It wasn't fair, fumed Zacharias as he and the others filtered out of the Hog's Head. Just because he was the one to raise the questions everyone else was surely thinking, they all looked at him as if he were some kind of- of dangerous element. Ridiculous! He was only voicing sensible concerns. If they'd any sense at all, they'd be asking the same questions. Professor Umbridge had addled everyone's thoughts with her horribly inadequate lessons, or the others would have seen the weaknesses in the Gryffindors' plans. He was sure of it.
But when he opened his mouth they all looked at him as if he, not Potter, were the one with the checkered past and the record of attention-seeking. Blast it, didn't they understand? . . . no, obviously not. . .
He sighed and slipped unmarked away from the group. Yes, they needed someone with a level head keeping an eye on them, but he hardly counted as level-headed right now. A Hufflepuff who lost his temper without a very good reason was a Hufflepuff who couldn't get anything done. He had to get a grip, or they'd never listen at all.
Out of sight of the last few stragglers, he turned down the Hogsmeade side street and ducked into one of the shops. Nine Sickles later, his robe's left pocket bulging and squirming, he slipped out again and headed for the edge of town. It had taken forever to win the trust of his contact; he wasn't about to betray that trust by missing their semi-regular meeting.
As soon as he was sure he was far enough away from the buildings, he performed a quick Sonorus (no small feat, to cast that charm on one's lips instead of one's throat) and let out a piercing whistle. From overhead there came an answering shrill cry. A small, dark speck circled- once, twice- and dropped down towards Zacharias' outstretched arm. He hissed as the red kite's claws locked around his forearm; the dragonhide glove from Potions class was tough, but did very little to blunt the sheer impact of the wild predator's mass. "Sorry I was almost late," he murmured to the bird. "How're you?"
It skree'd, flaring its wings briefly. Zacharias smiled. Nonmagical the kite might be, but that only made working with it the harder- and the more satisfying.
"Got something for you," he said, reaching into his still-squirming pocket as the kite awkwardly rearranged itself on his forearm. "Here-"
No matter how bad the other students got, watching the predator tear into its dinner always made him feel better. They could, after all, be so much worse.
no subject
But when he opened his mouth they all looked at him as if he, not Potter, were the one with the checkered past and the record of attention-seeking. Blast it, didn't they understand? . . . no, obviously not. . .
He sighed and slipped unmarked away from the group. Yes, they needed someone with a level head keeping an eye on them, but he hardly counted as level-headed right now. A Hufflepuff who lost his temper without a very good reason was a Hufflepuff who couldn't get anything done. He had to get a grip, or they'd never listen at all.
Out of sight of the last few stragglers, he turned down the Hogsmeade side street and ducked into one of the shops. Nine Sickles later, his robe's left pocket bulging and squirming, he slipped out again and headed for the edge of town. It had taken forever to win the trust of his contact; he wasn't about to betray that trust by missing their semi-regular meeting.
As soon as he was sure he was far enough away from the buildings, he performed a quick Sonorus (no small feat, to cast that charm on one's lips instead of one's throat) and let out a piercing whistle. From overhead there came an answering shrill cry. A small, dark speck circled- once, twice- and dropped down towards Zacharias' outstretched arm. He hissed as the red kite's claws locked around his forearm; the dragonhide glove from Potions class was tough, but did very little to blunt the sheer impact of the wild predator's mass. "Sorry I was almost late," he murmured to the bird. "How're you?"
It skree'd, flaring its wings briefly. Zacharias smiled. Nonmagical the kite might be, but that only made working with it the harder- and the more satisfying.
"Got something for you," he said, reaching into his still-squirming pocket as the kite awkwardly rearranged itself on his forearm. "Here-"
No matter how bad the other students got, watching the predator tear into its dinner always made him feel better. They could, after all, be so much worse.