped panes lit from within by the soft orange glow of Cinder's flames.

At her approach, the window opened, and she entered accompanied by a small storm of flakes spreading through the room before the window could close behind her.

Marianne's living room, which she now knew by heart from having played in all its corners with Jasper, was empty. Except for Cinder dozing in the hearth while gnawing a log, a few black balls with large curious eyes that she had learned were ashes sprites, watching her from under a piece of furniture, and the two translucent bluish creatures floating lazily near the ceiling, coiling around the chandelier's chain.

Deciding to wait for Marianne, and tired from her long flight through the snow, she went to perch on one of the sofas facing the fireplace. Spreading her wings to better gather the warmth of the living flame.

The small sneeze she gave because of the cold outside, as the heat of the flames was just beginning to warm her frozen plumage, woke Cinder.

The flame demon opened his two eyes, wells of blue light, deep, opening onto blazing abysses. "Oh, hello Anemone. Marianne will be happy to see you. She's been waiting for Severus's reply quite impatiently. Did the journey go well?" he said in a voice formed from the sounds of flames being stoked, crackling embers, and snapping coal.

Anemone hooted happily. Seeking to convey the joy she had had in finally seeing snow, feeling it on her plumage, losing herself in its veils between earth and cloud. Although she didn't really want to take human form, the fact that she could speak was something she missed. However expressive she knew herself to be, judging by what Lucy said, only Severus was truly able to understand her. Perhaps she could one day learn to write with her small claws, and thus communicate, but even after several sessions, the alphabet learned by heart and more and more words she managed to recognise, Lucy said it was still too early.

For an instant she had the thought that perhaps, transforming would allow her to tell Cinder everything she had felt, to share her joy, her excitement and her discovery, but the memory of her face disfigured by that vile scar and one of her blind eyes, the iris as if pierced, spreading milky green into the white, and the thought flew away. No, in her owl form she was her true self, not that damaged, horrible and infamous carrion in service to Mister and Missus.

Fortunately Cinder seemed to have understood, for his crackling laugh answered her. "Joyful to have played with the snow I see."

She nodded. It was the first time she had been able to touch snow flakes.

Cinder and she remained thus for a moment. Anemone delighting in Cinder's soft radiant warmth while he regaled her with the latest news from chimneys, furnaces, braziers, and campfires. He told her he was looking forward to the next ash ball and debated with her what colour to tint his flames for the occasion, Anemone hooting or nodding with more or less approval at Cinder's fanciful ideas, when the balcony door opened.

In a rush of wind, snow, wind and movements, Marianne entered, wrapped in a thick green fur coat falling to her ankles, her shoulders and hood covered with snow, Jasper's head sticking out from inside her coat. She set her broomstick against the wall and hurried to undress, the coat ending up hung near the entrance by the blue filaments surrounding her bluish crab like claw arm.

The clip-clop of her hooves against the floorboards echoed through the room as she dusted off the last snowflakes caught in her clothes. Jasper meanwhile jumped into the other armchair facing the fire. Giving her a quick nod before letting out a groan of relief. Had he been so cold? Even under Marianne's coat?

Her attention was diverted from the creature when Marianne finally noticed her and approached with a smile. "Anemone! You're bringing me a reply from Severus?"

"Hoot," she hooted with conviction and pride, extending her leg to present her magic black ring.

As she extracted the letter, Marianne gave her a worried look. "How was the journey, despite the snowstorm?"

She gave a small joyful hoot in response, but was interrupted by another small sneeze. She puffed up her plumage in frustration before taking an assured posture to make Marianne understand that despite the cold she was happy to have been able to play in the snow.

But this was not enough to reassure Marianne, judging by her worried look. "Poor dear, don't move an inch, I'll be right back."

Marianne disappeared behind a door opening onto corridors leading deeper into the cliff, leaving Anemone alone with Jasper dozing by the fire, and the said fire Cinder talking to himself about the very exciting ash ball.

Fortunately, she didn't have to wait long, the clip-clop of Marianne's hooves approaching at a trot. She reappeared, changed into more comfortable robes and with a small blanket in hand.

Anemone let herself be wrapped in the blanket before being pressed against Marianne's chest and settled in the armchair on the back of which she was previously perched.

She needed to ask Marianne something, but that could wait. Especially since she was being cuddled, a treat had been brought to her beak, and being wrapped in the blanket and cuddled thus was more than comfortable.

Meanwhile, Marianne read her letter with interest, the gleams of Cinder's flames dancing on her face, accentuating her features in a play of shadow and light.

Marianne wasn't the kind of lady Anemone was used to seeing. The goat legs and the arm resembling a crab claw surrounded by strange filaments were striking in themselves. But that wasn't what fascinated Anemone in a way deeper than she expected.

Marianne was bald, moving tattoos slowly moving across her skull. And yet, Anemone found her incredibly beautiful. It had struck her the previous times as well, but it was the first time she had taken the time to think about her own feelings.

She chased away these strange thoughts and snuggled against Marianne, relaxing in that soft feeling of security she made her feel.

After a moment of reading, Marianne set down the letter, her gaze plunged into Cinder's flames, the latter having closed his eyes, probably asleep. A smile stretched across her face. "You have a good master, Anemone," she said in her rough voice but softer than usual.

Anemone gave her a curious look, and to her astonishment, she saw her place her wand on the letter and in a translucent swirl extract a large square of gridded fabric that she immediately recognised.

Severus had sent Marianne an alphabet grid!!!

Marianne got up and went to install the fabric on a corner of the table. Anemone followed her, freeing herself from the blankets to fly after her.

She landed on the table and hopped from letter to letter, concentrating as best she could, memories of her lessons with Lucy at the forefront of her mind. "T-H-A-N-K-Y-O-U" she reflected for a moment and observed Marianne with apprehension, had she understood?

The hand resting on her head to ruffle her feathers was more than sufficient answer. "Ho… so adorable… You're welcome, Anemone. It's important that you can practice."

Oh, she could finally ask Marianne now!

She hopped on the squares again, focusing as much as she could, each word a challenge to spell right, hoping the message would get through.

"You want my help making a Christmas gift for Severus?" She heard Marianne say, warmth growing in her heart at her success in communicating her want.

Anemone nodded timidly. Since Severus had pulled her out of the hell of the shop, she had lived the best months of her life, and although she had never received Christmas gifts before, making one for Severus seemed like a good way to make him understand her gratitude.

"What kind of gift would you like to give him?"

She focused again and made a few new words, then looked at Marianne hopefully.

"Useful... hmm, you want something that serves Severus. I doubt, however, that you can buy or make him anything he needs and doesn't already have."

She gave Marianne a desperate look. She had tried to find a rare ingredient in the forest, but she didn't know how to read well enough yet to understand more than a few snippets of words from the books listing potion ingredients that Severus possessed. Right now, Lucy was trying to get her to read books where everything was written in very large letters with pictures on each page. Sometimes more. At the moment her favourite was the adventures of "Frog & Toad"...

In short, by herself, she was helpless.

Marianne emerged from her thoughts after a few too-long seconds, snapping her strange claw with a satisfied air. "What if you made him a protection amulet? Its magic would need to be both neutral and contained so as not to interact with his potions or alchemical practices, but it's doable. And then we can make it in the form of a pretty amulet that I'm sure he'll know how to appreciate."

An amulet? But how could she make one? She was an owl, not a magician...

