A Season for Healing
By Dien
Summary and disclaimer in part one.
Thanks to Ran for pointing out about the book thing. It has been changed!
Rating: The series overall has an adult rating due to the Severus/Harry plotline... This part is G.
Chapter Two. In which the morning after occurs. Blindingly brilliant chapter summaries I've got here, hmm?Harry slowly blinked his eyes, feeling deliciously warm. The covers were wonderfully, amazingly soft and heavy, the pillows thick and plush, the mattress under him beautifully yielding.
Hmm. Not my school bed--it's not this big, nor this nice. Therefore, still dreaming. Any minute, Aunt Petunia will bang on the cupboard door.
He waited.
And waited.
There was a distinct lack of banging going on here. Perhaps Aunt Petunia had overslept? Finally, unable to take the curiosity anymore, he opened his eyes completely.
There was a fascinating ceiling of a faded gold colour high above him. Sunlight played across it in pretty dappled patterns. He mused on it for a few moments, letting his eyes travel down to one corner of it, then start on the walls. They were of the same faded gold color, with the addition of some wall hangings on them. Emerald green wall hangings. He fumbled for his glasses, finding them instinctively on the night-table next to the bed.
With them on, he could see that the emerald green wall hangings had little gold-embroidered serpents writhing their way around the edges, with other scenes playing themselves out on the tapestries proper. He let his eyes move lower.
They encountered an armoire. It was of beautiful dark glossy wood, elegantly but not ostentatiously carved, and the serpent motif was repeated in the carvings too. Beneath the piece of furniture was a well-worn but impeccably varnished hardwood floor, the wood a warm sandy color that went with the wallpaper. A few thick green rugs were scattered around on it.
Harry finally let his gaze move side to side as well as top to bottom. More furniture, all pieces similar to the armoire in style and coloring. A standing mirror stood in one corner of the rather large room. (Alright, enormous room. The ceiling was high, and it was easily the biggest bedroom he'd ever been in.)
On the wall to his right was a pair of open French doors-- the source of the sunlight, it seemed-- framed by lightweight curtains of the same colour of the walls. They fluttered gently in the morning breeze. Through them, he caught a glimpse of a small wrought-iron balcony.
Ahead of him was the wall with the armoire and other furniture, as well as a door, slightly ajar, through which he could see a tile floor and the edge of a sink. The bathroom, then.
To his left, there was the nightstand, some more furniture, a door that he very vaguely remembered coming in through the night before, and a house-elf. Harry blinked a bit and would have jumped if he hadn't been feeling quite so contented.
"Good morning, sir," the house-elf said with a deep bow, and Harry wondered how long the creature had been standing there... and nearly forgot to reply as he stared at the house-elf-- if such it truly was.
He seemed on the tall side for a house-elf, and his features had a not-quite-right cast to them (the nose in particular seemed to be longer and more pointed), but what caught the eye most was his clothing. Rather than the usual 'tunic,' this elf was garbed in a full butler's suit, from shiny black shoes to waistcoat to the miniature pair of half-moon glasses he wore. He stood with such an attitude of decorum and formality that Harry was hard pressed to think this was the same sort of creature as Dobby.
"Ah... good morning," he replied hesitantly. "Er..."
"My name is Wiggin, Master Potter," the creature said with another bow, then pushed his glasses back up his nose with one long finger. When Harry showed no sign of recognition at this pronouncement, the elf looked pained and continued, "I am Master Snape's chief house-elf and valet."
Snape! Harry had been in a particular dreamy state of half-remembrance concerning last night's events, but now it all came flooding back. He shot a glance down. Yep, he was still wearing the Potion Master's coat over his own clothes. The house-elf coughed delicately, and he quickly returned his attention to the creature.
"I apologize for not showing you to your room last night, but I was busy in another part of the house. Hence, Master Snape had to make do with," a pained expression here, "one of the... others that was more readily at hand."
"Oh. Yes. Tobble," Harry said, remembering the much more stereotypical house-elf that had brought him to the room.
Wiggin frowned disapprovingly. "Indeed. Tobble. I trust his service was satisfactory?"
"Uh... yeah... you don't talk like other house-elves," Harry said without thinking, then cursed his inability to phrase something eloquently or tactfully. The elf sniffed, as delicately as he had coughed earlier.
