Lazy owl on a Sunday morning R. Greer Closed

Claire Greer had been very explicit when she'd seen her daughter over the Christmas holiday: a letter every fornight to know her daughter was alive. Ruthie couldn't really blame her. The masked ball had been a blood bath, literally. And to know that your 11 year old daughter had been caught in the fray, well, that was something that would spook any parent. Ruthie did think it was a bit odd that her mother, who had attended Hogwarts herself, rather than her muggle father was the more concerned one, but then Ross had taught her to wrangle some of the largest fish. He cared of course, but his way was more trusting and less paranoid.

Still, Ruthie was not about to break her word to her mother, even if she nearly missed the fornightly deadline all the time. And so it was she was up the owlery again to deliver a decided banal letter home. Claire, she expected, would be grateful for the mundane contents. Ruthie, on the other hand, was perhaps deliberately excluding some key non-banal facts like the fact that she and Lark had come across Shauna's passed out body by the great lake. She didn't want to cause any more distress or give her mother cause to have her leave the school. For all the pain, she'd gained some real friends.

Clutching her letter in her right hand, the blonde entered the owlery in her bright Ravenclaw robes like any other day. But as she stepped inside, she heard what sounded like yelling...yelling about selling? Blinking her eyes open, she came across a young boy and what looked like an older owl who was the victim of his harsh words. The owl she didn't recognize--it could have been any old school owl--but the boy...she didn't know him from any recent dramatic events. But common room, yes, she'd seen him passing in the common room--a fellow Ravenclaw! "Are you all right...?" she asked, leaving space to insert his name, but alas, she didn't know it. Her voice was friendly but decided calmly than his own, her Scottish accent dancing across the vowels.

As she waited for his reply, she looked out and across for Darby. It was wasn't long before she set eyes on her. Darby was still on the smaller size as a young Barred Owl. She didn't have any distinguishing markings as far as Ruthie could tell, but she knew the look in the owl's eyes. It was one of tranquility. She walked over and laid a gentle hand on the bird's head, stroking it softly as she looked down at the letter in her hand. It was a letter that contained a large lie by omission, but Ruthie didn't want to scare anymore than she already had. And she desperately wanted to remain at the school with her team, her friends, and her classmates like this boy at her side.

Interacting with @Cormac McCarthy

@Ruthie Greer

"Cormac," he spoke, completing her question upon realizing she didn't know his name. "I'm Cormac McCarthy."

He took his glaring eyes off of Tootsie and redirected them towards the girl, putting on a much gentler expression.

"Greer, right? From the Quidditch team," he half-asked-half-stated.

If his memory was not playing tricks on him, he was pretty sure to have seen her on the pitch during the latest Ravenclaw match. She was good on the broom, that he must admit. As far as he was concerned, they didn't take any classes together and he didn't recall ever sharing a conversation with her before.

The girl went to fetch her own bird and the room fell silent. Cormac watched how the little owl's feathers moved back and forth as she caressed its back. He reached out a hand and laid a faint pat on its head. The soft texture of its plumage lingered on his fingers and, for a moment, he couldn't quite get to grips with the concept that Tootsie and that owl belonged to the same species.

"Believe it or not, I was about to give Tootsie to you," he said, glancing up at her, "but now I fear you won't take her, since you have such a pretty owl of your own." he muttered, mesmerized by the bird. "She is a pain, that Tootsie," he added.

Tootise produced a bird-like growl, as if she had been deeply offended by Cormac's words. She hopped onto the window sill again, roughly grabbed the boy's postcard in her beak and flew off, just like that. Cormac watched her for a couple instants, both pleased and surprised. Once she was out of sight, he turned back around.

"What's it called?" he inquired, gesturing towards the little owl.

"Number 44," She said proudly, impressed that he had recalled her from the two matches earlier in the year. As one of two first years on the team, she didn't expect much notoriety (especially when you added in the fact that she and Cecily looked fairly similar save the curls), but she would much rather be known for Quidditch than for the the shiny gold badge she now had to wear on her robes. It was supposed to be complimentary, becoming Prefect, but Ruthie just found it restrictive like she was trying to be something she was not. Whereas Quidditch, on the other hand, was freeing. "I'm Ruth, but everyone on the team calls me 'Ruthie.' Did you come out to the recent matches then, Cormac?" It was a bit of a rhetorical question since his recognition of her was based on this supposition, but still it was good conversation. Her best friendships were rooted in Quidditch--Quidditch and tragedy, if she was being honest.

As she stroked Darby's feathers, she saw the boy place a hand on the bird's head. At first, Darby whirred her head before settling her eyes on the boy. "This is Cormac," she introduced him to her pet, "He seems quite friendly." And owl stayed in place, seeming to relax a bit. She was probably happy to enjoy some attention before her inevitable flight back to Arisaig.

As she clutched her letter of white lies, Cormac revealed his intent to sell--no, to give away--his own family owl. Before Darby, she probably would have jumped at the chance for a pet of her own. Ruthie couldn't help but look over at Tootsie. The bird was large and fatish with missing feathers and, indeed, a missing eye. If the bird was not obedient, Ruthie couldn't help but wonder if it was simply past her time. Maybe Tootsie was just too old, no too damaged, to be carrying mail around. Ruthie knew what that was like. After the ball, the most mundane tasks had been the most difficult. Just decorating the Frog Choir pillows with Lark and Dymph seemed to carry a weight (though they had helped her through it). "Maybe Tootsie was just having a bad day," Ruthie offered, "or decade by the look of it." She hadn't meant any offensive--quite the opposite--but her bluntness was just her natural candor. It did look as though Tootsie had been having a hard time for a while.

From the way Tootsie had almost growled at Cormac's words, Ruthie was glad she had flown away by the time her own came around. Ruthie watched her from the window. "Is she...safe? Flying like that with one eye?" Ru asked, always concerned about the welfare of animals, even ones that proved difficult. Turning back to Cormac, she answered his question, "Her name is Darby. She's gonna have to fly home today. My mum wants updates after the Ball." This last part she wasn't thrilled about, but it was the truth. Why shouldn't he know it? For all she knew, he might have been caught in the Ball's crossfires too.

For @Cormac McCarthy