"As a wilderfolk and owl with quite a powerful guiding gift, you have magic in you, at least enough for this kind of thing. Especially since we're going to rely mainly on ambient magic..."

Anemone hooted with approval. Severus had saved and protected her since her escape. He was the dearest person in the world to her. If she could do anything to protect him, she would do it without hesitation. And making a protection amulet with a witch as impressive as Marianne would be a perfect way to show her devotion.

"What enthusiasm!" Marianne laughed. "Very well. In that case, you just need to follow my directions."

What followed was one of the strangest experiences of Anemone’s admittedly short life.

Marianne asked her to choose a feather to sacrifice, large and beautiful preferably. She pulled it out with a pinch of burning, but short-lived pain. Then she took her to her laboratory.

Although she had already been there in the past to watch Marianne work, Anemone had always been intimidated by this room and the mystical atmosphere that reigned there.

The rest was even more bewildering.

She helped as she could while Marianne prepared a kind of herbal tea in which she soaked her feather. Meanwhile, they asked Anemone to trace strange signs in heady-scented ash spread on her desk.

She then had to hop hooting all around the circle of ash at the centre of which her feather had been placed while ghostly forms subtly brushed her feather, a smell of rain and storm bristling her plumage.

Finally, Marianne arrived with a cord and piece of black stone resembling glass. These two objects and her feather seemed to fuse, leaving a pendant in the circle of ashes.

As she was about to approach closer to look at the result of her efforts, Marianne held her back asking her to wait a few moments, her eyebrows furrowed. She was only allowed to get as close as she wished after a sudden wind came out of nowhere and carried away the ashes in swirling volutes vanishing without leaving any traces.

Anemone gasped when she looked at the pendant again. Her feather had been as if crystallised, preserving every detail, but in the form of an interlacing of colours and crystalline forms creating iridescent plays of light in places.

Marianne delicately grasped the amulet by the cord and wrapped it in pretty blue paper with drawings of little owls on it.

"I didn't expect the result to be so potent, but that's all the better," declared Marianne, while Anemone snuggled against her neck to give her a thank-you cuddle for her help.

...

When Anemone left Marianne's, it was with a light heart, reply in her ring, and prettily wrapped gift between her talons. Her wings beating under a vast blue sky revealing to her amazed eyes a landscape clothed in white.

oOOOo

This morning's mission was short. It had involved going to deposit an order at the herbalist in Hogsmeade, leaving the rest of her day free of any tasks.

Severus was teaching and having nothing much to do, Anemone made sure she had hidden Severus's gift well in her nest before flying off into the maze of castle corridors.

She had a project for today, something that had been on her mind for several weeks and that she hadn't yet had the courage to do. The idea had come to her while watching Mrs. Norris and Filch. Both seemed very close and the former obviously played a major role in the latter's efficiency at spotting and catching students misbehaving. Filch walked through the castle almost always taking the same path, while Mrs. Norris moved like a shadow along the walls, slipping behind tapestries and under furniture to observe students with her large golden eyes.

When mischief was committed, she would go see Filch and both would enter a nearby room and close the door. When Filch came out, he knew everything about where to find the culprits as well as the nature of the mischief.

Anemone had several times thought of joining Filch's team during her boring moments to fight the vicious, horrendous crimes surely happening in the castle, but the man was far too intimidating for her to dare approach him, and Mrs. Norris continued to look at her strangely.

What she was going to do today was the other plan. The one she had imagined while eavesdropping on Severus's conversations since the beginning of the year. (Perched on Severus's shoulder, no one suspected her, the perfect hideout for a little spy.)

For some obscure reason, it seemed that the students in black and green, those who like snakes, and for whom Severus is responsible, get bullied a lot by students from other colours. Especially those in red. Not that the students in green don't bother anyone, the students in yellow often being victims of their strange plots, but from her observations, the students in green were those most often suffering from problems between students.

Severus being very attached to his duty toward the students in green, when he heard about pushing, theft, insults, or other attacks against the greens, he found himself in a morose mood that could take him all evening.

The plan was simple, to help Severus, she would copy Mrs. Norris’ efficient ways, and walk through the entire castle before reporting to Severus what she had seen so that he could act. If she did that, there was no doubt that Severus would love her more! And she was even advantaged for that sort of things, she could fly without making any noise and her small size prevented her from being easily seen.

In the middle of the afternoon, while almost all the students were in class, the castle corridors were desperately empty.

Apart from the movements of the numerous living portrait characters adorning the walls, a door slamming in the distance, a few gusts of wind making the windows tremble, and the muffled voices of professors teaching in the rooms, a cold silence suffused between the stones.

No students running, or pushing, or anything that could have been the source of the complaints Severus received from his pupils.

She perched on the shoulder of a beautiful shining armour whose helmet was adorned with a beautiful purple plume and observed the room around her, hoping to spot something interesting. Apart from other armours, weapons displayed in glass cases and colourful shields attached to the wall, nothing caught her attention. There was this girl with long red hair sitting on the steps at the threshold of a closed door reading a huge leather-bound book resting on her knees, but she seemed far too quiet to be one of the sources of problems she hoped to report.

She flew off again with a few silent wing beats, flowing through corridors and colonnades, great halls with moving staircases coiling around themselves like lazy snakes toward the upper floors. Someone was walking down one of them with arms full of bundles of dry herbs, but again, he didn't look like one of the petty rascals she sought to catch in the act.

After wandering for a long time without more success, even when she flew over the commotion caused by chaotic torrents of students changing classes, she found nothing that corresponded to her objective. Not that the students were all well-behaved, far from it, some were rather rough and clumsy.

However, nothing she saw was worth reporting to Severus.

It was in early evening, while she was perched on a battlement, contemplating the lake and the dark expanses of the forest whose skeletal trees were losing their last leaves, as she despaired of finding anything notable enough to consider her mission accomplished, that she heard intriguing sounds coming from the other side of the bastion.

Curious, and eager to finally find something, she flew toward a parapet overlooking the plateau with crenellated edges giving onto the abyss of the ramparts, the abrupt rocks of the cliff, then the black waters of the great lake.

She recognised the place quickly. The stone benches, a few bushes, the bare tree in the middle of the grass yellowed by recent snows... it was there that a few weeks earlier she had almost lost her treat.

Leaning against a stone bench, sitting miserably on the ground, her back curved, her face buried in her arms crossed on her knees, a young girl was sobbing, her short dishevelled hair a sad ashen grey.

Just seeing her like that tightened Anemone's heart. What could have happened, to put her in such a sorry state? Despite her ongoing mission, she couldn't resolve to leave her all alone.

She therefore glided to the ground, and walked toward her timidly.

Perhaps she needed a hug? Many people seemed to need more hugs. She couldn't give real hugs like she saw humans do, her wings being far too short for that, but that didn't stop her from trying.

She hesitated for a moment though, wondering if it was really a good idea to expose herself thus to a stranger.

Another sob interrupted her thoughts and she decided to act.

She took a few small hops toward the sobbing girl and pushed out a soft hoot to attract her attention.

She raised her head, revealing swollen and reddened eyes, marked by tears, on an otherwise pretty face.

Anemone approached further, and tilted her head to one side to see her from a different angle, seeking to guess the source of her sadness.

Oh!

She had already seen this girl.

It was the one whose hair was almost always a different colour. Her face was never exactly the same either. She had helped her when she had gotten her poor claw stuck trying to retrieve her treat, right here.

At this discovery, her resolution only blazed brighter.

The girl had helped her in the past, it was now her turn to return the favour.

