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Chapter Fifty-One.
"Hermes!"
Percy's eyes snapped open as he was dozing, and he shot upright, gasping for breath. He had been lying on the couch and Michelle had left to go to bed hours ago. He fumbled for his pocket watch and groaned, the time being 2:30 in the morning. He had been ensuring his sleep was light and he knew he would pay for it later when he would have no choice but to collapse in a heap like a hibernating bear, but the realisation that the only reason his sleep had been sound and secure was because of Morgan had made him paranoid about succumbing to the inevitability of dreams. He was used to having to live with little sleep anyway, having been worked to the bone by Fudge and dealing with study and having the responsibilities of countless extra-curricular activities at school. An odd thought had interrupted his sleep, a subconscious reminder rearing its head that in his panicked rush to get to the Battle and then the week or so of grief at the Burrow had had him completely forget and abandon his pet bird. His Screech Owl had been a reward from his proud parents when he had become Prefect in fifth year. He had been waiting all of his life practically to have his own Owl, instead of relying upon Errol, the family Owl who was not really known for being the most reliable.
And he had forgotten his loyal and efficient friend, who had more often than not had braved cold Winters to deliver reports and important letters with no more admonishment to Percy for last minute requests than the odd cold stare. Percy smiled fondly at the thought of his little animal, remembering on more than one occasion, him moving to his Floo with a sigh and a, "It's alright Hermes, I'll have Shylock send it for me. You are such a little thing after all," and with a screech Hermes would fly up and snatch the letter away from Percy with his claws. There was no other adversary Hermes loathed more than Morgan's regal onyx coloured raven, Shylock.
Percy had to admit, he had never been the most attentive of owners and when he had finished school and left home he had had to set up a system where he hung up a little birdhouse outside with a bowl of birdseed that would fill automatically when it emptied, the seed coming from a bag inside his house. But he had never completely forgotten Hermes before, and he felt a pang of sudden guilt that he had now.
He would have to go and find him…And buy him the biggest bag of popcorn to make up for his absence. Merlin…For being the postal owl of a former Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic, he was a classless bird with cheap taste…
It was after 9 when Michelle surfaced from her room and she went straight to the kitchen as she heard Percy on the phone. They had stayed up late, talking of odd things, and she was glad to have him back with her. He was such a controlled individual, and such a hesitant one, but she liked the glimpses she caught of the man under the mask, the thoughtful glance he would sometimes have or his little laugh or the warmth and playfulness in his fingers at he would tug at her hair. His actions said more about himself than his words which over the time she had known him she could tell were guarded and measured and cautious. She supposed years of boarding-school sort of did that to a person - belted the personality out of you.
After preparing a bowl of cereal for herself she moved into the sitting-room and stopped when she realised Percy was not actually on the phone, but seemed to be having a discussion with an owl, sitting on top of the television, almost hanging upside down as it bent over, watching the cricket.
"Percy…"
Percy looked over to her and smiled, "Agent M," then he playfully called over to the bird, "Hermes, where are your manners? Say hello to my friend here, Miss Matthews."
The bird looked up from the cricket and hooted at her as if he were giving a real greeting and she stood there wordlessly, staring at it.
"Well yes, I know," Percy's voice was polished like glittering gems. It always got that way whenever he was being particularly smug, "She's not the most polite of creatures, Hermes, but one must make do with friends."
The bird hopped off the television box and flew over to Percy, landing on his knee, and he hopped about, turning and twisting his head over to Michelle playfully.
"Is that an Owl?" she managed to ask.
"Screech Owl," Percy replied but then received what looked like a scathing glare from Hermes and corrected himself hurriedly, "Apologies, Hermes, he is a Megascops kennicotti owl."
"But what is he doing here?" Michelle asked, moving over and bending down to look at the fluffy little creature, "I mean – in the city. Where did you get him from?"
"I brought him with me from home," Percy explained, "I lost him when I was sick, and last night went back to the bus-stop. He always waits around for me," he held out his hand affectionately to the bird and let him nuzzle his finger, "He's as cocky as a playboy, but he's extremely loyal…Aren't you, my little man?" for some reason his words were tinged with melancholy.
"Hermes?" she asked curiously.
"Messenger of the Gods," he explained and a playful smile flitted over him, replacing the sketch of sadness, "I thought it rather appropriate."
"Oh, you did, did you?" she sat beside him and after placing the bowl of cereal on the table she gently stroked the owl's head, and smiled, "You certainly think highly of yourself, Percy Ignatius."
"Shh," his finger flew to his lips and then he placed both of his hands on either side of Herme's little head as if he were covering his ears, "Don't tell him otherwise, it's the only reason he still follows me around."
