Francis heard pecking at his window, and opened it. A tawny owl flew in and landed on top of a chair. Francis untied the letter and pointed the owl to the corn nuts and water. He opened the letter as a voice said, "can I get a soda or something instead, and I'm kinda hungry."
Francis looked over to see Malcolm standing there, "Cripes," he yelled, "Malcolm, how did you get here?"
"I flew," Malcolm said, pointing at the window, "I learned a new trick at school. Dewey wrote you a letter and asked me to deliver it."
"They let you do that?" Francis asked.
"I didn't ask any of the teachers," Malcolm said, "but all of my friends said it was okay."
"Malcolm, all of your friends are witches and wizards. For them, anything goes. I want you to understand that what you are doing is wrong. I hope you covered your tracks."
"I didn't really plan it, Francis, but Dewey was at the school. I can blame him."
"That's a bit of luck," Francis said, "That covers you as far as mom goes. What about the teachers?"
"I've thought of that," Malcolm said, "but I can't tell anyone until I get caught."
Francis nodded. "You're right. This is a perfect scenario for the 'I didn't know' excuse."
Stan walked in, and eyed the twelve-year-old boy in pointed hat and robes. "Uhm, Francis, does the kid know Hallowe'en isn't until next month."
"Stan, this is my little brother, Malcolm. He just flew over from England to pay me a visit."
"Nice to meet you, Malcolm," Stan said, "How do you feel after your flight?"
"My arms are tired," Malcolm said, "but other than that, I'm fine."
Stan looked at Francis and said, "If he wasn't your brother, I would have taken that as a joke. What's the story?"
"Malcolm can turn into an owl," Francis said, "He delivers his own mail, now."
"Cool," Stan said, "He'll save a fortune on postage."
"And who is this?" demanded Commandant Spangler, as he walked in the room.
Malcolm looked up at the one-eyed man as Francis and Stan snapped to attention. "This is my brother, Malcolm, Sir," Francis said, "He came by to visit me."
"And, pray tell," Spangler said, sarcastically, "why is he wearing a robe?"
"I'm in the choir at school," Malcolm said quickly, "I wanted to show Francis how I looked."
"Ah, a choir," the commandant said with a smile, "I love music. Sing something for me." Then he added, forcefully, pointing his hook, "NOW."
Malcolm dutifully sang the first stanza of America the Beautiful. Before he was done, Spangler stopped him and said, "That was ghastly. What are you doing in the school choir?"
"I turn the sheet music for the organist, Sir," Malcolm said with a smile.
"It is my sincere hope that you will be leaving shortly," Commandant Spangler said, only to shout, "Who the hell are you?" as a robed man suddenly appeared.
"I'm David Winter, Department of Magic," the man said as he drew his wand. "Oblivate," he said, waving the wand, "nothing happened in here, go and take a nap."
Spangler turned and left, a glazed look on his face.
"Can you make him forget he's a sadistic jerk?" Francis asked.
David Winter glared at him, then turned to Malcolm, "Your headmaster sent me an emergency message saying you had left the school grounds without permission, and that you would, most likely, be here. He even mentioned possible expulsion. Please tell me you have a reasonable explanation for being here. I would love for you to continue your education."
[That's why I like Mr. Winter. He'll do anything to keep me at Hogwarts. He even asked if they have a summer school.]
"Please tell me you're not related to them," Stan said to David Winter.
"Happily, I'm not," David said, turning to the young black man, "but Malcolm here has been made my personal assignment." Turning to Malcolm, he said, "Well?"
David shuddered as Malcolm gave him an innocent smile. Then he braced himself for whatever lame excuse followed. Malcolm widened his grin and said, "I was delivering a letter, Sir, and I flew here."
"I've heard about your skills on a broom, Malcolm. That isn't even a believable excuse."
"He didn't use a broom," Stan said, with a smile of his own. "Show him Malcolm," he said and held out his arm. Malcolm transformed into an owl and perch on the proffered arm.
[The look on his face is priceless. I wish Colin was here with his camera.]
"Merlin's Beard," David Winter gasped, as Malcolm transformed back, "How long have you been able to do that?"