The student watched her for a moment, and a spark of recognition appeared in her gaze.

"You're Snape's little owl... what are you doing here?" she said in a hoarse, vulnerable voice.

Anemone in one wing beat, jumped onto the girl's knees, taking care not to hurt her with her sharp talons, while continuing to look straight into her eyes with intensity. When she felt a hand approaching to stroke her head, she encouraged the movement by closing her eyes and allowing herself to push for more contact.

"Oh, you're quite wanting... would you like more caresses?" asked the girl, the shadow of a smile brushing her face.

Feeling that her approach was effective, Anemone went to nestle against the girl's stomach, while begging for more pets with a small hoot.

The girl's hands, trembling at first, became more and more assured, as her sobs calmed little by little. Giving way to a long contemplative silence. Anemone couldn't really ask her what was wrong without taking human form, or without her alphabet mat, consequently she did what she could to bring her physical comfort and help her calm down.

"You're a very intelligent little owl, aren't you... I'm almost jealous of Snape..." she murmured, her voice calmer, less raw.

Much later, as evening let its first stars blink in the sky, and as the icy claws of cold became more and more uncomfortable , the girl returned to the castle, her breathing calm, tears nothing more than memories in her eyes, and salty tracks on her cheeks. Whatever had been the cause of such sorrow, it seemed for now stifled, and Anemone had the sentiment of having done something far more important than spying for Severus.

oOOOo

Never in her life had Anemone been so vexed!

Yes, she was Severus's postal owl, yes she took her work very seriously and drew great pride from it. But as Severus's private postal owl, she was supposed to carry important and personal letters to his correspondents. Other letters or less important things were to be carried by public owls!

Well... She still acquitted herself of her task with all the seriousness it deserved, even if the fact that she found herself carrying Severus's magazine subscription renewal paper to London was profoundly humiliating. Yes there was an epidemic of feather flu spreading among the public owls, but that was no reason to treat her like this...

At least, Severus had noticed her thoughts, and had convinced her with scratches and treats. So all was not lost.

But still!

A subscription renewal letter...

Entering in one of London's magical enclaves would always remain a strange moment for her. One instant, she was flying between tall buildings of grey and glass, above black smoking streets with smells of iron fire and rust, a swarming mass of people and machines. The next instant, after passing through a fine veil of silk threads that parted and slid over her wings.

On the other side, the air was purer, the cacophony of engines and horns was replaced by different sounds, an atmosphere leaving more room for voices, human sounds, music resonating between the alleys below. To the smells of spices, to the fine sensations of electricity in the air at times.

There were also more colours, the people were colourful, the walls were colourful, even the roofs were. Nothing like the mineral, dead and dull grey of the big unsightly rectangles she had just left.

She now felt her destination very close. A fairly large building of ochre colour almost cream, half-timbered, widening floor by floor, surpassing the surrounding houses with its long very steep roof with blue tiles, studded with small dormers. The "Quill Press House"

Barely had she crossed the opening of a small wooden door in the building's flank when a strong smell of straw and damp feathers assailed her, as well as the deafening sounds of hundreds of hoots, snarls, screeches, croaks... sounds of beating wings, of hundreds of feet that stir, rub and tap against their perches.

In the midst of this chaos, she still found her counter quickly, following the impression of warmth under her feathers guiding her. There was a small line of owls in front of her, each waiting for the small clerk, thin, wrapped in robes far too large for him, and with massive circles under his eyes, to retrieve the papers from each owl before sorting them.

Soon it was her turn, and Anemone presented her foot to the small clerk who extracted the missive from it. He stamped it, put it on a package, then slipped into her ring what Severus had explained to her was an acknowledgment of receipt.

Finally freed from this humiliating low-grade owl mission, Anemone flew toward the aviary to take a small break before leaving again. The flight from Hogwarts to London had been long and she knew that tomorrow would not be a day without aches and sore wings.

As she was about to close her eyes for a moment in a somewhat isolated corner of the general avian chaos, she spotted a familiar white form taking flight.

Her heart leaped in her chest.

In an instant, she had deployed her wings and taken flight as well.

The white owl was faster, but Anemone was more determined, her wings beating the air with renewed vigour.

As she was almost behind the white owl, she pushed out a desperate hoot. The fact that she had seen her again was already incredibly lucky in itself, she wasn't going to let her saviour escape.

White turned her head behind her, and Anemone met her sparkling golden gaze. She slowed just enough for her to catch up and both flew toward the outside of the city in silence, quickly extricating themselves from the ocean of mineral grey below them, houses increasingly spaced, gardens appearing, until the landscape was nothing but fields and meadows.

Anemone didn't have to wonder long where White was guiding her, for soon the latter descended in a spiral to the edge of a small wood. Landing on the ground, just on the other side of the tree line, where even the trees devoid of leaves hid them from the surrounding countryside.

She landed right next to her saviour, and, following her instincts, she came to snuggle against her, trying to get back under her wing as right after that terrifying moment in the Hanse aircraft. White exuded an impression of astonishment and curiosity, but let her be for a moment. Anemone felt as if enveloped in a soft warm and downy cloud, a delicious feeling of security, different but comparable to what she felt when in Severus's company. Except that this time, there was also an impression of fellowship.

A small frustrated screech escaped her beak when far too soon for her taste, White moved away from her to better watch her. She didn't have time to express her dismay more clearly, for what she saw froze her in place. White had begun to grow, filaments of almost glittering white mist clinging to her changing form. Then, in the blink of an eye, a person stood in White's place.

She took a small jump backward, fear mixed with surprise.

White was now a woman, tall and slender, her very pale skin marred by numerous scars covering sinewy muscles. In places, small downs of white feathers covered her skin, notably around her piercing golden eyes, like one of the masks she had seen people at Hogwarts wear the evening a few weeks ago when they had all dressed up. Her lips were thin, pale pink, her features angular and strong. Her white hair fell to her shoulders in a dishevelled mass in which feathers were mixed. Her hands were calloused. Unlike the humans she was used to seeing, she wore no clothing... she hoped that despite the wind and winter temperature, she wasn't too cold in this form without feathers.

This sight, once the surprise had passed, had the effect of a bomb in Anemone's mind. She had of course heard Severus speak of other wilderfolk, and she even thought she had seen some in the forest near Hogwarts, but it was the first time she met one of her true fellows. That she had confirmation of not just being alone in her condition. A pressure that until now had weighed on her heart without her even being really aware of it now felt as if flown away.

White crouched in front of her, as if to get more to her height and enveloped her in her hands to lift her and examine her more closely. Too surprised to react, Anemone let herself be handled.

"You're a very small one... where is your mother?" White asked imperiously in a voice rough and cold as a blizzard.

Anemone didn't answer, but the feeling birthed by the evocation of her absent mother must have been visible, for White's feathery eyebrows frowned. Her eyes settled on the ring on her leg and an expression of anger mixed with disgust formed on her face.

"The bastards..." she murmured in a breath.

"Do they feed you?"

She nodded weakly.

"Do you know how to hunt?"

She shook her head no, ashamed to admit this.

"Of course, without a mother, without adults... the shitbags... Do they hit you, hurt you?"

An incendiary feeling nestled in her heart, did White suspect Severus of mistreating her? Severus was good to her! Severus is the best human! Her human! She shook her head vehemently.

A bitter and acidic expression then formed on White's face. Not being hit wasn't a good thing? She seemed to reflect for a moment on how to formulate something before saying.

