Owly in the Morning

No one understood owls. Not really. The closest anyone ever reached were the Not-Prey-Yet-Prey. Metaphysical concepts were difficult to get right in cross-species communication, even for a community as intellectually as owls. Humans had enough difficulty communicating amongst themselves, let alone transferring ideas to owls.

The feathered kind had to content itself with the occasional helping wing to the younger race. Refined things like conversation would come in time.

Macavity shifted on his perch, surveying his domain. Other owls, ranging from the common brown owl to several exotic representatives from foreign Parliaments, milled across the Owlery. Some debated the finer points of the latest actions in the Wizengamot; it was obvious the party lines were being blurred once more, re-forming alliances like the murmurations of blackbirds that darkened the morning sky. Of course, the owls would not interfere with the situation. The wizarding kind had come far since the sparking-fingered primitives their ancestors had been. Just how far was exemplified by the Parliament tendencies of the species in general.

It was only right, he decided, that the humans took their cue from owls. A gathering of respected elders, deciding group policy and occasionally coughing up the infrequent pellet was exactly what leadership needed to be. Nothing was perfect; better to have those flaws where everyone could see them, rather than hidden away where it would not remind anyone of their own foibles. Perfect people did not need to be questioned; unthinking obedience led to chaos.

In the rafters, two of the oldest members of Parliament exchanged serious glances. Humans had learned Legilmancy in part after noticing owl communication. Even the mundane, non-magical owls conveyed thoughts through brief bursts of memory-exchange. Members of the elite few, the incredibly rare - if poorly named - Postal Owls, could do the same. But with longer, higher level thoughts. They had, after all, developed the practice after entire millennia of practice - finding prey frequently required complete knowledge of a region - how else could navigation in complete darkness be achieved?

The two elders turned their gaze on the lower levels. The Parliament stilled, waiting for the wisdom on high.

Suddenly, a Pocket Barn-Owl began twittering from near the door. The post of Guardian, usually unnecessary, had been required after the Not-Prey-Rat debacle, long before Macavity's time. It always went to an unassuming individual, with a loud voice. Humans never considered the hyperactive motions of the tiny ones; but if deep in debate, it was necessary to gain the Parliament's attention.

Daft-Letter-Loser had taken it a bit too far. Currently she occupied the lowest rung on the North wall. The current Guardian, Grace-Under-Storm, had a much cooler head. And all her feathers.

The rustle of displaced air across mole-skin-soft feathers brushed against his sensitive ear-tufts. Rotating, Macavity exchanged wordless greetings with Hedwig, commonly regarded as the most intelligent owl in the Parliament. She had received many Intention Gifts, ranging from the insulting offer of a shrew (Ancient Errol possibly believing she was a great-niece in need of humour, or just misunderstanding the situation entirely) to a young fawn from Big Sven. The well-intentioned Swedish Eagle-Owl had actually brought a still-living fawn to the Owlery, but hadn't quite managed to get it inside.

Hoots and clicks of amusement had filled the rafters for nights after that, all it took was a imitated thump, and the entire row would begin chortling. Until a few days later, when Big Sven shredded a small Acromantula with his claws alone.

No one laughed at Big Sven after that.

Below, a student walked through the doors. Short, blonde hair gleamed on his head, giving the impression of a stunned rabbit, wobbling around the room's towering supports. The dark cloak, blending with the darkened room's floor, heightened the impression. There had been several close-calls, particularly with Big Sven.

Speaking of which, Macavity could feel the air displacement as the massive being take off the same perch they shared with Hedwig, flying down to the blonde-rabbit Malfoy. The boy was too weak to actually support the weight of a full-grown Eurasian Eagle Owl, leaving Big Sven to land on the nearest table. The boy squawked, eliciting interested looks from some of the less-intelligent members of society, before pulling himself upright. There was a directed profusion of haughty sounds, unnecessary when Big Sven just needed to check Young-Malfoy's eyes to understand the directives. It was fortunate for the Malfoy Scion that Big Sven was so easy-going. Most other owls would have attacked the boy's hand, pretending to think it a tasty morsel. The damage Big Sven could do would likely leave the boy in the Infirmary, or falling from an unfortunate height.

The boy left, after securing the letter. Big Sven shrugged, unfolding his truly immense wings, and took off. Circling once around Macavity and Hedwig in farewell, he exited through the Owl-Intent Floo.

Macavity settled down on the perch once more, just as Hedwig did beside him. The debate continued. As it always would. As it should be.