"I was registered as an animagus, this afternoon," he answered proudly, "I even caught the snitch."
[I love when his eyes glaze over like that.]
"Don't explain that last line to me," David said, "but . . . why are you delivering letters."
"I was told that I had to, since I was an owl"
"Which teacher told you that?" David said, waiting for the punch line.
"Well," Malcolm said, "It wasn't one of the teachers, it was the older students. I thought they would know."
"Nice excuse," David said, with a nod of his head, "I think you could get away with it."
"What's a snitch?" Francis asked.
"It's this little golden ball that goes really fast," Malcolm said, "I caught it as an owl."
"Wait a minute," Stan said, "Owls can't see in the daytime."
"You're right, but my hearing is excellent. I was able to find it by listening for it."
"It's that good?"
"Yeah, like when I changed, just now, there were two guys in the hallway arguing about where I placed the mirrors."
"Malcolm," David interrupted, "Can you fly back without a problem?"
"Oh, Yeah," Malcolm said, "It only took me a few hours to get here. The owl post is close to the school, and the transfer point is close to here, kind of."
"So you didn't fly all the way?" Francis asked.
"No way, I'd never make it," Malcolm said, "but it's just like the regular mail service. I can get from School to here, three times faster than I can get to London."
David put his hand on Malcolm's shoulder, and said, "get something to eat before you go, and I'll talk to your headmaster and explain it away, so you won't get in trouble at school. And Malcolm, the next time you do something like this, DON'T."
After David disapparated, Francis left Malcolm to get him some food. He came back and Malcolm was asleep in the chair. He and Stan put him in the bed, and closed the door. "He's pretty tired for so early in the day," Stan said.
"It's the time difference," Francis said, "For him, it's almost midnight. I'll wake him up before it's time for us to hit the sack."
"He'll miss classes," Stan said.
"Then I'll wait until morning," Francis said, "Malcolm will appreciate that."
"Malcolm, what happened to you," Ginny asked, "What did Dumbledore do to you."
"It was scary," Malcolm said, "he didn't do anything. All he did was ask me how I liked flying."
"No detention? No house points taken away? Nothing?" Ginny asked.
"All he said was that he would remember what I did," Malcolm said, sadly, adding, "and I have to talk to Dr. Spencer on a regular basis."
"She's a nice lady," Ginny said, "she loved all those stories I told about you."
"Ginny, she's a Psychiatrist, a shrink, a head doctor."
"Oh. Sorry, Malcolm," Ginny said with a grin. "She probably thinks you're crazy after all those things I said."
[I want to scream so badly. There isn't anything wrong with me. I'm completely normal. Okay, I can turn into an owl. And I do have the highest IQ in the school. And my best friend is the school bully . . . Maybe I do need a doctor?]
Malcolm thought back to when he had returned from Francis's school. Dumbledore had taken him to task for it. Malcolm told everyone that Dumbledore was nice, and smiled, but that wasn't the case. In the end, he left it to Professor McGonagall to determine how to handle it, since she was in charge of Malcolm's house.
Professor McGonagall called him to her office, and asked Malcolm to promise never to do that again, except with permission.
"I promise," Malcolm said, waiting for the boom to fall.
"Then you can go," McGonagall said.
"What?" Malcolm said loudly, "I mean, excuse me, Professor, what did you say?"
"I said you can go," McGonagall told him.
"Wait a minute. That's it? I promise not to do it again, and I'm free to go."
"Yes, Malcolm. You promised not to do it again, and you are free to go."
"Well, what if I break my word?" Malcolm asked.
"Will you?" McGonagall replied.
"Uh. No. I just ran off like that because, you know, I . . . "
". . .wanted to show off," McGonagall concluded, "I know, Malcolm, and You know it was wrong. Your word is enough, and you know that as well." She opened a book and began to make notes in it, then looked up. "You're still here," she said.
"Yes, Ma'am," Malcolm said, "I wanted to know why you trust me."