"Do they make you do things you don't want them to do?"

Severus was a very good master, never had he done anything mean to Anemone. The caresses, cuddles and treats were things she loved! She therefore shook her head, wondering what kind of harm Severus could do to her that seemed to worry White so much.

White didn't seem immediately convinced, but judging by her next question, she seemed to drop the subject.

"Can you transform?"

Technically, it was possible for her, she just had to push her mind and her sensations in a certain direction and... She nodded.

White therefore set her on the ground and began to wait for something. Anemone blinked slowly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, wondering what was happening.

After a moment of discomfort, White's expression hardened. "You don't want to transform."

Anemone nodded. She was not going to show White her ugly, useless, stupid, battered form, slave to Mister and Missus, anytime soon.

A long moment later, White declared "You're going to guide me to your perch," and she resumed her normal form in an instant.

White's tone leaving no room for debate, Anemone took flight, and headed back toward Hogwarts, White close by, behind her. After this unilateral exchange, Anemone felt vulnerable, but White was her saviour, White was safety, White couldn't wish her harm. Perhaps White and Severus could get along well? He too wished her well... And White seemed invested in a disturbing way by her intensity.

When Hogwarts appeared in the distance, the sun was setting down on the cloudy horizon, its now orange rays bathing the landscape in an aura of mystery as the first evening mists rose from the cold waters of the lake, snaked between the skeletal trees of the great forest, and rose between the mounds of the moors. One by one, lights lit up in the castle, studding its dark silhouette with golden points.

Anemone's instinct guided her toward the lake's edge, where, on the rocky shore, Severus stood, upright, the bottom of his robes lifted by the wind, billowing around him. She swooped toward his shoulder where she perched. Passing her beak through his hair with joy and affection, as a hand came to stroke her feathers as if pushed by habit.

As Severus returned toward the castle, she cast a look behind her, her eyes plunging into the intense gold, glowing in the half-light of White's, perched on a branch of a bare tree covered with frost.

Chapter Text

When he climbed the castle steps in the last glimmers of twilight that evening, Anemone wisely perched on his shoulder as was her habit, Severus had the unpleasant feeling of being watched. Like the sensation of a discreet presence of a mind at the very edge of his awareness. Following his intuition, he cast a glance behind him, and, for a brief instant, he thought he glimpsed two golden dots, briefly shining in the darkness of the undergrowth of the forbidden forest. A blink later, nothing remained, save for the whisper of wind through the skeletal branches of trees stripped bare by winter.

He continued towards the castle, doing his utmost to suppress the shiver running down his spine. The persistent feeling that he had attracted some unusual form of attention did not leave him all evening.

In the dying embers of the fire fading in the hearth, he thought he saw again those two golden orbs haunting him from the darkness.

...

This sensation of being watched did not leave him in the following days.

Whether he went into the forest to harvest abern bark, ventured to Hogsmeade for some purchases, or walked atop the ramparts, he could always sense that mind there, barely out of his reach. Just brief moments, little enough to make him doubt having felt anything at all.

When one evening, Mr Jenkins, one of the most daring, or rather reckless, foolhardy Hufflepuffs, went and lost himself in the Forbidden Forest after hearing tales of a blue unicorn, Severus had the misfortune of being chosen to search for him. Pomona Sprout being indisposed that evening.

On the dark path, Jenkins walked before him, on the verge of tears, pleading with him to not be fed to the horrible giant bats in the dungeons as punishment for his misdeed. Severus was tempted to play along and begin threatening him with horrors worse than the slanderous rumours circulating about his person, if only to make him cry properly and spare himself having to endure that whining voice.

His thoughts were derailed when he heard a sound in a tree not far behind him, and felt a familiar mind at the limits of his perception.

A glance backwards confirmed his fears. Two golden points had just gleamed briefly in the darkness.

Something was indeed stalking him for several days now.

Whatever or whoever it was remained subtle, staying far enough that he could perceive no more than insignificant fragments of the shape of its mind. The thing did not seem hostile, otherwise the castle's wards would have reacted, but the fact of being spied upon thus was an extremely unpleasant thing.

He quickened his pace, pushing Jenkins to move faster, whilst doing his best to ignore that his heart had begun to beat faster. His thoughts had quickly turned to the Dark Lord and his servants, but this seemed inconsistent with the fact that, according to his latest intelligence, the wraith himself was still concealed somewhere in the Balkans, and the activities of Death Eaters still at large were almost non-existent.

Other factions might have an interest in his person, but none that came to mind would employ such means to reach him.

Still, it was with great relief that he closed the castle doors behind him, and pushed Jenkins towards his house dormitories.

He would reduce the frequency of his nocturnal outings for some time...

...

He emerged from Albus's office with a nascent headache and frustration coiling in his guts.

He had asked Albus to consult the wards, and seek to detect what might be the origin of his stalking problem. He had thankfully been taken seriously, Albus's mind having begun to churn behind his facade of calm, and both had spent several hours reading the ward reports from recent weeks.

To his great despair, nothing, not the shadow of a clue.

The list of students had not budged. The entries and exits of all the visitors they had received since late November were above board. The list of students' familiars was the same as at the start of the year... (Apart from little Jessica Marlow’s stork she had to send home after a reminder of the rules concerning familiars at school.)

In the end, he got out of this meeting no more advanced than when he had arrived.

At least, Dumbledore had taken the possible threat seriously and took the measure of ordering that nocturnal patrols and journeys outside the castle taking place after curfew be undertaken by groups of at least two staff members.

It was the best he could hope for given the current situation...

...

That Sunday morning, Severus was taking advantage of the rare fine weather to drink his black and bitter tea, not in the great noisy hall filled with destructive, clamorous imbeciles, in the company of his colleagues too blind to understand the horror of their situation, but on one of the stone benches set back from a line of crenellations crowning the eastern rampart. Facing the rising sun flooding the valley and the ancient eroded mountains covered with grassy moors made glittering by frost with its light.

His nearly empty cup was placed on the bench, the latest issue of the Daily Prophet on his knees. He had seen an article that seemed interesting to him about a pixie infestation on Diagon Alley, and would have been reading it, had a certain little owl not been monopolising all his attention. He refrained from sighing as with one hand he scratched her head, and with the other gave her a piece of her breakfast meat. If someone had told him a few months earlier that a wilderfolk could become so affectionate, so quickly, he would not have believed it. But the proof was there on his knees, pushing out little hoots of happiness whilst demanding even more pets.

Insatiable, that was what Anemone was. If he did not set clear limits as to what he was prepared to give her in terms of affection, she would never cease begging. A grey thought crossed his mind. Was he becoming soft? Forgetting the reasons for his position, just at the edge of the precipice, waiting for the embers of the long war to blaze anew so he could fulfil his duty and pay his debt.

His hand must have stopped moving, for an interrogative hoot drew him from the dark and swirling meanders of his mind.

His eyes settled again on the little wilderfolk on his knees, her downy plumage puffed up to retain warmth, her large, particular and expressive green eyes fixed upon him. Her clear and glittering mind in his perception full of softness with an underlying curiosity masking the first seeds of worry.

He resumed stroking her, the premises of worry dissipating at once, wellbeing flooding her coloured mind as she melted beneath his fingers.

Perhaps he was still in a delicate position, the long war continuing in the shadows, the players placing their pawns. But he was no longer alone, a lasting responsibility now sharing his life. The ever-taut wire being the first to snap, perhaps it was simply better for him, Albus, and the plan, that he considered accepting to change his way of living even further.