"I should think not, sir," he said a bit stiffly, and Harry realized he had managed to offend a house-elf. "I am not your average house-elf; nor, to be strictly speaking, am I a house-elf at all."
"Oh?" was all Harry could think to say.
"Indeed not. I am one-third goblin, in matter of fact. In any case, sir, I was sent to see whether or not you were awake yet, and if you were, whether or not you would be desirous of something to eat."
Harry realized that he was ravenously hungry-- not too surprising since his last meal had been a disappointingly small lunch at the Dursleys' the day before. He put the matter of the distressing (some might say impossible) fraction in Wiggin's heritage aside for the moment. "Breakfast would be great, Wiggin."
"Very good, sir-- although, since it's nearly ten o'clock, brunch might be a more appropriate term," replied the not-strictly-speaking-a-house-elf. Wiggin then stepped back and to one side, revealing a cart that Harry hadn't noticed before with a white cloth draped over it. With a flourish, the chief house-creature of Brennigan Moor pulled off the covering cloth to reveal a meal fit for royalty.
Harry stared at the spread for about two seconds before throwing back the covers and sitting up. In an instant, he was enthusiastically partaking of the scrambled eggs, waffles, bacon, toast, orange juice, hash browns, pancakes, and fresh fruit that was laid out before him.
As he took a momentary pause to smear some strawberry jam on a piece of perfectly-toasted toast, he said, "You guys didn't have to, um, do all this..."
"Nonsense," said Wiggin briskly. "Nezzy-- she's the head cook-- was more than delighted to prepare the meal-- we get guests so rarely... and one is hardly going to get anything less than the full hospitality of Snape Manor while they are here," he finished, an odd wistful note in his voice.
Harry wisely didn't comment on it, saying instead, "I thought Sn-- Professor Snape said this place was called Brennigan Moor?"
"The grounds are called Brennigan Moor. We are located on about 250 acres, to the north-west of the city of York," said the house-elf in a tone faintly reminiscent of a tour guide. "The house is Snape Manor, and has in one form or another served as the home of the Snape family from 1032 A.D. to the present day. We predate the Norman Conquest," Wiggin said with a touch of pride, then added hastily, "Not me personally, of course. I'm a relatively recent addition to the family-- employed by the Snapes for fifty-one years now."
"Oh," Harry mumbled again, though this time his reticence was due to a large chunk of syrup-doused waffle in his mouth. He struggled to swallow, finally succeeding with the help of some tea. "So... you've worked for the family for a while, then? You probably knew Snape when he was a kid?"
"Indeed. In fact, because of his parents' reticence to hire a more traditional teacher or to do it themselves, I served as he and his sister's tutor until they were old enough to go to school."
"Snape has a sister?!" Harry said around a mouthful of egg. Wiggin tried not to notice the boy had spoken with his mouth full, though he was unable to hide a slight wince. "Ah-- yes. His junior by three years. Siobhan by name."
Harry tried hard to imagine a female version of Snape and failed miserably, the only image he could conjure being the boggart-Snape with the red hand-bag from their third year.
"What... uh, what's she like?"
The elf suddenly looked quite reluctant to say any more. "Ah-- she's 'like' a Snape, of course. Is the food satisfactory?" he said in a rather loud tone of voice, and Harry got the impression the elf felt guilty for 'gossiping' about his employers.
"It's great," he murmured, realizing he was starting to get full. "Really good. Give... uh, Nezzy, right? Give her my compliments."
"Of course, sir."
"Hey, can I ask a question?"
Wiggin's expression became a bit guarded, but he nodded.
"How many house-elves do you guys have here? There's Nezzy, there's you, there's Tobble..."
"Ah," said Wiggin, seemingly relieved the question wasn't going to be more intrusive into what he clearly regarded as Things Guests Shouldn't Pry Into. "There's... mm... twenty-six of us, if you count the garden elves." His expression indicated he didn't.
"Twenty-six? Just to look after Snape and his sister?" said Harry, wondering if the Potions Master didn't have other relatives he was unaware of. Somehow, he really didn't think Snape was the family man type.
Wiggin seemed a bit defensive. "Well, the grounds and house require a lot of looking after, you know. And the Snape family used to be much larger-- not to mention the parties and the guests. Constant balls and masques and my goblin ancestors know what else... ahem. Are you done, Master Potter?"
