Again.
I knew they'd been matin' when Master let me in the window -- he drops every bit o' his plumage off, he does, like a massive moult, except for his crest -- which is mussy and needs smoothin', now. An' a funny sight he is, too -- he usually looks so sleek an' black, like me, but underneath it all he's moon-pale.
Well, that's not true abaht the moult -- he has some pin-feathers left, on wing an' breast an' belly an' around his seeder. But pin-feathers isn't right. Hare, I think the humans call it.
I shouldna thought that. Hare. It's a long trip from the big nest, an' I'm hungry.
He stalked over to let me in -- angry an' growlin' under his breath, the way he does -- an' I remembered him not to kill the messenger. I think he'd hoped the Sharp Female would let him be, for now -- he always grumbles after they meet.
I'm not happy he left me with her. There's summat abaht the Sharp Female as makes me nervous, like I'm her prey. Like she could pounce an' eat me whole.
Odin's ravens, but I'm hungry.
Master studied the message-leaf -- didn't even stop for a pet, the way he usually does -- an' for once he didn't curse (I've picked up lots of human curses from him). Nobbut went pink in the face, like fresh salmon.
"Do we need to go back?" his mate called to him.
Funny thing abaht her: they chatter an' caw back an' forth, an' a body'd think they were fightin', mostly, but she goes all soft an' funny with him other times, like a female with chicks.
"No." He crumpled the message-leaf, stuffed it in a fold of his dropped plumage, an' stomped back to the mating-nest, croakin' "Idiots." His mate tried to nestle back up to him, but Master just grumbled and glared up into the dark, ignorin' her.
I don't know how humans stand it -- matin', I mean. Mates were meant to soar an' tumble together through the air, not stay stuck on the ground. But there mun be summat to it, or they'd not bother. At least not as much as Master seems to -- he's that fond of it. I've caught them at it a fair bit.
I wonder abaht that. His female's not laid a cletch yet, an' I begin to wonder if she can. It seems there's a lot she can't do, in fact, the way the other humans at the big nest do. P'raps he mates with her so often because he worries abaht that -- any male worth the name wants to help build his female's nest, an' help her with the cletch, an' feed the chicks an' teach them to fly.
She's unlike him or me -- she's brown an' dull, like a sparrow (shouldna thought that: I'm hungry), though her flesh is moon-pale, like his. I wonder what he sees in her.
It's true, though, that Master's a bit unusual: p'raps he doesn't mind.
I've had a long time to get to know him, you see. Almost ten full winters now. He didn't raise me, though I were very young when he became my master. I'd not been fledged long when some nasty human boys had hurt me -- put shot in my left wing, an' I'd fluttered off away from them, an' lay in the red snow, waitin' to be prey. I could hear the Eater comin' for me, an' it were huge.
"Here, now, Corbie, what's wrong?" Big, gentle hands -- I know now that's what they call them -- lifted me up, an' I tried to defend myself, but I were too weak. The hands soothed me, an' spread the wing to look at the hurt.
"Lads've been at you, have they? Well, you rest easy. Hagrid can fix that. Just hold on 'till I get yeh home."
He smoothed down the hurt wing an' put me in a fold o' his plumage, and in a while took me back aht. We were somewhere else: the place felt different, not like home, an' later when I saw the sky -- the sun an' moon an' stars -- I could tell I were in a different place -- not much, but enough.
"Now," the big human said, roosting at a big, flat surface --I'd call it a tree, but it weren't shaped right, "this'll hurt a bit, Corbie, but I've got ta get the shot out. You bear with me, now, and soon we'll have you right as rain."
An' he'd picked out the pellets as gently as he could, an' bound the wing, an' found me a roost in the corner, near the fire, an' later he brought me fresh hare an' fed it to me in bits, like I were a chick again. An' he spoke to me all the time, an' got me used to human words. Hare. Fly. Wild. Bird. Beautiful.
He were the first human I'd ever met, up close, and a good thing it were. I'd never have gone near them, otherwise.
A few moons later, Master -- though he weren't then, not yet -- called at the big human's nest, an' noticed me.
I'd noticed him first. Black an' silky, an' a sharp beak, like mine, an' quick, knowin' black eyes as couldn't hide his cunnin'. Odin's ravens, but it's too bad he's human, I thought. Everything a female wants in a male.
"What's wrong with her, Hagrid?" he asked.
That did it, that did. When he called, his voice were smooth an' low an' fair soothin', an' I knew it would carry a long way, if he wanted.
"Some boys winged 'er -- found 'er when I was in Yorkshire, last week. It's healin' nicely -- she should be ready to go, another week."
"They're very intelligent, you know," Master said in that voice again, an' stroked my throat -- an' I admit, it were wonderful. His hands were just the right size, not like the big man's, but he were just as gentle.
The big man crowed. "Thought yeh'd like her, Severus. Yeh know, yeh could take 'er back to yer place and finish up the healin'. She might choose to stay with yeh, an' I bet yeh could train 'er. More yer style than an owl."
