Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Not Quite a Squib, After All
Letters and Owls?
0 reviewsStrange things tend to happen to Christine. But this is definitely worse than usual.
0Unrated
When your father and his wife ran a motorcycle repair shop, there were certain strange things that one simply got used to. People getting tattooed in the back room by one of her dad's buddies on a dare. Engine grease everywhere. Loud bangs, crashes, and rumblings at all hours. The occasional brawl – which may or may not involve an off manual use for some of her father's tools.
Even with her rather warped sense of 'normal', there were some things that Christine knew just weren't ordinary. Not by anyone's standards, not even the druggies that hung around the courtyard down the road. Talking to snakes, for example. Accidentally shattering a cup when upset, for example.
Little things like that were adding up more and more as time went on.
Christine hadn't the foggiest as to what was wrong with her. But she was fairly certain there was something.
Which meant that Christine was keeping a close eye out for anything else suspicious going on around her. She was sure that if there was anything, she'd see it. Christine had a knack for noticing things.
Although, it wouldn't take Sherlock Holmes to notice the next weird thing to happen to her. In fact, rather than being hard to spot, this strange thing was hard not to see. Even more difficult, was figuring out what was going on. Or if she wasn't imagining things.
Frankly, Christine hoped she was imagining things.
She had been sitting at the coffee table in their flat above the shop, drawing. For once keeping to herself and not running amuck in the garage. All of a sudden, there was a loud tapping on the window behind her. She was on the first floor, so that came as a shock. Christine whirled around, upsetting the plastic cup that held all her pencils, scattering them all over the old carpet.
Even more surprising than the tapping at the living room window, was the source of the demanding noise. It was an owl. A real-live barn owl was sitting precariously on the windowsill, tapping on the window with its beak. When the bird noticed Christine looking at it, it started squawking at her impatiently.
Christine didn't react beyond staring at the owl in absolute shock.
Why was an owl sitting outside her window? More importantly, why was it trying so insistently to get in?
The squawking and tapping were only getting louder and more determined the longer Christine hesitated. She was wary of causing a fuss and dragging her father away from his work. She'd heard him complaining with Jessie about all they had to do earlier. So, she scrambled to her feet and pushed up the window, in the hope it would get the bird to shut up.
It did. Thank god.
Instead of flapping about in frantic circles like Christine had expected, the owl gently fluttered down onto the coffee table. Landing carefully, and avoiding catching any of her drawings on its talons. It settled down and once again turned its huge eyes on her.
It looked like it was waiting for something. Rather impatiently, though Christine wasn't entirely sure how she came to that conclusion. Other than thinking the owl was strangely expressive.
Was this normal owl behaviour?
She didn't think so.
Christine and the bird stared at each other for a good five minutes. The bird didn't move. Neither did Christine. The animal didn't seem very happy with her reluctance to do whatever it was it wanted. Still, Christine remained where she was.
They stayed like that until there was a noise from the stairwell. Someone was coming up from the shop. Good. Maybe they'd be able to handle this weird arse owl.
If it was real. Christine was still sort of hoping it was just a figment of her imagination.
The door to the hall opened and Christine heard a jovial step enter the flat. Followed by Jessie's equally cheerful, if a little tired, voice calling out for her.
"You still alive up here baby? Haven't heard anything break in a while."
Christine dropped out of the staring match she was having with the owl to turn toward the flat's door. She hovered for a second. Undecided as to whether or not she should leave the owl unsupervised. In the end, she thought it best not to leave a strange animal alone in the flat. Instead of running to Jessie like she usually would, she called out a reply.
"In the sitting room."
She didn't have to speak very loudly. The flat was pretty small. Something to be thankful for in that instance, as it meant she wasn't in danger of startling the bird. It seemed calm enough at the minute. But she didn't want to risk it flying off the handle.
Pun intended.
Jessie bounced into the sitting room with a smile on her lips and a streak of motor oil on her eyebrow. Her good mood vanished, however, once she saw what was keeping her step-daughter company. She rushed to Christine's side and put herself between the child and the bird. Owls weren't known to be particularly dangerous. But Christine was the source of all exceptions.
"Kalo, how'd a bloody owl get in the flat?" she asked, a little wary and worried, a tone not normally associated with the affectionate nickname.
Christine weighed her options, and decided that honesty was the best way to go this time.
"It was scratching at the window. I was scared it was gonna break it, so I opened it. When I did it flew in. It won't move."
"Jesus, why does all this shit always happen to you?"
Christine shrugged. She knew Jessie wouldn't see it, but as she was pressed against the woman's legs Christine was pretty sure she'd feel the movement and make a good guess. It was a good question, though. One Christine didn't know how to even begin to answer.
"Beats me."
Jessie ran a hand through her hair, completely messing up her loose ponytail. Then she quickly went out into the hall, only to come back with the sweeping brush from the hall closet. As her step-mother approached the offending bird, broom held at the ready almost like a knight's lance, Christine finally noticed something odd about the bird.
Well, odder than everything else about the bloody thing.
"It's got something on its leg," she told Jessie, pointing at the bird's appendage, "Looks like a letter."
That didn't stop her step-mother from violently shooing the owl back out the window, and then slamming it closed after it. She put the broom away and came back to inspect Christine for any cuts or scrapes. She found none. Satisfied her step-daughter was alright and not traumatised, Jessie flung herself onto the couch and dragged Christine with her and into a hug.
"Don't worry baby girl, probably some nutter using it like a carrier pigeon or something. No amount of crazy'd be surprising in these parts."