"Mmm. Yes. I'm stuffed," Harry said contentedly, taking one last sip from his orange juice.
"Then I imagine you'll be wanting a shower next?" said Wiggin with a nod toward the bathroom door. Harry rather thought that would be a good idea and got out of bed.
One of the green carpets was plush under his stockinged feet, and he wondered when he'd taken off his shoes, which he couldn't remember doing. He shrugged and started towards the bathroom door. Wiggin, busy clearing away dishes and food, called after him, "If you'll set your clothes outside the door, Master Potter, we'll see to it they're washed..."
Harry nodded absent-mindedly, busy looking around with delight as he entered the bathroom, which was thankfully fairly modern in appearance. (Eighteenth century décor is all very well in a bedroom but not quite so convenient for the bath.) It had a lot of white tile and marble, with the green-gold colour scheme reproduced in towels, carpets and plumbing fixtures. The serpent motif was still visible, if less obvious than in the bedroom. The bathtub, a deep sunken affair of white marble with jade-green streaks, was absolutely huge and called inexorably to the soul.
Harry wondered if the Savoy Hotel was like this. No, he realized as the bathtub automatically filled itself with aromatic bubble baths and steaming hot water, this had to be better than the Savoy. After all, that didn't have magic.
He shucked out of his clothes and the professor's Muggle coat, tentatively set them back down outside the door, and turned to confront the divine bath.
"Let's get to know each other, hmm?"
Half an hour later, Harry felt indescribably good-- better than he had since summer had started, in fact. The meal-- a full meal, thank God, as much as he wanted and not celery like at the Dursleys' because stupid Dudley was still on a forced diet-- and the lovely bath-- which was also a pretty unparalleled experience. It went without saying that he had never had such a bath at Privet Drive, and even at Hogwarts, he'd rarely had the luxury to loll in the prefects' baths-- which even so weren't quite on the same scale as this one. He felt like a new person.
He emerged from the bathroom, toweling his hair dry, and dressed in some clothes from his trunk. Neither Wiggin nor any of the other elves were in evidence, and after a moment's hesitation, he decided he'd best stay in the room and wait for further instructions. He didn't think Snape would take too kindly to his wandering freely about the house.
Instead he went out onto the little balcony and looked around. He was fairly high up-- perhaps three stories up? and could see some gardens and paths below. The trimmed bushes and neat paths (probably the work of the house elves) extended a short distance from the house, then a less orderly terrain took over. Tall grass and tangled weeds and hedges seemed to encroach on the tidy civilized yard. Eventually, the ground rose into gentle undulations, not-quite-hills that became a flat line on the horizon.
A polite knocking at the door interrupted him before he could examine the view more closely. He turned and told the knocker to come in.
It was Wiggin, returning after taking clothes and dishes to be cleaned. Harry went back inside and sat down on one of the chairs without being told to, thinking that this particular house-elf reminded him uncannily of Professor McGonagall. He could just see Wiggin giving him detention for not having washed behind his ears.
Instead the elf looked him over with an appraising eye. Harry was distinctly conscious of his uncombed hair and somewhat threadbare jeans, but there was little he could do about it now. A sudden bizarre image flashed through Harry's head of the elf checking for dirt under a young Severus Snape's fingernails, and the teenager struggled not to laugh.
Finally the elf nodded with a sort of 'it'll-have-to-do' expression. "I trust the bath--"
"Was satisfactory, yes, thank you, Wiggin," said Harry with an impudent smile. There was a certain fun in tweaking the oh-so-proper elf. Wiggin looked pained-- Harry thought it was probably the creature's usual expression-- but only nodded.
"Then, Master Potter, let me convey Master Snape's instructions.
"The room is at your disposal until 'some other place for you to stay the summer' is found. You may have meals either brought to your room or, if you so desire, take them in the great hall or the kitchen..."
Harry listened with half an ear. It had been silly to think he'd be staying here, of course, and he honestly didn't want to stay with Professor Snape all summer, even if the room and board put luxury hotels to shame...
He brought his attention back to the house-creature, who was saying. "...says that he may be found in the library tower if there are any problems. Is that satisfactory, Master Potter?"
Master Potter didn't want to admit he'd missed about half the speech, and instead settled for asking where the heck the library tower was. Wiggin, of course, looked pained.