The relaxation potions prescribed to him by Ondine, that Anemone convinced him to use, had already proved their effectiveness. He felt calmer, more in control of himself and with a clearer mind since following these recommendations. After that, what was another step in this direction?

Severus sighed, making a conscious effort to keep his face stoic as Anemone wriggled on his knees until she ended up on her back demanding belly scratches. A glance at his pocket watch indicated that it was still early enough that he didn’t need to hurry. He could well yield to Anemone's whims a little longer without it impacting his duties...

All his attention focused on the little owl, he did not notice the winged form of ghostly whiteness moving away from the ramparts, riding the winds.

oOOOo

Since she had found White again at the press house, Anemone felt as though she were on cloud nine. Almost every day, White awaited her around Hogwarts, her large yellow eyes stern but warm.

Today again, in the early morning, as tongues of mist crept gently over the vast expanses of snow glittering beneath the first glimmers of the icy dawn, White was waiting for her. She was perched on one of the thickest low branches at the base of the trunk of a willow whose bark was covered with frost, its long fine and supple branches drooping, over the whiteness of the frozen lake.

Filled with burning joy at the sight of her friend, Anemone slipped beneath the branches to land right next to White and came to rub against her whilst hooting with affection, happy that White had once again returned to play with her.

During her recent visits, White and she had spent their time exploring the castle surroundings and the forest, finding hiding places, games, and interesting things to see, like the house carved into the rock sheltering a family of fauns deep in the forest. She had wanted to play with the faun children, but White had prevented her from doing so. She did not know why, but if White signalled something to her, it was surely for a very good reason.

Today, just from White's piercing gaze and more serious demeanour than usual, Anemone knew they were going to do something different. Something more.

After a few minutes of cuddles, White took flight, Anemone following her.

They flew over the icy moors, whose dolmens looked like snow mushrooms with edges studded with icicles.

The wild moors soon gave way to large pastures bordered by dry stone walls, these too draped beneath winter's long white mantle. Then, to a village, the grey stone houses bright, illuminated by the sun reflecting on the snow. Their roofs as white as the surrounding countryside. The numerous chimneys let long plumes of smoke drift skyward, dispersing in the blue of the sky.

In the lanes, a few people bundled in thick coats moved about. A car with a rumbling engine passed slowly through the village, leaving in its wake two long tracks of browned and dirty snow before disappearing onto a narrow road.

White led her to a building larger than the others, open on its flank, with large machines inside. The courtyard of this farm was filled with much finer snow, browned by the repeated passage of a large red tractor carrying bales of straw. White landed on the edge of the roof and she imitated her.

White was scrutinising the courtyard floor and its surroundings attentively. Minutes stretched without much change, so much so that Anemone came to press against her for more warmth.

Suddenly, White stiffened, her golden gaze following almost imperceptible movements on the courtyard floor. She pushed out a faint hoot, as if to attract her attention, to tell her to watch attentively.

Then.

White let herself drop into the void.

Her deployed wings carried her, more silent than cloud. Streaking through the air without the slightest sound, like a white ghost.

When she skimmed the ground with her talons, Anemone heard a small terrified "Squick!"

A few seconds later, White returned to perch beside her, a small grey mouse between her talons.

Under Anemone's fascinated gaze, she seized the mouse in her beak and swallowed it whole. The small rodent disappearing down her throat without further ceremony.

Anemone blinked, her little heart beginning to beat frantically beneath her feathers. White was going to give her her first hunting lesson! She danced in place, leaning on one foot then the other whilst hopping on the spot.

As White observed her critically, Anemone did her best to imitate her posture and the way she had observed the farm courtyard. If White had brought her here, it was surely because there was an abundance of rodents to put in one's beak.

Indeed, it did not take long for her to spot a small vole slipping near the barn entrance, gathering in its small paws seeds fallen to the ground. Full of determination, Anemone took flight trying to imitate White, and swooped toward her prey. Only, she had miscalculated her approach. With the sun at her back, the vole saw her shadow approaching.

With a small cry of terror, the rodent fled at full speed toward a hole in the wall. Surprised, and disoriented by this sudden reaction, Anemone lost her balance and crashed into the muddy and dirty snow, sullied by the tractors and the farmer's feet having already trodden the spot to move his haystacks.

Pitiful and dejected, she returned to White's side. She expected to see disappointment in her gaze, but there was none. Just determination, her golden eyes shining with even more will.

White passed her beak through her feathers for a few moments, before indicating with a movement of her head the courtyard, where once again, a furtive shadow was slipping...

...

Despite her exhaustion, Anemone's wings carried her to the high cliff standing tall and proud over the lake, on which Hogwarts perched, like a titanic silent and immutable stone guardian. She was covered with dirt, her feathers damp with snowy mud making flight difficult. All her efforts had not been enough to allow her to catch prey, even whilst carefully watching other examples from White. But she had improved! She had grazed a field rat with her talons before it bolted toward the end of her training.

For it was clear that this was what it was about, training.

White had not scolded her, not abandoned her, she had just encouraged her and patiently shown her how to do better. There was no doubt in her mind that as long as she was not a confirmed hunter, White would continue to guide her.

Next time, she swore to herself, White would see her catch a fat vole between her talons!

She slipped through the owl flap leading directly to Severus's quarters, relieved to feel a wave of warmth pass through her, leaving winter's cold behind.

Severus was seated at his desk, bent over papers, his long black quill in his hand, scratching the parchment. Joyful to see him again, she went to perch on his shoulder, and passed her beak through his hair. As if by reflex, Severus's hand came to stroke her back feathers.

Suddenly, Severus froze. Anemone, both perplexed and surprised, saw him withdraw his hand to hold it before his eyes. Revealing in the candlelight his skin stained with muddy melted snow.

Uncomfortable at the idea of making Severus uncomfortable because of the result of her repeated failures in her attempts to capture mice, Anemone did not think long and did the first thing that came to mind to rid herself of the dust and dirty melting snow she had brought back with her.

She shook herself.

On his shoulder.

Right beside his face.

A cloud of dust emerged from her plumage as droplets of melted snow shot in all directions, splashing Severus and his desk.

The latter remained mute for several long moments. Then, he said in a calm voice, but cold as ice.

"Anemone, do not move from my shoulder."

Then, he rose, and walked with long strides toward the bathroom.

Anemone had never spent much time in this room. It was not as if she could use the shower, and moreover, she normally remained very tidy by cleaning her plumage every day with her beak.

The bathroom was quite a large room, with a sort of mini swimming pool tiled and mostly sunk into the floor. The thousands of small ceramic tiles formed a mosaic of coloured geometric shapes.

The washbasin was also recessed into the wall, surmounted by a mirror also surrounded by mosaic tiles. A yellow-orange orb floated on the ceiling, illuminating this otherwise windowless room.

There was not much in terms of Severus's possessions. A few ceramic bottles with labels written in print too small for her to even try to read, a comb, some soaps, towels...

Anemone sensed a cold determination in Severus's eyes, each of his actions calm and measured. An existential terror grew within her as she watched him seize a large metal basin and fill it with hot water at the tap.

She could not flee, the very idea of disobeying Severus's order to remain on his shoulder being inconceivable to her.

Yet, what he was doing became a little clearer with each second. When he poured a few drops of an oily liquid into the water, giving the vapours a floral scent. When he added a little white powder, and a spoonful of a kind of oil contained in one of his ceramic bottles.