She giggled at this, and then he tickled the back of Hermes head. The little bird lifted his wings and let out a mighty screech, Michelle blinking in surprise at the loud sound, and Percy added, a little more playfully, "I once knew a girl - little Hermione Granger…A bit like a sister to me…Very much like a sister. Very clever – she knew everything…When she knew something she had to blurt it all out, every small and tiny detail and I named Hermes after her, in a manner of speaking…" he smiled tenderly at the recollections, "Such a bright thing – a library of knowledge in her head and she wanted to tell the world of it. She seemed to be overcompensating for something," his smile turned thoughtful, "I never told her I understood her more than she could know."
They had spent the day playing with Hermes who seemed to be a cocky little git who lapped up every moment of attention – by showing off. Percy would throw a kernel of popcorn into the air, and Michelle laughed that no matter how far or how high it was thrown the bird would catch it greedily in its beak or claws. Such an odd owl – didn't they sleep during the day?
She was curling her hair that night for work when she heard a scratching on the bathroom door. She went over to it and opened it and Hermes flew in and landed on the table, holding his leg out, with what seemed a note tied to his little leg, with a pen. She took it off curiously and laughed aloud when she read the note in Percy's flourished handwriting.
Would you like some chocolate, Agent M?
She took the pen and with her own round print replied Alright and after awkwardly tying the note back onto Herme's leg he flew away. Fancy boarding-school tricks would never cease to amaze her. She went back to curling her hair, humming to herself but turned in even more surprise when Hermes returned in only a few moments, a large bar of chocolate, almost as big as the bird, tied to the leg.
"Percy!" she admonished good-humouredly and hurriedly took the burden off the little thing, who seemed quite proud of himself, "Oh my poor Hermes…"
Percy sat alone when Michelle had left in a flourish of contented humming for work and he was watching the television when Morgan appeared.
He said nothing as she stared at him, and he could not read her expression, unable to determine what she was thinking, when she said unexpectedly, "32 Nought Avenue."
"Pardon?" he asked uncertainly.
"It's where she works," she sniffed with disdain, "The girl you live with."
Percy could detect the spite in her voice and he shifted on his seat uncertain. Things did not turn out well when Morgan Moreau was spiteful, but he could not understand it, "She works at a restaurant."
"Yes. But it may fascinate you to go and see the place," she replied.
"Morgan," he stood facing her, his voice gentle, "Please…You hate me."
"Oh you silly idiot," she moved over to look at Michelle's pictures on the wall, "I don't hate you – I could never hate you…"
"Have you seen Jem?" he asked quietly, and the only answer he received was the sound of his oldest friend shaking with tears.
He had had the beautiful pout of one of those Pre-Raphaelite models in the portraits that hung in Hogwarts, Ginny thought as she stared at yet another gift from Jeremiah Moreau. The Grey Lady had been especially fond of him as he had not only been one of the brightest of her Ravenclaws but his figure was of a different time where different ideals of beauty had been revered. He had looked like a petulant child to Ginny with his fine chestnut coloured hair falling to his shoulders and his ivory skin and those damned grey eyes of his, but she had seen the painted illustrations in one of Hermione's books on Shakespeare and he would not have looked out of place as the young Romeo of Verona on a sixteenth century stage. But those were the Moreau's in a nutshell. His sister Morgan who had made her claim on Percy had held that same regal poise, and arrogance.
She held the bicycle bell in her hands – her bedroom was full of boxes and boxes of them. It had been a joke, a nasty taunt from school as he had called her Gryffindor's Bicycle Bell after she had broken up with his fellow Ravenclaw Michael Corner. Her hand tightened around the bell as she thought of the Yule Ball where he had been sitting languidly at a table, his eyes flicking over her spearmint green and light pink dress, "Merlin wept – is that how your Father afforded such a dress Ginevra? Wearing the Honeydukes colours. Does he have shares in the sweets business? Oh, silly me – he couldn't afford that, they must have sponsored you out of charity."
She had thrown back her own insult at him of course and had earned the impressed clapping of Fred and George, but his words had stung. It was true. Her dress was horrible – something a child in nursery school would have worn. She had sat in the corner by herself after dancing with Neville, loathing the fact that Aunt Muriel had made her Mother choose such a ghastly thing – how on earth was Harry ever going to notice her if everybody thought she should always be stuck in frills and pastels?
"Well look…" she looked up surprised to see him standing beside her, "It could be worse. I mean, I dare say nothing could look as bad as what Ronald is wearing."
She had defended the honour of her family of course, but even then she was taken aback by his words. Had it been some sort of half-assed apology? He had never looked regretful of his taunts to her before, and now he swallowed and said to her quietly, "It would be a real honour - Bell - if I could have a dance with you."
She stood after that, certain beyond anything he was mocking her and she said to him coldly, "You're a real jerk, do you know that Jeremiah Moreau?"
She looked down now at the only note she had received from him, through all the boxes he had sent since he had been taken by the Ministry Officials to Azkaban to await trial (for the murder of his parents! She thought, feeling sick), and didn't know quite what to do as she read once again Please come and visit me Bicycle Bell.