Christine didn't bother asking any questions or staying on the subject. The incident with the owl was weird. Really weird. But it was also unsettling. And when her choice was between focusing on that and the playful wrestling with her step-mother, Christine would much prefer the latter.
Even with her rather warped sense of 'normal', there were some things that Christine knew just weren't ordinary. Not by anyone's standards, not even the druggies that hung around the courtyard down the road. Talking to snakes, for example. Accidentally shattering a cup when upset, for example.
Little things like that were adding up more and more as time went on.
Christine hadn't the foggiest as to what was wrong with her. But she was fairly certain there was something.
Which meant that Christine was keeping a close eye out for anything else suspicious going on around her. She was sure that if there was anything, she'd see it. Christine had a knack for noticing things.
Although, it wouldn't take Sherlock Holmes to notice the next weird thing to happen to her. In fact, rather than being hard to spot, this strange thing was hard not to see. Even more difficult, was figuring out what was going on. Or if she wasn't imagining things.
Frankly, Christine hoped she was imagining things.
She had been sitting at the coffee table in their flat above the shop, drawing. For once keeping to herself and not running amuck in the garage. All of a sudden, there was a loud tapping on the window behind her. She was on the first floor, so that came as a shock. Christine whirled around, upsetting the plastic cup that held all her pencils, scattering them all over the old carpet.
Even more surprising than the tapping at the living room window, was the source of the demanding noise. It was an owl. A real-live barn owl was sitting precariously on the windowsill, tapping on the window with its beak. When the bird noticed Christine looking at it, it started squawking at her impatiently.
Christine didn't react beyond staring at the owl in absolute shock.
Why was an owl sitting outside her window? More importantly, why was it trying so insistently to get in?
The squawking and tapping were only getting louder and more determined the longer Christine hesitated. She was wary of causing a fuss and dragging her father away from his work. She'd heard him complaining with Jessie about all they had to do earlier. So, she scrambled to her feet and pushed up the window, in the hope it would get the bird to shut up.
It did. Thank god.
Instead of flapping about in frantic circles like Christine had expected, the owl gently fluttered down onto the coffee table. Landing carefully, and avoiding catching any of her drawings on its talons. It settled down and once again turned its huge eyes on her.
It looked like it was waiting for something. Rather impatiently, though Christine wasn't entirely sure how she came to that conclusion. Other than thinking the owl was strangely expressive.
Was this normal owl behaviour?
She didn't think so.
Christine and the bird stared at each other for a good five minutes. The bird didn't move. Neither did Christine. The animal didn't seem very happy with her reluctance to do whatever it was it wanted. Still, Christine remained where she was.
They stayed like that until there was a noise from the stairwell. Someone was coming up from the shop. Good. Maybe they'd be able to handle this weird arse owl.
If it was real. Christine was still sort of hoping it was just a figment of her imagination.
The door to the hall opened and Christine heard a jovial step enter the flat. Followed by Jessie's equally cheerful, if a little tired, voice calling out for her.
"You still alive up here baby? Haven't heard anything break in a while."
Christine dropped out of the staring match she was having with the owl to turn toward the flat's door. She hovered for a second. Undecided as to whether or not she should leave the owl unsupervised. In the end, she thought it best not to leave a strange animal alone in the flat. Instead of running to Jessie like she usually would, she called out a reply.
"In the sitting room."
She didn't have to speak very loudly. The flat was pretty small. Something to be thankful for in that instance, as it meant she wasn't in danger of startling the bird. It seemed calm enough at the minute. But she didn't want to risk it flying off the handle.
Pun intended.
Jessie bounced into the sitting room with a smile on her lips and a streak of motor oil on her eyebrow. Her good mood vanished, however, once she saw what was keeping her step-daughter company. She rushed to Christine's side and put herself between the child and the bird. Owls weren't known to be particularly dangerous. But Christine was the source of all exceptions.
"Kalo, how'd a bloody owl get in the flat?" she asked, a little wary and worried, a tone not normally associated with the affectionate nickname.
Christine weighed her options, and decided that honesty was the best way to go this time.
"It was scratching at the window. I was scared it was gonna break it, so I opened it. When I did it flew in. It won't move."
"Jesus, why does all this shit always happen to you?"
Christine shrugged. She knew Jessie wouldn't see it, but as she was pressed against the woman's legs Christine was pretty sure she'd feel the movement and make a good guess. It was a good question, though. One Christine didn't know how to even begin to answer.
"Beats me."
Jessie ran a hand through her hair, completely messing up her loose ponytail. Then she quickly went out into the hall, only to come back with the sweeping brush from the hall closet. As her step-mother approached the offending bird, broom held at the ready almost like a knight's lance, Christine finally noticed something odd about the bird.
Well, odder than everything else about the bloody thing.
"It's got something on its leg," she told Jessie, pointing at the bird's appendage, "Looks like a letter."
That didn't stop her step-mother from violently shooing the owl back out the window, and then slamming it closed after it. She put the broom away and came back to inspect Christine for any cuts or scrapes. She found none. Satisfied her step-daughter was alright and not traumatised, Jessie flung herself onto the couch and dragged Christine with her and into a hug.
"Don't worry baby girl, probably some nutter using it like a carrier pigeon or something. No amount of crazy'd be surprising in these parts."
Christine didn't bother asking any questions or staying on the subject. The incident with the owl was weird. Really weird. But it was also unsettling. And when her choice was between focusing on that and the playful wrestling with her step-mother, Christine would much prefer the latter.
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