"Welcome." A witch wearing a checkered apron hurried out from behind the counter. Her gaze lingered on Harold for a moment, then shifted to Alan. "Preparing for Hogwarts? We have plenty of owls perfect for first-years."
Throughout the shop, owls hooted and wings flapped in a constant chorus.
"Yes," Alan answered, instantly captivated by the birds. "I'd like to look around myself."
"Call if you need anything." The witch nodded knowingly and retreated behind the counter, giving Alan plenty of space.
"I'll wait by the door. Birds make me sneeze," Harold said.
Alan nodded and walked alone toward the owl area, weaving slowly between the rows of perches. A courier had to be sturdy; the stronger, the better. The owls seemed aware they were merchandise, tilting their heads to study the newcomer with curiosity.
Other shoppers browsed nearby—children about Alan's age, no doubt Hogwarts first-years as well.
"Oh, sorry!" A girl focused on choosing an owl bumped into Alan's shoulder.
"No problem."
Alan replied absently, eyes fixed on a pure-white owl. It was a snowy owl. Noticeably larger and sharper than the rest. Perfect, he thought.
"Um, hi. Are you a Hogwarts first-year too?"
Alan turned; the girl who'd bumped him was speaking to him.
"Mm." He gave a non-committal sound and turned back to the snowy owl.
Seeing he wasn't interested in conversation, the girl pressed her lips in disappointment and moved to another shelf.
Sensing Alan's intent, the clerk approached.
"Decided? This snowy owl is very healthy." She smiled.
"I'll take—wait, that owl looks odd."
Alan had been ready to decide when a cage behind him caught his eye. Inside sat an owl as black as ink. Its feathers were ragged, its eyes dull—a stark contrast to the perky birds around it.
The clerk followed his gaze and sighed softly. "A tawny owl, though one this dark is rare."
"Is it sick?" Alan asked.
"Perhaps." The clerk evaded. "It hasn't long to live. Better pick another."
No wonder. Alan could detect a faint breath of death about the bird.
"If I want it, how much?" Alan asked.
The clerk blinked, startled. "You really want to buy it?"
"How much?" he repeated.
"Honestly, sir," she lowered her voice, "a dark wizard cursed it. It has two days left. We keep it comfortable, that's all."
"Fine," Alan said. "My uncle might be able to cure it."
In truth, even dead would do—he could simply turn it into an undead creature.
The clerk looked lost for words. Collecting herself, she explained, "Even in this state, sir, we can't discount it. Store policy."
Alan was already reaching into the cage. The tawny owl lifted its head weakly and brushed its beak against his finger.
"I'll take it," Alan said firmly.
After a pause, the clerk nodded. "Ten Galleons, cage and a month of feed included."
She fetched a polished cage and gently transferred the owl inside. The frail bird fluttered once, then lay still, as though asleep.
"Good luck," she whispered, handing the cage to Alan.
When Alan paid and reached the entrance, Harold was talking to two strangers.
"Ah, Alan." Harold introduced them. "Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Their daughter's a Hogwarts first-year too."
The couple smiled kindly. Alan guessed they'd approached because of Harold's unmistakably Muggle suit. Few men in Diagon Alley wore business attire.
"Hello," Alan greeted politely.
Mr. Granger's gaze drifted to the tawny owl in the cage.
"Nice-looking owl," he remarked.
"Yes, very," Alan said honestly. "Though it only has two days to live."
Mr. Granger looked bewildered. "Why buy it, then?"
"Because I'm going to roast it."
"?"
Mr. Granger opened his mouth, then closed it again.
"We should go. Goodbye, Mr. Granger."
"Er, goodbye."
Alan pulled Harold quickly out of the shop.
Outside, Mr. Granger glanced back at the sign, puzzled. It definitely said "Pets," not "Groceries."
"Why the rush?" Harold asked once they were away.
"Talking to strangers is dangerous," Alan replied without looking back.
Harold blinked, then gave a resigned nod. Fine; you're the wizard. Still, he felt their roles had somehow reversed.
"So that's your owl?" Harold changed the subject, eyeing the cage. "Looks rather lethargic."
"It's dying," Alan said casually. "Two days, just like I told him."
"You're not really going to roast it?" Harold exclaimed.
Alan stopped and gave him a look that clearly said, Are you stupid?
Harold gave an awkward chuckle.
As they walked on, Alan explained, "Even if it dies, I can bring it back."
Harold's eyes widened. "You can resurrect dead creatures?"
"More or less," Alan answered calmly. "Ever seen a zombie movie?"
The sudden question left Harold speechless. Images of shambling corpses flashed through his mind; he paled. "You're not turning it into one of those?"
Alan merely rocked the cage gently. "Don't worry. Mine will be far more elegant."
Harold had no reply. Wizards were terrifying, he decided. He thought carefully. Nope—he was pretty sure he hadn't offended the young master in any way.
//===================//