Disclaimer: Yeah, it's all JK's, but the plot is mine!
The Compton Diary
Monday, 18th March 1998
I slept until midday. The events of last night will not leave me be. I asked Bernard if he had been aware of any strange happenings but he told me he had slept like a log. I have wondered lately about Bernard.
I clutched my cup of tea tightly, willing the warmth to go directly to my heart, for I still carried with me an internal ice. The bright sunshine filtered through the kitchen window and I gazed out as I put my plate in the sink. I could see the sea churning in the distance, its white lines moving up and down. The long grass outside rippled also, making the path of the wind visible. I looked down further into the garden. My vegetable patch, quite neglected due to Bernard's apparant ailing health, was now sprouting weeds. My mind wandered back to the unspeakable events only hours ago, when any form of growth and progression had seemed unattainable.
Harry was in the garden. He sat on the sturdy wooden fence, his eyes focused on the clear sky before him. He sat perfectly still, with an intensity,as though waiting for someone. I knew I must call him in, not to talk to him about that ghastly event (for I was certain that he had as much desire to speak of it as I), but to feel his presence once more. I feel curiously protected by the boy, and this feeling has recently been heightened.
I was distracted however, by my husband, as he came jovially through the back door, carrying some wood. His bad leg had always hindered him, especially in the past few months, when the cold gets at his joints. He rarely goes out in this weather - suffice to say that the sight of his rosy cheeks and his bright smile left me standing in shock as he placed the wood by the stove. The crisp sea air filtered through the ajar door and he turned to me again.
"You're up I see!" - his eyes were twinkling. "Decided to leave you there, you looked so sweet! Still very nippy out - got fuel for the fire. No point you doing all the work!"
Bernard's sudden desire for activity pleased me, but also greatly confused me. Less than a week ago he had been practically bedridden. Now he was up and about, sweeping the floor, wiping the counter, all the while insisting that I sit down - "You're looking very pale dear, are you sure you're all right?". It was only when something caught his attention from the garden that he stopped questioning me on this matter.
He jumped slightly. Then turned to me.
"You ever seen a white owl at day-time, then?"
I too jumped at this, for I had quite recently, for the first time in my life, seen a white owl at day-time. He ushered me to the window.
I peered through the red windowpanes, my eyes foolishly roving the skies.
"No, here. Look."
I followed Bernard's pointed finger and it led to Harry.What I then saw was an amazing sight, so unusual, yet oddly comforting. The beautiful snowy owl was clutched in Harry's arms. He held it tenderly, unafraid to display affection, stroking its shiny feathers. He was smiling. It seemed then, that this was the thing he had been waiting for, because he promptly left his sturdy seat, and began walking towards the rear door, owl in his arms.
Bernard, as awestruck as I was, merely muttered something about "communication", though I hold little interest in the several technicalities of this particular species.
He closed the door quietly, but stopped when he saw us, me in my night things, both looking at him with what must have been wide-open mouths. The owl seemed not to have noticed its shift from outdoors to indoors, for it remained placid in Harry's protective arms. I noticed too, that he was carrying two sheets of paper, so stiff and yellowing it could have been ancient parchment, in his right hand. How these came to get to him I could only see one answer, though this conclusion seems so ludacris to me that I think it better not to explore it or it shall muddle my mind further.
He had been watching me.
"Pet her if you like, she's perfectly tame."
His expression was one of incredible normality, as if (I was beginning to suspect) he attracted rare owls daily.
Bernard quickly reached his hand out, moving it gently over the owls white down.
Harry may suddenly have realised that we, as a couple, were not entirely used to owls being in our home.
"I - she's mine. I lost her... but she knew where to find me. It's ok though, I'll keep her outside, if you wish...?"
Was it my imagination, or did the owl look reproachfully at her owner at this suggestion?
"Nonsense, nonsense!" - Bernard had decided to make this his decision. "She'll blow away in this wind! She can - we used have a budgie. She'll fit in his cage no bother - that is, if she doesn't mind!" He gently tickled the owl.
Harry looked quite relieved at this idea, and once the cage was retrieved from the pantry his owl seemed quite content to perch there, though now I think she may be a little cramped.
He then sank into the kitchen armchair to read the scrawl on the papers he had received.
Bernard told me a while ago, after dinner, where the papers came from.
"A man, he told me. Nothing more! But I expect by the wax seal on the envelope that it's an important man, albeit old-fashioned!"
I smiled at this observation, but it still did not give any explanation as to how it came into the boy's possession. What followed from Bernard was however, a little troubling.
"Potter had an owl. Remember my old friend Potter?"
"No I don't remember that Potter," I replied, the icey darkness beginning again within me, this time nothing unknown had initiatied it.
"Yes, that Potter had an owl. A brown owl though, not like this Potter!"
I said nothing. I wanted to confide in Bernard the events of last night, but I didn't think he would understand. Must I burden him with my own horrid memories, only so I will have shared them?
The owl has just hooted from Harry's room. My eyes itch with fatigue, but I feel that something other than sunlight is dawning on us all.