Minerva McGonagall put down her quill and closed the book. "I trust you, Malcolm, because you are an animagus. I trust you because, of all the creatures you could have transformed into, you chose to become an owl. The forms we choose as animagi are a reflection of our character. I am a cat, cunning and sleek, and in my prime that fit me perfectly. But you are an owl, and a young owl. That speaks to me of budding wisdom, and the best way I can think to nurture that trait is to give you something very fragile, and that fragile thing is my trust. Can you understand that?"
[It's weird, but I'd rather yell at my mom, then do anything to make McGonagall mad at me, now. Draco says it my conscience, but that can't be right. It's never bothered me before.]
"Cadet, your name is?" Spangler asked.
"Uhm, It's me, Francis, Sir. Don't you remember me?"
"No, I don't, Cadet," Commandant Spangler said, nastily, "and don't think you can cuddle up to me, either. Ask any other cadet here, and they will tell you. I won't be pushed around." He jabbed his hook at Francis's chest, saying, "I'll be the one who does the pushing." With that, he left the room.
"That stinks," Francis said, "That spell made Spangler forget all about us, but he still has the same attitude."
"At least he doesn't remember all those things you've done," Stan pointed out.
"But that's the point," Francis said, "All those things, the exploding beer keg, the dung bombs, glueing his desk to the ceiling, they're all meaningless. Spangler is mean to me because he is just plain mean."
Stan saw the gleam in his roommate's eye, and asked, "Francis, what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to make an impression on him," Francis replied. "I will make him notice me, for what I am."
"And what are you, Francis?"
"An angry young man who wants to be hated for a specific reason, not on general principle. Spangler will always remember me," Francis said, "unless I go overboard, then I'll blame it on someone else."
"That was great, Malcolm," Dennis Creevey said, "I didn't know you could do that. I don't even mind losing the match."
"That makes you a party of one, Dennis. Everyone else bet that you'd win, and they blame me for it."
"You did catch the snitch," Dennis reminded him, "and nobody expected that. Can you show me how you change?"
"It's easy, and hard, at the same time." Malcolm said, "You have to have an affinity for the animal you want to change into, and you have to understand the animal. To say it simply, I can turn into an owl, because I can become an owl."
"Cool," Dennis said, "What does that mean?"
"Dennis," Colin called, "You shouldn't be hanging around Malcolm."
"Sorry Colin, I forgot he's not the proper sort, again," Dennis said, grinning. "I guess I'll have to stop taking those animagus lesson."
[Did you hear that? Dennis lied to his brother, the same way I would automatically lie to Reese. Do you think I might be contagious?]
"He's teaching you to be an animagus?" Colin asked in surprise.
"It's going to take time, Colin," Malcolm said, "but he does have what it takes."
"Really?" Colin said in surprise. "Thank you, Malcolm," he added, "for helping my brother. Do you honestly think he can learn?"
"Probably not as fast as I did," Malcolm said, "I had a few things in my favor, but yeah, I think he can learn how."
[I hope Dennis realizes. I now have to give him lessons. He may be spending more time with me than he wants to.]
Malcolm and Dennis went down to the Great Hall for breakfast. They watched as the owls arrived to deliver the morning mail. A barn owl swooped down, and deposited a red envelope in front of Malcolm and everyone began backing away.
"Aren't you going to open it?" Dennis asked. "It only gets worse if you wait."
"No," Malcolm said, "It doesn't matter as long as I don't open it."
"Wrong, it can burst open on its own, just because you handled it," Ginny shouted as she, along everyone else, covered her ears.
The letter burst open, and Lois, her voice magnified one hundred times began to shout.
"MALCOLM, HOW COULD YOU BE SO STUPID! DO YOU HAVE TO SHOW OFF EVERY TIME YOU LEARN A NEW TRICK? AND YOU LEFT SCHOOL WITHOUT TELLING ANYONE. WHAT IF SOMETHING HAPPENED? WHAT IF YOU GOT SHOT BY A POACHER OR SOMETHING? YOU INCONSIDERATE, SELFISH EXCUSE OF A HUMAN BEING. I WANT YOU KNEELING AGAINST THE WALL NOW, BACK STRAIGHT AND HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD. AND STAY THAT WAY UNTIL THE HEADMASTER SAYS YOU CAN MOVE."
