The last couple of days had been brighter than the murky grey that "summer" had so far produced this far north. Though, as a native Englander, Harold was rather used to the pallid and dour atmosphere that tended to cloud the British isles. But it had been brighter, and so had his mood as a result.
He was sat in his office, cup of tea in hand, sifting through his notes for his first lectures on practical applications of thaumaturgical study, when he heard the faint noise of a practised landing of an owl on his desk. It was soft, graceful and entirely unlike the usual landings Bubo managed to achieve, and as a result almost silent.
The owl stuck out its leg, attached was a note. Harold gently untied it from the owl's leg, and began to read.
He muttered to himself as he did so, "Renewing the castle wards - yes, of course, splendid idea, old chap, perfectly splendid. Lammas bread? I haven't been to Godric's Hollow in, well, far too long."
He reached the parting note about Bonnie and could simply voice an "Oh," sort of note at the back of his throat. He looked down at the letter, looked at the owl who, by this time, was pacing up and down his desk somewhat expectantly. "Oh, yes, well, of course, let me just get you..." He rummaged in his desk looking for the bags of owl treats.
"Unfortunately I don't seem to have any of the ones with dried berries in, rather I do have these ones that are shaped like mice and the bag says they're premium... I hope that's... well...?" He fished out a few and left them on the desk in front of where the owl - Bonnie - was pacing.
No, pacing possibly wasn't the word. Strutting. Strutting elegantly. Harold was sure if that strutting were being done by human legs, there would be a wiggle in the hips, but owl joints don't work quite the same way. As Bonnie pounced on the first and second mice in the small pile, she turned to Harold and... he could have sworn that she winked at him. Of course, he must have imagined it - owls don't wink - but then he remembered that this owl before him wasn't always an owl.
He sat back, sipping his tea, watching the owl before him nibble and munch on the owl treats he'd left, and he couldn't help but notice that to call Bonnie an owl was... perhaps slightly incorrect. Yes, she looked like an owl but the joints were slightly the wrong size. The wings too long for the body - or perhaps the body not long enough compared to the legs and feet, which were slightly off-proportion too. Harold supposed it must be the result of the transformation.
He looked at the letter again. 4pm it said, and Harold glanced at his pocket-watch - it was only 2pm now. Plenty of time for another cup of tea, time to finish sorting his notes and then meet Sid at the castle gates.
It was a few minutes to four when Harold strolled up, freshly pressed suit, scarf, thoroughly cleaned glasses and a pleasant smile. "Thank you for inviting me to Lammas; I don't think I've ever been to see the festival itself; read about it, of course. And of course I'll help you with the wards - you're perfectly correct that two spellcasters are rather better than one for something like this."
Harold paused, the smile faded. "Also, I'm very sorry about your wife. I didn't have any of the treats with berries, but she seemed to like the mice-shaped treats I did have. I trust she found her way back to your quarters? She is rather striking as an owl - but I'm sure you must miss her deeply."
He gave it what he thought was an appropriate moment of silence - then a couple of moments longer, before gesturing in the direction of Hogsmeade. "Shall we?" It was awkward, and Harold knew it. One day he might learn to be less so.