"When you exit the room, you go down the corridor to your right, take the first turn to the left, go down the stairs, then-- oh, never mind. One moment."
The elf reached inside his vest pocket and produced a roll of parchment, which he quickly spread out for Harry to see. It was a blueprint of the estate, but the floors of the building were all drawn on top of each other, making the house an unintelligible mess of lines and rooms.
"Uh, how..." Harry began. Wiggin sighed. "You have a wand, I presume?"
"Yes," Harry answered, fishing in his trunk for the valuable item.
"Good. Tap the parchment and say 'Abrio."
Harry did as he was told and was delighted when a field of light unfolded from the surface of the map, creating a three-dimensional, slightly transparent hologram of the house on the map's surface.
The elf stuck one long finger through the north wall, ignoring the slight crackle of magic that occurred when he did so, and pointed at one room that seemed to glow faintly golden. In it were two dots: one red and one blue. As the elf's finger hovered near them, letters appeared next to the dots. Red text spelled out 'Harry Potter' over the appropriate dot, and blue letters proclaimed 'Wiggin.'
"Awesome," said Harry with a grin. This was-- almost-- better than the Marauder's Map-- the 3-D part was something, all right.
"Indeed," said Wiggin dryly. "In any case, this golden room is yours, and the two dots obviously represent us. Over here," his hand moved to point at a large tower to the northmost part of the house, "is the library, and this green dot is Master Snape. Now, since you're new and giving directions in this house is practically impossible, I suggest you keep the map for now. We have others. Will that be satisfactory, Master Potter?"
"Definitely," Harry said, still entranced by the parchment.
"Excellent, sir. Then I leave you to your own devices," said the creature with another low bow, then backed out the door before Harry could even thank him for the assistance and breakfast.
Harry spent a good half-hour examining the map and trying to get a feel for the layout of the house. It was good he had the map, too, because the house was large enough you'd have a hard time of it on foot.
In general shape, the place resembled a bottom-heavy pentagon. The bottom-heavy part was a large, rectangular shape that held most of the actual rooms of the house. From its topmost corners, however, the lines of two stone battlements stretched north, then turned to meet each other. At the apex of their joining was the library tower.
Harry looked around the hologram of the manor with interest. There were an awful lot of blue dots around, which he soon realized were all house-elves. He had fun locating Tobble, Wiggin, and the-as-yet-not-met Nezzy, who was in the kitchens. There were also three silvery dots whose respective names, when looked at, were Amelia Snape, Casimir Snape-Malfoy, and Lucien McGonagall. The names alone started him wondering. A half-Snape Malfoy? That did NOT sound good... And exactly what was a McGonagall doing around Snape Manor? He wondered if they were guests. But Wiggin had said they rarely got guests..?
Harry shook his head in confusion. It was something he'd have to ask about. There were also a large number of small white and brown dots in one of the smaller towers, but they were without names. The room itself was labeled 'Owlery,' and he realized they were probably birds. A black dot was nearby the owlery, and moving his finger near it produced the name 'Poe.'
An orange dot labeled 'Macavity' was moving along one of the hallways, and finally a grey dot named 'Fenris Ulf' was stationary on one of the stairways.
Curiouser and curiouser.
Harry rolled up the map, the hologram winking out when he did so, and set out to find Snape. If nothing else, he had to ask where he'd be going for the rest of the summer.
The map was extraordinarily useful; he ended up opening it three times before he even got to the ground floor. Without it he knew he'd have been hopelessly lost. Finally he was in the huge room he remembered coming in through the night before. It was a sort of great hall, a little like the one at Hogwarts (if smaller). A pair of doors at the rear led out to an open space.
The courtyard, enclosed by the battlements and towers, had been paved over at one point, but grass was beginning to peek through the flagstones in more than a few places. All Harry could think of was what a great place it would be to fly around in-- about the size of a Quidditch field, all told. But directly ahead was the library tower, and remembering that he was looking for his professor, he ambled in the tower's general direction.
The entrance was actually up a small flight of stairs that curved to follow the bend of the tower's side, and Harry frowned at the map. According to it, the green dot that represented Snape was on the ground level, same as him. Apparently, the first floor of the library started higher up, with a room beneath it housing Snape.
Curious to see what the tower looked like on the inside, he climbed the stairs and opened the heavy oak door at the top.