Soon, she could not take her eyes off the basin whose steaming water was now covered with white foam, whose bubbles took on iridescent reflections.

A bath...

She could not struggle, when she saw Severus roll up his sleeves, and his hands close around her. Her large eyes fixed the foamy surface approaching closer and closer, her small talons lifting higher and higher to push away as much as possible her inescapable fate.

Despite her efforts, she soon felt the foam against the scales of her talons, then the hot water slipping between her feathers. She cast a pleading look toward Severus, but she saw no pity reflected in his dark eyes, adorning his face stained with dust and traces of dirty melted snow.

A few moments later, she was totally immersed in the water, her wings beating the liquid weakly, creating splashes and jets of foam, until Severus's hands returned to the attack.

She could feel the dust leaving her plumage with each passage of Severus's hand, hot water running over her head when, using his hand like a bowl, he poured it over her. She was defeated, unable to even fathom the idea of escaping, totally at his mercy.

Helpless, she felt herself melting in the water's warmth, its heady perfume making her feel light. The passage of Severus's hands over her plumage creating a sort of strange massage, letting warmth creep into her very bones.

Her fear and apprehensions evaporated little by little, rising in plumes with the vapours emerging from her bathwater. Because of her mind fogged by this farandole of strange new sensations, she could not say whether the ghost of a smile she glimpsed at the corner of Severus's lips was or was not a figment of her imagination.

After a while, too short or too long, she could not say, so much splashing and movement had ended up dispersing the foam, revealing browned water. Severus then extracted her from the basin, and Anemone pushed out a hoot of relief, or disappointment, she could not say. The basin was promptly emptied into the sink, and Severus took the shower head of the small pool.

Anemone closed her eyes by reflex when the jet of hot water sprayed her, rinsing foam and soap from her plumage.

She only reopened them when the jet ceased and she felt herself being wrapped in a towel. She could not help pinching the towel with her beak, as Severus dried her.

A few moments later, the towel was put in the washing basket, and she was placed in her little house atop the wardrobe. She felt exhausted, warm, ready to fall asleep. But her eyes were riveted on Severus, the latter fixing her in return, his face almost neutral enough to prevent her from detecting a hint of amusement.

"The next time you go play in the dirt, it would be preferable that you not surprise me by soiling the entirety of my work surface. The bathroom door opens if you come near, and if I am around, a hoot would be enough to alert me," he said before gauging her a few more seconds, and turning toward his desk still covered with dust.

oOOOo

Mrs Sinclair had beautiful cursive handwriting with careful thick and thin strokes, almost calligraphic in her latest letter. Severus reread the address once more before carefully folding the letter and slipping it into the inner pocket of his winter coat.

He faced an old, somewhat decrepit building on a busy street, automobiles rumbling behind him in a constant ebb and flow. He tapped the code on the intercom and waited a few moments. Sinclair's voice, crackling through the old device, was heard, and after a brief exchange, the door unlocked with a mechanical chime.

The entrance hall was covered with a carpet that had seen better days, and the walls with pale yellow wallpaper, which had perhaps once been white. He took a step toward the lift but noticed with a sigh that a sign on it indicated that it was out of service. Given the state of the sign, it must have been posted there for much longer than it should have been.

Severus therefore resigned himself to taking the musty-smelling staircase lit by lamps with wan glows, some flickering from time to time. Had he not been aware of Mrs Sinclair's three dependent children and the probably chronic illness of one of them, he would have been surprised to know she was living in this type of environment.

Having reached the floor indicated by the letter, he glanced at his pocket watch. Good, he was right on time. Sinclair and he had agreed to discuss in person Anemone's progress, her difficulties, and the direction to take with the future of her teaching.

This was surely how his students' parents felt during parent-teacher meetings, he thought with amusement.

Number 84... there was her door.

He pressed the bell, and stepped back a pace, raising an eyebrow at the doormat on which was depicted a little character with blue skin and white trousers and cap saying welcome in a comic strip speech bubble.

He adjusted his winter coat, removed his hat and straightened his head when he heard voices and footsteps approaching behind the door.

Just behind the door, he could sense Sinclair's mind, as she was in the process of looking through the door's peephole to ensure it was indeed him. A most prudent measure, he thought with approval.

Several locks turned and the door opened.

On the other side, Sinclair welcomed him. "Good morning, Mr Snape, welcome, come in," she said whilst stepping out of the way.

As he hung his hat and coat on the rack, he observed Sinclair. The latter was dressed more casually than in their first meeting, but still professionally. A simple dark blue dress falling to her ankles, tightened at her waist by a black fabric belt, a small v-neck revealing a tarnished silver necklace... probably of sentimental value. Her features were drawn, doubtless from some bad nights, and no makeup. Her hair was tied in a long plait resting on her shoulder.

"Thank you for welcoming me into your home, madam. I hope Anemone is as well behaved as she is at home," he said in a way to expedite the formalities and not waste time for either of them.

At Anemone's name, a smile lit up her face. "Anemone is a model student, if only the children at school could be half as motivated as she is, my life would be much easier. You can be proud of her."

Severus nodded as he followed Sinclair through the main room of her flat. He was generally aware of Anemone's behaviour and progress through his correspondence with Sinclair, but to hear it said in person untied a knot in his throat whose presence he had been unaware of until now... moreover, how was it that he was so invested in Anemone's learning? He only owed it to himself to do his part in their agreement, not to involve himself so much...

He chased these thoughts from his mind when he discovered a scene that made him raise an eyebrow. A small, thin, very pale girl, in light green pyjamas covered with drawings of stylised red foxes and wearing a blue cap on her head, was seated on the floor, cross-legged on a cushion, a children's book and Anemone on her knees. The duo seemed so absorbed in reading one of the Frog & Toad stories that they did not hear him approach.

Coloured patches on the child's wrists... no eyebrows, nor eyelashes for that matter. Perhaps cancer being treated by chemotherapy, he thought without letting the slightest emotion show on his stoic face. He admitted to not being the most up to date on Muggle medicine, but he took a certain pride in knowing he was more informed than the vast majority of other wizards on this subject.

"Ah, there's Lila, my youngest daughter. She and Anemone get along marvellously."

Lila and Anemone raised their heads at the same time. Anemone flew off pushing out a hoot of joy and came to perch on his shoulder, whilst Lila straightened, her trembling legs contrasting with the big smile forming on her face, her large blue eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"Hello, sir! Are you Anemone's dad?" she asked in a weak voice, but full of enthusiasm.

Not having time to launch into an explanation, nor feeling the need to justify himself to a child who could not be more than ten years old, he contented himself with acquiescing, ignoring the strange sensation blooming in his heart at his own words. "Indeed. You may call me Severus."

"Is it true that you're a magician?" she asked. He was convinced she would be hopping in place if she had the energy.

He cast a glance toward Sinclair. He had given his agreement for her to bring her children into confidence, on the condition that she impress upon them the importance of keeping the secret.

She nodded imperceptibly.

"That is indeed the case..." He hesitated briefly, would it be a good idea to... he risked a glance toward Lila and her large eyes full of wonder. Severus had to admit that despite his position as a professor, he had never been particularly gifted with children, but... He suppressed a sigh. "Would you like to see a demonstration?"

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Please!"

... At least she was polite ... he delicately withdrew his wand and pointed it toward her pyjamas. It had been very long since he had used this type of animation spell, it would be good exercise. Three phrases of Latin-magic formulas pronounced, and a slow helical movement of his wand later, and he observed the result with satisfaction.