Master shook his head. "I've not the time to find her food, Hagrid --"
"Oh, I'll do that. Hafta anyway, for the others. But yeh'll need to feed her by hand, to bond her to yeh."
"Yes, I know," Master said. "I had one, as a child."
"That's righ' -- the Snape Ravens. That really got up yer cousin's nose, din't it?" The big man crowed again.
"He explained it away as a myth, the jealous bastard," Master replied. "Of course, it appears now he was correct. Very well, Hagrid, I'll take her off your hands."
Which is how I came to live with Master. An' when he took me out in the forest, to loose me, I refused to go. It weren't the bondin' an' feedin' -- though he did that very well. I chose him. An' though he'd never petted me much before, that night he let me roost next to him, in his little nest by the fire, an' stroked me until I went to sleep.
It took him a while to name me. He'd been scratchin' on message-leafs one night, the ones from the smaller humans, an' he tossed them away with a curse (I'd learnt a lot of them from him, even at that early point) an' stalked over to the leaf-roosts an' pulled summat down, an' nestled himself back down at the fire again an' studied it. After a while he crowed -- just a little -- an' looked at me.
"That's it," he told me. "That is your name, Lenore."
A body can't say that in Raven, o' course. An' I don't mind 'Corbie,' but when he named me it were like I were really, finally his, an' he were mine.
She's his too, o' course, an' I don't mind sharin'. He needed a mate o' his own kind, an' since it can't be me, she'll do, I reckon. I've never felt the need for another. Master's company's enough for me, an' he keeps me too busy to raise chicks.
But I were tellin' thee abaht them, not me.
He were still huddled up in the mating-nest, an' if he'd had his plumage on he'd been rufflin' it.
"What on earth is it, then?" she asked him. She's curious, like me, an' she should be thankful I've trained him for her. He's used to 'meddling females,' as he calls me at times.
"Nothing. Not business," he grumbled.
"Ah." She stretched her wings, an' I knew she were plottin' summat. They're amazin' easy to unnerstand at times, these humans.
"You shouldn't mind me seeing, perhaps?" she suggested.
She were up to mischief for certain.
"I most certainly should, you meddling wench --"
There. I told you. Just because he's used to it doesn't mean he likes it.
"Oh, bloody hell, go ahead." He curled into a ball as she hopped out o' the nest, searched his plumage for the leaf, an' uncrumpled it an' studied it aloud.
"'Severus: Alastor is here and tells me the subtextual translation of your note is, Taking my wife...'" she stopped there for a while, though I can't tell why, "'for a week-end of shagging...' -- my God, I didn't know Minerva was capable of -- '...and requests that I forward this message. I quote: Give her a good one for me, you sneaky bastard. Unquote. Alastor's sentiments, not mine. You have a lot to answer for, young man.'"
She collapsed on the roost, on top o' his plumage, crowin'; Master'd been so embarassed he didn't notice at all as she'd crushed his feathers, or he didn't care.
"'Congratulations,'" she studied on through her crowin', "'and don't worry about anything -- it was nothing urgent. But don't forget to be back for our regular meeting on Monday. And I expect an explanation before luncheon.'"
I don't know what the fuss were abaht. But Master's mate were enjoying that. A lot. P'raps Sharp Female isn't that bad, after all.
Master'd had enough -- he were right sluffed. He pulled her back to the nest to hover over him, tore the leaf from her hand, an' tossed it to the ground. "Moody," he growled, "is simply begging to be hexed."
"I can't fault the sentiment," she said, still crowin' a little. "Though I'd prefer you did it on your own account." She'd stopped crowin', and that last were low an' throaty. A matin' call.
An' Master recognised it.
That were a while ago.
Odin's ravens, but I'm hungry. There's a rumblin' in my craw, an' I make sure they know. They'd forget me, otherwise. They have before.
Master peers at me over her wing-blade, his cunnin' eyes distracted. "Go downstairs, Lenore. I don't appreciate an audience -- especially one that offers commentary," he commands.
This is summat I hate. He forgets that I'm a long way from the big nest, an' he's locked me in so I can't look for myself. So I caw again an' ruffle myself up, but Master ignores me an' refuses to leave the nest.
Typical. But I can't blame him, I reckon. Even the best males go all funny like that, come matin' season.
"There's some bits of food downstairs, Lenore," his mate tells me. "Not fresh, but perhaps it'll do for now."
Why didn't he just say so?
She understands. She'll take good care o' chicks, should Master ever get her with 'em.
I fly downstairs to eat, an' then try to roost, tuckin' my head beneath my wing.
Odin's ravens, but they're noisy tonight. Master's makin' a special effort, it seems. That, or that nest's weak-built.
I'm not the least interested. It's borin' an' they look ridiculous, naked o' their plumage an' rollin' abaht, earth-bound, in the nest.
Happy, but ridiculous.
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