Inside, he stopped and stared, feeling his jaw drop. 'Library tower' suggested to him a, well, tower, with several floors, each one holding a few assorted shelves with books.
Instead, he was standing inside a hollow cylinder of books. The interior walls were literally covered with endless shelves, the only break being intermittent tall narrow windows that let in the summer sunlight. No floors disrupted the four stories of books, but two wrought-iron spiral staircases slithered their way up to the top of the tower, occasional landings branching off from them.
Also occupying the space overhead was a dragon skeleton, held in the air by a combination of spells and wires. Sunlight shafted through the bare bones, ribcage, and outstretched wings to dance across the bookshelves and stairs, the largest amount of light pouring in from the top of the tower. There, the bookshelves ceased and the walls gave themselves up to become glass. Eight glass panes surrounded another landing at the juncture of the two staircases.
There were at least ten thousand books in the library, and even Harry, not the most studious of people, found himself eager to look through the shelves. (Hermione would have gone quite simply lustful.) But how did one get to them? The staircases only passed certain areas of the books, and whole sectors would be off limits...
Harry brought his gaze, with effort, down from the view overhead to the ground floor. Several comfortable chairs and a large table filled the space, and the question of how one got to certain shelves was solved by the sight of two or three carpets leaning, rolled up, against the table. Magic carpets! You flew to get to the books... This really was a library after his own Quidditch-playing heart, he reflected. But why not use broomsticks?
Then he realized it would probably be easier to carry books down on a carpet than on a broom. Well, that made sense. He looked around further, dragging his eyes away from the carpets (and the temptation they represented), and saw the trapdoor.
Well, that solved the question of where Snape was, at least. Set into the flagstones of the floor, the door was an immense and ancient construct of black oak and iron. Thankfully, it was currently in the open position, which saved Harry the trouble of trying to lift that weight. He stepped all the way inside the tower, shutting the tower's door behind him.
"Wiggin, can you get me some more mandrakes from the garden, please? I believe I've run out down here," came Snape's voice from the hole in the floor. Harry realized that he had never, ever heard Snape said 'please' to anyone.
Well. The day was just full of surprises, wasn't it?
"Um. It's not Wiggin, Professor," he said cautiously, not sure how things stood between them now. Did last night's truce hold, or was it back to the familiar, usual snarking?
There was a pause. Then Snape's voice said, "Potter. I see you've made it to the Tower."
"Yes, sir," Harry answered hesitantly, not sure if he was supposed to go down to Snape or continue yelling awkwardly down to wherever his professor lurked. The dilemma was solved as he heard footsteps coming up stairs, and in a second, Snape's head (rendered a bit odd-looking by a bulky pair of tinted safety goggles he was wearing) emerged from the trapdoor followed by his body.
Besides the goggles, the professor was wearing a pair of dark, sturdy trousers tucked into the tops of his heavy boots; an old and very worn-in white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows; a pair of heavy dragonhide gloves, and a stained, heavy-duty canvas apron over the shirt and trousers.
Harry stifled a grin. He'd always thought flowing robes weren't the most practical thing to wear when working on potions, and it appeared Snape agreed with him-- at least here, when he wasn't teaching a class and having to do impressive-swishing-dramatic-exits with the robes.
With brisk, business-like motions, Snape pulled off his gloves and tossed them onto the large table, then pushed the protective eyewear up to his forehead. His black eyes, once more revealed, fixed Harry with a ruthless stare. He crossed his arms and regarded the boy for a few seconds, an Expression on his face.
Harry studied the flagstones under his feet with fanatic devotion. Of all the Snape Glares (he and Ron had spent a study hall cataloguing a list of the Twelve Distinct Snape Glares) he thought he disliked number five-- the You-Have-Been-Measured-And-Found-Wanting-Look-- the most... though this needed the slight, sneering lift of the lip to become a full-blown Number Five. Right now, it was still stuck in the 'Measuring' state.
(Thinking of it reminded Harry that they'd have to make an addendum. Number Thirteen would now be the Reserved-For-Dursleys Stare, otherwise known as the I'd-Kill-You-Painfully-If-I-Could-Stand-Your-Disgusting-Presences-Long-Enough-To-Mutter-A-Curse Glare.)
Snape broke the silence first, though his eyes didn't looked away. "I trust you've eaten?"
"Uh, yes, sir."
