2

Perfect timing. Just perfect. Madam Pomfrey is away on holiday, and after the glasses of sherry I consumed, I'm unable to perform the simplest of wound-healing charms. I got up from the floor an hour ago, but my head hurts more and more. I didn't drink that much, did I?

The armchair is stained red - I completely soaked it while sleeping. Alright, alright, I'll clean it later with a few swirls of my wand, for example, with a Scourgify. Only after my head has stopped spinning. Oh, gosh, my robe is also covered with dozens of red spots. Or maybe, I'm just seeing double.

I manage to pull myself together a little bit, and collect the empty bottles from around the armchair and under the tables. They must be from last week as well. At least, after counting them, I hope so. I throw them one by one into an empty bag. From the clinks of glass, I suspect that some of them get broken, but it doesn't matter. The main thing is that I'd be able to climb down the stairs...

I did it! I've left the tower stairs behind and without a new major accident! Thank goodness for that. It will get easier from now on, I just need to follow my usual route.

I start my long walk towards the other side of the castle, feeling grateful for another mercy too: I meet no one; all the corridors are empty because of the summer break.

I arrive at the only location I'm still able to find in this dizzy, hangover state. On the left, two trolls are beating up that unfortunate wretch on the tapestry. They don't even stop to look up when I appear. They've seen me around way too many times.

As soon as I'm finished walking past three times, the ornate door appears from nowhere. I reach for the handle, but the movement ends with an expletive leaving my mouth when my wounded palm presses against hard, cold metal. Congratulations, Sybill, now your hand is bleeding again. I have no intention of asking those who have stayed in the castle to help me close up the cuts. I'll try to do it myself after returning to the tower.

I use my other hand to open the door, and throw in the empty bottles from my bag on top of a pile of ragged clothes. I guessed right: most of the bottles fall out in broken pieces. I turn away, and head back for my tower. A low thud. Something has hit the floor. I bend down to check it: it's a piece of the moonstone I've been wearing on my waist belt. The milky, bluish play of light inside is interrupted by the jagged edge where it cracked in half. Even my moonstone got broken during my fall earlier! Now I must purchase a new one.

I put the stone piece away, in my robe pocket. This is the first time I realize that my hand is dripping blood onto the floor. It doesn't bother me too much. I'm not the one paid for cleaning it up, am I, Filch?

I finally arrive back at my tower. Home, sweet home. I wish I could sit down for a while, but first, I take my wand, looking around. Uh, my favorite old armchair did get stained... So I do my best to remove the blood. Once, twice, I attempt it three times, and afterward, the stains are gone. Now I let myself collapse in the armchair, and take a good look at my injured hand. That nasty crystal ball really wounded my palm. I only need to attempt the spell twice, and all the gashes are closed. They still look hideous, like amorphous, ingrown red worms, but who cares? It's not like I'll hold hands with anyone in the near future. The point is I see no signs of bleeding anymore. I go and wash my palm clean, enjoying the soothing coldness of water running down my fingers. Good, Sybill, good, you're getting it together.

I decide to have a short nap to regain some more of my strength.

To my relief, the usual bad omens are nowhere near me in my dreams this time. Only the ghastly headache. That remains.


The hour-long nap turned out to be three instead. I don't mind.

But I suppose I should really order a new moonstone now. It brings ill luck if I don't replace it with the utmost urgency. I search for ink and parchment and write my purchase order. Where is that silly little owl?

"Seansie?" I call her. No movement around the tower windows.

I try to look for her, with no result. It's odd. She prefers to spend her time here in the tower with me, and rarely visits the Owlery. Maybe, she is sleeping in the forest. Okay, Seansie, darn you, a school owl will do.

My steps are brisker this time. I feel somewhat refreshed after my nap, and I need to hurry because of the moonstone magic. I must replace the stone, otherwise, bad fortune shall descend upon me, and probably, the whole school. Though, it makes me wonder what could possibly happen to me that would top my last few days. Or weeks. Or months. Or years...

I'm at the last corner when I hear somebody coming in this direction. I feel a sudden repulsion by the idea of meeting anyone, whoever that might be. I opt for using a longer way, and rush down a moving set of stairs. Most teachers do not know about this hidden passage, behind the phoenix-patterned tapestry. I'm better off here in the dark.

Who could have been the one walking up there? Maybe Filius. A cold shudder rushes along my spine. Am I going to run from him like this for the rest of our lives?

