Don’t Hit The Messenger solo finished

Draven picked at his food unseeingly. It tasted like a rug, the texture alien on his tongue despite his best efforts to choke it down. Though he’d been at the table for the better part of an hour, willing himself to swallow some protein before he passed out at duelling practice, it was no use.

It wasn’t often that he got caught in the great hall during the morning rush. It was far too loud, chaotic at the best of times and absolute discord at the worst. But there he was. Deimos was sat in front of him chowing down on a bloodied piece of steak Draven wasn’t sure would have passed a health inspection. The spider had a terrifying appetite, taking down an entire hunk of meat by himself and then returning for seconds. It was no wonder the Slytherin dorms hadn’t had a bug problem in years. Deimos exterminated them with the tenacity of a seasoned killer.

A great deal of noise broke out, the mishmashed flapping of wings and screeches signaling the mail being delivered. Draven looked up, something in his chest squeezing uncomfortably. His eyes picked apart the mess of brown, tan, and white, searching for- well, he wasn’t quite sure. What was he hoping for, exactly? It was a ridiculous hope, sitting in his chest tentatively, crying out in pain with each day that passed by without a word from his dad.

His living, somewhat healthy dad. His dad, who was back home, possibly returning to normality. What did normality even mean for the Mirador family? An empty house?

“Fuck-“ Draven’s hand flew to his shoulder as sharp talons pierced his skin. He jerked backward, setting a great deal of cawing in motion. His newfound companion, a disheveled looking crow with beady eyes and incredibly wet feathers, took off.

“Stupid!” the bird screeched, flapping about his head and nearly colliding with one of the boys sitting near him. Water rained down on the students, flicked off in a frantic effort to find balance. “Stupid man! Stupid, stupid man!”

Draven cursed, fingers digging underneath his shirt and pulling it aside to reveal blood dripping down his shoulder. The crow landed gracelessly on the table, nearly smooshing Deimos in its haste to settle. The spider gave an indignant chirp, pulling his steak away with a scowl.

“How are you even alive?” Draven snapped at the bird, shoving down the way his entire body had knotted up. Apollo, his father’s messenger crow, narrowed its eyes. “I looked for you everywhere,” he hissed, relief coming out as barely restrained rage.“I turned the whole Manor upside down because I was afraid you’d starve.”

“Stupid,” the crow cawed, with a certain look of indignant superiority. “Stupid man.” Right. He didn’t know what he’d expected.

Draven suppressed the urge to wrap his arms around the old, grumpy crow and squeeze it. Of course Apollo was alive. The whole damn world could catch fire and the crow would be left to dance on the ashes, somehow having contributed to the whole mess.

“Just give me the damn letter,” Draven said, picking up one of the knives nearby. Apollo huffed, holding out his foot obediently, and waiting for the string to be cut. The old man was as glad to be rid of the parchment as Draven was to receive it. No doubt it had given him a great deal of trouble- he wasn’t a big bird, and winds were strong.

After a few seconds, Apollo took off, landing roughly on Draven’s shoulder once more. The boy was better prepared this time, though claws digging into his skin weren’t a delight.

Unrolling the parchment with hands he was furious to find shaking, Draven swallowed hard. His father’s elegant script was undeniable. Emerald ink, with the Mirador house crest stamped at the bottom. The writing was as it had always been, slanted and clean, not a line out of place.

Hog’s Head. October 13th, 7pm.