Hircine: of, pertaining to, or resembling a goat

February 26, 1910

He crumpled up yet another soiled piece of paper covered in scratchy writing and tossed it angrily into the fire. Words never came easy to him. He would much rather get his point across by punching or hexing or breaking things, and when that didn't work, shouting brought out his best effort with words. But writing? Forget about it. For the past hour he had tried, but everything he came up with sounded feeble or accusatory or awkward.

And besides, his handwriting was probably illegible anyway. Even if he did manage to put down in ink exactly what he was trying to say, no one would be able to read it.

He sighed in frustration and heaved himself off the stool he'd nicked from the bar below his room. Mr. Hibbs wouldn't notice, and anyway, he at least owed him some kind of furniture. It wasn't as if the dishwasher's salary at the Hog's Head could afford much. Out of the little window he could just make out the towering spires of the castle, glittering in the dark night. Of course that's where his brother would end up. He turned back to his dim, messy little room.

The letter crackled in his pocket and he pulled it out. That neat, narrow, slanting writing poured over the yellowed parchment with grace and ease. Of course they did. He dropped the letter with disgust and it fluttered down to the dusty floor.

Why was he even bothering to respond? Twelve years. He'd kept this up for nearly twelve years. His brother probably wasn't expecting a response anyway. And what good reason was there for him to be surprised? After everything he'd done… or everything he hadn't done, his brother deserved worse than being ignored.

No he didn't. They would never – could never – be close. But they never had been to start with. They were two separate breeds entirely. But they were the only ones left, and after all, the letters seemed to carry sincere remorse. He had been called a lot of things, but he would not be petty. She wouldn't have wanted that.

But every response he wrote was worse than the last at getting that across.

So instead of taking up the crumpled quill again, he pulled his wand out and, after a few sputtering attempts that yielded nothing but silvery mist, a great silver animal – a goat – shot out of the end, leapt right through the window, and barreled off in the direction of the castle.

That would do, he thought, dropping back down onto his stool to wait. His brother would understand, would figure out where to find him. After all, he was renowned as one of the brightest minds of the age.

A/N: okay, maybe the fact that I didn't use any names in this was confusing and tiresome, but for some reason I liked keeping this vague. We all know who the two 'he's and the 'she' mentioned are, so hopefully it wasn't too bad. I'll admit when I first read this word I was like 'you've got to be kidding me. What am I supposed to do with that?' but then I remembered Aberforth! :)

Thanks a bundle to all my lovely reviewers! You guys rock! (hint hint)