"What happened?" Lila asked with curiosity. She cast a glance at Sinclair, and the gentleness on the latter's face must have reassured her.

"Look at your pyjamas," he said simply.

The intensity of the pure joy tinged with glee that he felt in the little girl's mind when she discovered that all the foxes printed on her pyjamas were running, jumping and playing together on the green background of the fabric, surprised him. She stared at her pyjamas for a few moments, then, he felt a click occur in her mind, and he felt her arms tighten around his waist. "Thank you, Mr Severus, it's wonderful," came her small voice muffled in his shirt.

"Lila, go to your room please, I must discuss Anemone's progress with Mr Snape."

Lila nodded, looking disappointed. "Yes, Mom," she said before disappearing behind the door of one of the rooms, closing it slowly, as if she wanted to continue observing through its opening.

Once Lila had left, Sinclair brought some refreshments, and they sat at the kitchen table. Anemone hopping on the table to the small bowl of apple juice that Sinclair had filled for her... touching attention.

"To begin with, I want to thank you once again for having agreed to teach Anemone."

"It was certainly a disconcerting challenge at first sight, Mr Snape. But I assure you that I do not regret having tried to take it on."

"I am delighted to hear it." He took a draught of his violet syrup and water. "In our recent correspondence, you mentioned quick progress on Anemone's part..." This approach to the main subject of their meeting was not the most subtle, but Severus was not one to beat about the bush. Moreover, he fully intended to have time to visit Madam Allison to stock up on eagle laurel and red lotus roots after their interview.

"That is correct, Anemone has complete mastery of the alphabet, knows how to spell most common vocabulary words and we have begun grammar lessons. We are currently working on more advanced vocabulary. As you saw upon arriving, she can now read simple texts without too much trouble, even if she still stumbles on certain words and sentence structures," she said with enthusiasm.

"That is progress..." Severus left his sentence hanging. All children arriving at Hogwarts, except for a few rare cases, already knew how to read and write. Consequently, he knew nothing of the normal learning speed for this type of skill. Perhaps it was easier to learn at a more advanced age... after all, he did not know Anemone's precise age. According to his most thorough observations, less than 17 years, that was certain. But impossible to be more precise without her agreeing to take human form.

"She learns very quickly, doubtless due to her seriousness and all the efforts she deploys. She has never communicated to me why, but she seems extremely motivated. Moreover, have you followed my recommendations?"

"Yes. It was not difficult to procure a rug with the alphabet printed on it, and as for giving Anemone time to use it to “speak”, it is a habit to develop, but nothing impossible. I also leave a dictionary, and the book of Anemone's choice open atop the wardrobe near her... nest."

"Excellent, it is good to have this confirmation. The progress she makes would not be possible without regular work at home. What book is she trying to read at the moment?"

" Potions Pal ," he said, doing his best not to grimace. "A children's book that explains the fundamentals of the discipline in a fun way. It lacks precision, but at least it gives no false information, and does not take its readers for idiots. Anemone had insisted on the first-year potions book, but she had the sense to admit being lost on the first page and not to insist."

Sinclair looked thoughtful for a moment, her gaze settling on the ball of feathers still sipping her apple juice. "Do you read much, Mr Snape?"

He raised an eyebrow, not seeing an immediate connection between the conversation and his reading habits. "Yes, I try to maintain a sustained reading rhythm. If only to keep myself at the level of the state of the art in my discipline."

"Hmm... I think Anemone is seeking to imitate you, and has been very frustrated at being incapable of it... you must be an important figure for her."

Her treat and cuddle dispenser yes, he thought with amusement. "It is indeed a factor that could influence her commitment..." he admitted after a moment. "What are the next steps you envisage in Anemone's journey?"

"If she continues at this rate, we should soon be able to tackle more complex texts. Would you be disposed to my giving you texts for Anemone to read on which I could question her at the beginning of following sessions?"

"That seems reasonable to me." Apart from a few rare bits of mischief... the memory of a cloud of dust and a stained desk returning to his mind, Anemone was a relatively calm and obedient wilderfolk. Looking after her did not take so much time that he could not afford to take the time to find the texts required by Sinclair.

"Thank you, that should help her. I am also considering beginning the first writing lessons within a few months. Anemone has shown continued interest in this skill."

Severus raised an eyebrow when he saw Anemone straighten her head with interest when the word writing was pronounced. A new spark of amusement threatening to become perceptible on his face. "If Anemone wishes it... Moreover, Mrs Sinclair, regarding your fees..."

"Our current agreement suits me, Mr Snape," she said in a neutral tone.

Severus let his gaze drift over Sinclair's flat. A three-room flat, for a single woman with three dependent children, in a neighbourhood far from being safe, between her youngest's care, and her eldest's school fees... they had exchanged enough in their correspondence for him to form a clear idea of Sinclair's situation. And then it was not as if he had not envisaged from the start proposing a more advantageous agreement for the teacher in the case where she proved to fulfil his conditions for Anemone's good learning environment. Finally, between the specialised potions he sold to the country's various institutions, the income his various patents brought him, his professor's salary, the fact that most of his ingredients were either harvested by himself, or bought with the school's budget, and that he lived largely below his means, he knew himself more than capable of paying a talented, trustworthy teacher, and possibly a useful contact in the future, at a more decent level.

"Mrs Sinclair, you are the only person to have agreed to teach my familiar seriously, you have shown yourself more than up to the task in the months that followed, and I hear only good things about you from Anemone," he declared, as he remembered all the times Anemone had opened her mind to him, sharing her thoughts and moments with Sinclair, and the joy he'd felt radiating from her before each session. "I think that, with the perspective of continuing our relationship on better foundations and with the idea of future collaboration, it is more than time that I remunerate you at your just worth."

After a minute of silence, during which Severus refrained from so much as brushing the surface of Sinclair's thoughts, she straightened in her chair. "I am happy to hear that you find my services so satisfactory, Mr Snape."

Half an hour later, their contract readjusted, Severus was at the door, putting his hat back on his head, Anemone saying goodbye to little Lila, perched on her shoulder rubbing her head against her cheek to Lila's great delight. The latter had politely asked him to redo the spell on her pyjamas, the magic of the latter having faded with time and Severus had surprised himself by accepting, on the condition of course that she not let the pyjamas be seen by anyone other than her mother and sisters.

Anemone returned to perch on his shoulder, he was about to take his leave, when Sinclair pre-empted him.

"So you're her dad then?" she teased whilst scratching Anemone's head.

Severus suppressed a grunt, remembering how he had responded to Lila. "I had no desire to attempt to explain the arcane details of the complex legal situation concerning my familiar. Letting your daughter interpret our relationship in this manner was an adequate solution."

"I have no doubt." She laughed. "I wish you a good journey, Severus," she said, before waiting anxiously, doubtless misinterpreting his surprised silence.

He let a slight smile form on his lips and replied. "Good day to you, Lucy," before leaving, the door closing gently behind him.

This exchange was a great success, he thought whilst letting his fingers run over Anemone's soft feathers. Having a more cordial relationship seemed to be a good decision for his future collaboration with Lucy.

oOOOo

Anemone was particularly happy today. Not only had she just got a nice learning session with Lucy, but moreover Severus had come to discuss her progress and now she could come with him to visit one of Edinburgh's magical enclaves! She had flown over the city several times to visit various recipients of Severus's letters, and she knew by heart the route from Hogwarts to Lucy's, but she had never really explored the city's magical parts.