Finally, I reach the door of the Owlery. I instinctually jerk my hand away first, remembering the wounds left by the broken crystal ball, but then I feel rather stupid. Of course, Sybill, you imbecile, you've just closed up those cuts. With a nervous laugh, I put my scarred palm back on the door handle, and push.

The sight that greets me turns my stomach. Because of the rainy weather outside, all the owls are waiting here in the warm shelter of the Owlery. The animal smell is raw and heavy. They are perching on their roosts, left and right, high and low.

With the exception of Seansie. She is lying in the middle of the Owlery, wings sprawled across the ground, face down. Her torn feathers are covering the floor, mixing with the tiny bones and corpses of rodents from the lunch of the owls, and the dry leaves gradually carried in, stuck to the feathers of the birds. The floor was dirty enough before, but now Seansie's dark blood adds an even worse tint to the whole picture. It's smeared all around her as if she had been desperately fluttering her wings in the last minutes of her too-short life. Next to her small body, another owl is lying lifeless. I imagine he tried to protect her from whatever was happening to her, but it ended even worse for him.

A large gaping wound crosses his body, from head to toe, the chest cavity wide open, blood sprayed across the whole Owlery.

A big brown owl leaves the safety of the upper beams, and lands beside the two dead bodies, in the middle of a pool of blood. The bird paddles towards Seansie, and pecks at her. Seeing the owl tear a chunk of her skin and remaining feathers, I'm abruptly boiling, and kick at the bird without thinking, sending it fleeing behind the closest wooden roost. Do not touch her!

With trembling fingers, I gently take Seansie by the wing, and turn her body upwards. And I start screaming. And I scream, and scream. No, no, please, this could not have happened to this innocent, vulnerable little animal... Same as the other dead owl, her chest has been torn open in a long, irregular line. And she has dozens of pecked wounds. I look up to the rows of perching owls with a wave of bitter loathing, understanding that they spent the last few hours plucking her corpse bit by bit.

How did she die? What kind of beast would do something like this?

And how dare you touch her, you little... I get up from beside Seansie, and take a step in the direction where the brown owl went hiding. I can't find any more words, I'm just closing in on the target of my rage. The tiny rodent skeletons are crackling beneath my feet.

This is the moment when someone bursts through the door, asking, "Is everything alright? I heard a scream, and..."

Minerva McGonagall. She loses the ability to continue when she sees the two dead birds, and I stop and forget about the brown owl.

"What happened here?" Minerva gasps. "Why are those poor animals on the floor?"

"Unfortunately, I'm none the wiser." I cross my arms, and turn away from her. We are not on speaking terms, so this is the most she will get from me.

Filius also arrives. Thankfully, I don't need to listen to his voice because the shocking sight renders him speechless too.

"Professor, could you call Hagrid, please?" Minerva addresses him. He nods, and rushes to do as instructed.

I hope he won't come back... And, by the way, what's with the 'Professor'? Taking into account how they had cozied up to each other, she could have used his first name, couldn't she? Anyway, it angers me how this woman is kneeling down right next to Seansie, examining her as if my owl was the subject of a class experiment. Keep your hands off of her!

I'm hearing steps again from the direction of the Owlery door. Rubeus Hagrid is here, his large, black coat stinking like wet dog fur. I wish he had left Filius behind... I try to ignore Filius, and step towards Hagrid with an expectant hurry. He will be able to tell us what kind of beast left this destruction behind.

Minerva finally leaves my poor little Seansie alone, and lets Hagrid take a closer look. She was, of course, unable to determine a thing, but it was so important for her to play the role of the smart investigator...

Enough, Sybill, don't let them get to you.

"What's your best guess?" Minerva asks Hagrid, taking off her glasses to clean the lenses. "How could a blood-thirsty beast like this slip inside the Owlery undetected?"

"As a matter o' fact," Hagrid looks up from the checking of the deadly wounds, "this is most prob'ly not the doin' of a forest creature. The owls were cut open with a standard human knife."

"What?" I hear my own croaking voice. "But, how? Which one of our students would be cruel enough to...?"

There are more than thirty students who were orphaned during the Second Wizarding War, and the administration of the castle decided to automatically allow them to spend their holidays here. Could this be how one of them repaid the favor?!

"A student?" Hagrid echoes, furrowing his bushy brows.

We are all waiting for him to go on, but he just creases his forehead further, and keeps watching the animal corpses with a contemplative look on his face.