"And Wiggin has given you basic instructions?"
"Yes, sir."
Pause. Snape arched an eyebrow sarcastically, opened his mouth as if to say something scathing, then shut it again. His black eyes left Harry's face to stare up into the surrounding wall of books.
"Then what, may I ask, merits the interruption?" he asked softly. Harry felt suddenly silly. Exactly why had he come down here and interrupted Snape at his work? Dumb. Dumb, dumb, dumb.
Need a reason. A good reason.
"Um... well, just-- I was just wondering-- if we'd-- you'd figured out I'd where I'd be staying for the summer. Yet."
"Ah." The Potions Master uncrossed his arms and moved to the nearest of the armchairs to seat himself gracefully. The long-fingered hands steepled themselves at his chin, elbows on the armrests, and the dark eyes once more returned to Harry.
"I owled Headmaster Dumbledore regarding that last night, after we got in. His reply came about an hour ago, words to the effect that he had no immediately available place for you to stay, and, unless there was some sort of insurmountable objection on our parts, that you might as well stay here. I did consider trying to express the fact that mutual loathing can be considered an 'insurmountable objection,' but I rather doubt he'd have taken me seriously.
"So. Potter. Do you have any suggestions for your place of summer residence?"
Harry paused. A sudden, appealing mental image of the Burrow flashed into his head, the rambunctious clannishness of the Weasley gang-- and he knew Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would be delighted to offer him a home for the summer if he asked.
But... a nagging sense of guilt interfered. The Weasleys had hearts as big as Zonko's warehouse, but Harry had to admit their finances weren't really up to supporting yet another mouth at the table. And they were too proud to accept any sort of recompensation...
With a sigh, Harry realized he wasn't going to impose on the Weasleys.
And who else was there, really? Hermione and her parents? Oh, they might not mind a friend staying for a week or so, but he rather thought they'd be less sanguine about the whole of summer hols.
And the one man whom he should have been allowed to stay with-- his godfather, Sirius Black-- still labeled under prejudice and accusations of guilt. While the Ministry had formally (if grudgingly) declared him innocent of the Potters' murder last year, public opinion was slower and harder to change. Sirius had tried to settle down twice now, and both times been so harassed or ostracized by wizarding neighbors that he'd found it more convenient to move on, rather than risk confrontations. He currently was somewhere in... Romania, Harry thought-- but didn't know for sure since he hadn't been allowed his mail! Damn the Dursleys, anyway.
He dragged himself away from that unpleasant train thought by remembering that Snape had asked him a question.
"Uh, no, sir. I don't really... know anywhere..."
"Very well. Until something opens up, I suppose you'll have to stay here. We," here he paused, dropping his hands from his chin and giving Harry an almost-smile, "shall simply have to endeavor to stay out of each other's way as much as possible.
"But it's a large house. That shouldn't be too much of a problem," Snape said with a shrug, seemingly resigned to his fate. His lean arms were now resting on the chair's arms, long fingers drumming idly on the carved end-knobs, and Harry felt his eyes drawn surely, compellingly, to the left forearm.
With the professor's shirtsleeves still rolled up from his potions work, the Dark Mark was clearly visible, even if not as dark as it had been once before. A serpent and skull were burned into the pale skin, forever caught in the middle of a writhing dance, forever frozen, but the tendons moving under the flesh gave them a disturbing semblance of life.
Snape must have felt the impact of Harry's stare, or perhaps noted the lack of response to his words. He looked down from a perusal of the ceiling, his black eyes following Harry's gaze. When he saw the object of the look, he seemed to pale slightly, then pulled his shirtsleeve down to cover the Mark.
Harry realized he hadn't seen it since the end of his fourth year and the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Not, of course, that he'd had many opportunities to-- Snape always, always, wore long sleeves and full robes at school-- but it was odd, how clearly a thing could stay in your mind...
Snape stood abruptly, unfolding his long frame from the chair with startling speed and brusqueness.
"Now that that's settled, Mr. Potter, was there anything else you needed to discuss with me?"
It took Harry a moment to realize Snape was talking about the lodging, not the Mark. He tore his eyes away from the man's lean, sinewy forearm to meet his gaze again.
"Well, now that you mention it, I'd like to send some owls, and I had a few questions about the residence..."
"Very well. We'll talk on the way to Owlery. Come along."