Where London's magical district was overflowing with people, filled with bubbling activity, Edinburgh's magical quarter through which Severus walked was calmer but no less interesting.

In this cobbled street, the ground floors of the tall stone houses were occupied largely by various small shops, but as if attached to a theme. Here, and she was not a little proud of it, she had managed to decipher the street name sign, indicating that they were in "Apothecaries' Alley." Yes! A-po-the-ca-ries! She had managed to decipher a long, complicated word! Severus must have felt her intense pride for she received some delightful scratches on the head.

The shop windows let her see that some seemed specialised in selling jars of powders, others dried herbs, or feathers, horns and other animal parts.

Anemone shivered and pressed closer to Severus, he would protect her from all the dreadful people wishing to pluck her to sell her feathers, wouldn't he?

Her attention was distracted by the sight of a shop whose window displayed dozens of crystals with singular structures and colours, glittering in the daylight... beautiful...

Severus stopped and pushed open a carved wooden door with a sort of large rectangular glass window in the middle, on which was written... something she did not have time to read, Severus having already entered, accompanied by the chiming of a small silver bell, hanging at the top of the door.

The first thing that struck her was the damp warmth that reigned in this entirely tiled room, as well as the murmur of flowing water. Then, the scents, multiple and bewitching, floral, fresh, musky, subtle... it was enough to make her head spin.

Severus climbed the few tiled steps until arriving in the shop's main room. Anemone had the impression of having entered an interior jungle, a diffuse almost solar light illuminating the room from above, through the thick foliage of numerous miniature trees and vines covering almost the entirety of the walls. The room itself was a labyrinth of channels and basins at different levels in which clear water flowed gently.

Small waterfalls let the water flow from one level to another. In each basin, dozens of plants grew, flowered, flourished, their leaves and flowers of unusual tints for vegetation. A miniature tree with thick and bulbous trunk garnished with thick foliage consisting of thousands of small blue leaves, with flowers of nocturnal violet. A colony of water lilies floating with leaves marbled with white and pale red, or these long intertwined vines letting hang strange green flowers whose shape reminded her of fox tails.

Severus headed toward the back of the shop where there was a high counter of dark wood covered with floral bas-reliefs. Behind the counter, dressed in a dark green robe, shoulders covered with a beautiful yellow shawl with geometric patterns, an old lady with long white hair tied in a neat chignon, her wrinkled face turned toward a notebook on her knees, focused on playing a kind of game that Anemone did not recognise. It seemed to consist of writing numbers in a grid... strange.

"Mrs Allison?" Snape said in a clear voice.

Mrs Allison straightened and adjusted her pretty little round glasses. "Ah, Severus! It's been a while." She rummaged for a moment under her counter and brought out a pair of gloves and a metal secateur. "Help yourself, young man, I'm not moving from the counter."

"Thank you, Mrs Allison," he said with an unusual intonation in his voice... Anemone had trouble interpreting it but... he seemed to greatly respect this little old lady.

She watched him put on the gloves, seize the secateur and head into the shop as if he knew it by heart... Which, after some thoughts, seemed to be the case.

After a few twists and turns in the small labyrinth of walkways and pools overflowing with vegetation, Severus stopped before a basin containing a group of water lilies with flowers of very dark, captivating red. He took a small basket from a nearby shelf, lifted one of the flowers to cut its root, whilst patiently explaining to her what he was doing. Purple lotus, a plant used in numerous preparations intended to allow seers to clarify their visions... Anemone did not understand all the explanations... her head already full of everything she had learnt with Lucy that morning.

Severus harvested pieces of another plant, returned to the counter, paid and left after having presented his respects to Mrs Allison. Anemone felt Mrs Allison's piercing gaze focus on her several times, but never grasping why.

A few moments later, she was again assailed by the cold air of the street slipping between her feathers. Severus made a few other shops, but none was as striking in their singularity as Mrs Allison's.

Anemone was dozing on Severus's shoulder when she spotted from the corner of her eye a particular shop window. This displayed dozens of stuffed animals. They all looked soft and adorable, but what captivated Anemone was this white owl plushie... it looked so soft, and above all, it was almost exactly like White!

Her interest must have been evident enough for Severus to perceive it, for he stopped and turned his head to follow her gaze. "Is something wrong, Anemone?"

She thought very hard that everything was fine, just pushing an image of the white owl plushie to the forefront of her thoughts, to justify her reaction.

"Hmm..." he said simply before resuming his walk. A street further on, he stopped, his gaze thoughtful, then, he took out a small notebook from his pocket and wrote something she did not have time to read on one of the pages before tearing it off and slipping the page into her black ring. "Go carry this message to Dumbledore please. Then, you will be free to go about your business."

Both proud and excited to be entrusted with a new mission, Anemone took wing at full speed toward Hogwarts, letting the roofs and smoke of Edinburgh disappear, far below and behind her.

oOOOo

Tick -

Tock -

Tick -

Tock - went the great pendulum of the antique clock in Severus's quarters' sitting room, the only thing disturbing the deep silence in which the castle was plunged. The air was still, the only small glimmers were those of the last glowing embers in the fireplace, behind the grate placed to prevent a log from rolling without anyone to watch, as well as the small golden haloes surrounding the tiny little fairies asleep, nestled in the Christmas tree branches, amongst the decorations, drawn there by the presence of the small mugwort biscuits hung there to attract them.

Both anxious and excited, Anemone stood motionless on the edge of her little nest atop the wardrobe. Fearing that the slightest sound might alert Severus, even though he had entered his bedroom more than an hour ago.

Tonight, her mission was most secret.

When she was still with Mister and Missus, she would see Dudley receive gifts each year. Mister and Missus would go put them under the tree on Christmas night, and made Dudley believe it was a fat man dressed in red with a flying sleigh who came to deposit them. Anemone did not quite understand the reason for the lie, but the gifts made Dudley happy. And since she received nothing from Mister and Missus, Dudley was a little sad for her, but he hid it, because Mister and Missus punished her if Dudley said he was sad for her.

So Dudley acted as if nothing were wrong, and in the evening, when Mister and Missus were in front of the telly, he would slip her little cakes and other good things he had managed to take during the Christmas meal.

Dudley was happy to receive gifts from Mister and Missus, she was happy to receive gifts from Dudley, it was therefore perfectly logical that Severus would be happy to receive her gifts. And she wanted to make Severus happy, after all he had done for her, nothing was too much to even begin to thank him. But she did not know how to cook cakes... so the gift she had prepared with Marianne's help would have to do.

At this thought, her little heart raced in her chest. What if Severus did not like her gift? Would he be sad? Angry? No! She must not think like that. Marianne had helped her make the gift and she knew Severus's tastes. No need to worry. At worst, she would make him something else...

She took a deep breath, seized the small amulet wrapped in gift paper, and glided through the silent shadows until landing beneath the tree.

Anemone held her breath, she thought she had seen one of the little fairies move in her sleep. Phew, she had just turned over on her branch...

The silence... the muffled tick-tock of the old clock... the intermittent crackling of the dying embers, the soft glows of the sleeping little fairies... her gift for Severus prominently displayed beneath the tree.

It was by far the most beautiful Christmas Eve she had ever spent, far from the muffled rumblings of cars in the streets, or the mayhem and chaos of Mister and Missus's exuberant voices and bodies...

All that was missing was...

Anemone hopped toward the little familiar flap in the wall.

The night would surely be icy, but she very much wanted to see the stars.