Malcolm looked away from the wall, and said to the boy next to him, "Dennis, my mom was only talking to me."
"I don't want to take the chance," Dennis said.
"Neither do I," Ginny said, "I've met your mom."
Several other students voiced their agreement.
"Good Morning, Malcolm," Dr. Spencer said, "are you enjoying your weekend?"
"It's wonderful," Malcolm lied, "I've always wanted to go to a hospital on a regular basis."
Dr. Spencer smiled at his remark. "You don't have to be nervous. I was reading the reports of this past week, and you've made an impression on a great many people, Malcolm. In the middle of reviewing your case, however, I suddenly had an inspiration."
[I'm not going to like this.]
"Malcolm, since you can fly on your own, do you think you could overcome your fear of flying a broom? After all, you now have a safety net, so to speak."
[I'm not going to like this.]
"I was flying before the game," Malcolm said, "practicing with the owls, but I was still scared by the broom. I thought I would be fine, but . . . "
"Would you like to try?" Dr. Spencer asked.
[I hate being right.]
"No."
"Too bad. We're going outside. If you can fly a broom, you don't have to see me again. If you can't, then you have a serious problem, and broom flying is only a symptom of it."
"Great," Malcolm said, "If I can fly a broom, I'm sane. If I can't, I'm crazy. Just over a year ago, the reverse would have been true. LOOK, you're a nice lady, and you mean well, but you're looking at me the wrong way. I can't fly the broom, because I don't trust it. I don't know how it's made. It's like my dad's car. As soon as I understood what it was, I had to learn everything I could in order to enjoy riding in it. Magic flying brooms are still a new experience to me, even after a year. You show me one thing, and as I get used to it, you shove another thing at me. It takes time for me to adjust, and something has to slip by. That's all it is."
"Malcolm, calm down."
"NO, I am calm, "Malcolm shouted, "I'm trying to get you to listen. I'm not just a twelve-year-old boy. I am a very very smart twelve-year-old boy who has that fact shoved in his face everyday. And I don't have anyone I can talk to about THAT."
Dr. Spencer smiled politely, then said, "Have you tried talking to Hermione Granger. She can tell you how she feels. She is almost as smart as you are."
[What?]
"From the look on your face, Malcolm, you never realized that. You should pay attention to the people around you. You might have some pleasant surprises. Why haven't you tried talking to Hermione. I know she is fond of you."
"It's simple, Dr. Spencer. Her wanna-be boyfriend doesn't like me, because of my other friends."
Dr. Spencer frowned. Malcolm was good at giving the right answers if you just asked the wrong questions. "This is what I'm going to do, Malcolm, and you may not like it. I'll talk to you again, when I come up to Hogwarts in a couple of weeks. Try talking to other people, about how you feel. Find someone you can be completely honest with. Then you won't do such things as flying off to deliver letters, just because someone told you to. Things like that make you look foolish to other people."
Malcolm smiled at that last remark, and Dr. Spencer groaned as she realized she had been taken in. It was obvious this boy knew what he was doing, all along. "Malcolm," she said in exasperation, "How did you manage to convince an American Official that you were misled?"
"It was his idea," Malcolm explained, "I wanted to go with the 'bad judgement call' excuse. David will do anything to keep me at Hogwarts."
"He must like you a great deal, to go to this extent."
"Not exactly," Malcolm said.
". . .And it was great," Malcolm said, "right after that she decided that I didn't have to see her anymore. She said I was recalcitrant. I haven't been called that before."
Basil ignored him completely, and continued to play with his blocks.
"Malcolm, such interesting things happen to you," the nurse said, then added softly. "Basil is clearly happy that you are here. Your 'brother' has been facing you the entire time. But I'm afraid it's time for you to go."
"I love coming here, too," Malcolm said, "the little squirt kind of grows on you." Then he added, "I never showed him. Do you mind?"
The nurse nodded and Malcolm stood up. As Basil raised his head at the movement, Malcolm transformed, and a small tawny owl landed in front of the blocks. The nurse watched in pleasant amazement as Basil started to laugh. He petted the owl briefly, but then, as though nothing had happened, he turned back to his blocks. Malcolm changed back, and said, sadly, "Goodbye, Basil."
The boy stopped playing, and looked up at Malcolm, smiling. He then stopped smiling and went back to his blocks. Malcolm left the room as Basil Smythe was put to bed.
As Malcolm walked past the nurses station, he heard his name called. One of the nurses, her name tag said Carla Hull, asked, "Are you the student animagus?"
"Uh, Yeah," Malcolm answered.
"I thought I recognized you," Nurse Hull said, "Malcolm, I have a favor to ask you. I know the children will love it."
[Children?]
"We have some children who have had serious injuries and need long term care. Most of them have to stay in their beds, and we try to play games where they can still interact. One of them is called Owl Post . . . "
"And you would like me to be the owl." Malcolm said, grinning.
"It would be a treat for the children, but I should warn you, though, these children have been injured badly, and most of them are having arms and legs regrown."
"That won't be a problem. I'd love to do it," Malcolm said, "but you have to hold out your arm."
Nurse Hull held out her arm and started to ask why, but Malcolm had already transformed, and perched gently on her forearm. Smiling she walked him down the hall, to the children's ward.
"Are you ready, children?" she said, as she walked into the room. Eight children, between six and nine, gave out shouts of delight when they saw the owl. Malcolm ruffled his feathers, for show, and hooted. Eight voices shouted in joy. "This is Malcolm," Nurse Hull said, "He's only a little boy for an owl, but he came all the way from Hogwarts to play with us today." She waved her wand, and quills and paper appeared on the trays by each child's bed.
Malcolm flew to the first child, and she held out a letter. Malcolm picked it up, and she whispered, "Mikey." Malcolm flew to Mike's bed (only sissy girls called him Mikey) and gave him the letter.
[That was the weirdest thing to get used to about being an owl. Whenever someone gives me a letter, I can immediately sense where the person is. I won't tell you how I know this. McGonagall thinks that Francis was the only person I ever delivered a letter to.]
"It's Mike," Mike called out angrily, "I'm eight. I'm too old to be called Mikey. I can't wait for my leg to grow back so I can walk out of here."
Mike sent a letter back that said, "Dear Shana, Grils Stink, Love MIKE."
The time flew by, and so did Malcolm, occasionally stopping to peck at an ear, or let someone pet him. Then one girl began to frantically wave her letter in the air. Malcolm flew over to her bed, and took the letter in his beak. The girl said something to him, and the owl flew out of the nearest open window.
"Rebecca," Nurse Hull asked carefully, "We were only supposed to send letters to someone in the room, Who did you send a letter to?"
Rebecca looked down at her blanket and said, "My new Mommy and Daddy."
"But Honey," the nurse said, "you know you have to get well first. Your arm won't be healed for at least another three weeks, and your leg will take a t least one more week after that. We can't find you a new Mommy and Daddy until then."
The seven-year-old began to cry. "But Malcolm can find them today," she said between her sobs, "Owls can always find people."
Rebecca was still crying, a half hour later, when Shana called out, "It's Malcolm." She looked up and saw Nurse Hull looking very confused. Next to her was a young couple, with Malcolm the Owl perched on the man's arm. They walked over to her bed, and the lady said, "Hello Becca, we received your letter."
Rebecca looked at her in awe, "My Mommy always called me Becca. You MUST be my new Mommy."
"It's not that simple," the woman started to say, but her husband interrupted her. They shared a glance that spoke volumes. Then the man said to Rebecca, "First, you have to get completely well."
"I will," Rebecca promised.
Malcolm flew out of the ward and transformed once he was out of sight of the children.
"What happened?" Nurse Hull asked.
"It was strange," Malcolm said, "I felt like I was pulled along. I get that feeling as an owl. It's how I find people. But this time I was being pulled every which way. That couple was the closest and one of the strongest that I felt. They were even talking about adoption when I handed them the letter. Please don't tell anybody. I'm not supposed to be delivering letters, for real I mean."
[I'm dead. She's going to tell everybody.]
"Malcolm, You are amazing," Nurse Hull said, and gave him a hug.