The Marauders: Year Six #Wattys2017

The Owls

It was dawn on Tuesday that Sirius dragged a yawning Remus Lupin off across the castle to the owlery to send off the letter to Mr. Potter. Remus stood blinking away the sleep dust from his eyes as Sirius selected a tawny bird that appeared to be a no-nonsense sort of fellow and instructed him to deliver the letter immediately. The bird took off and Sirius watched it go until it had disappeared 'round the mountains and then went back to Remus. "There. That's that. I should hope to receive an answer from Mr. P. He's a sensible bloke, and far less stubborn than Minnie, bless her."

Remus yawned. He still thought it was probably a poor idea to second guess McGonagall's warning about seeking after Mia Black, but he wasn't going to get anywhere arguing with Sirius, so he simply let it go and followed along, listening as, for the billionth time, Sirius prattled on about the facts he knew and the ones he wished to find out.

Later that very morning, Dorcas Meadowes herself arrived at the castle to do her check-in with Sirius, and they sat together in a parlor in the Hospital Wing, playing checkers. They'd talked about how Sirius's term was going and how Dorcas's cat had learnt a new trick. Dorcas had brought along a book on meditation and inner peace for Sirius, who was still keeping up with his yoga practice each morning in the dorms (to the utter visual delight of Remus Lupin). And finally - as though she'd been eagerly awaiting an opportunity to bring it up, Dorcas Meadowes said, "So. Sirius, McGonagall mentioned to me you were looking for a woman named Mia from your family?"

Sirius looked up from the checkers, his fist hovering, holding his place mid-move. "Beg your pardon?" He asked.

"McGonagall mentioned you might bring it up when we talked."

Sirius looked suspicious. "She tell you not to tell me anything about her?"

Dorcas shook her head. "Wouldn't make a difference if she had, though, I reckon, seeing as I know nothing of her."

"Damn."

"Why do you want to know of the woman so much?" Dorcas asked.

"Well Professor Elphindork says I'm a good deal like her - says it all the time. She's a Black, you see, a member of the noble pureblood house who's been blasted from the family tree just like I have been. Thing is, there doesn't seem to be anybody willing to tell me a thing of her!" Sirius made a face indicating his frustration. "See, I've only ever spoken to my cousin Dromeda about it before, and I should like to talk to somebody else who's been shunned out of this shitty family of mine." He paused. "Could be we both need it, Mia Black and myself."

Dorcas thought about it a moment as Sirius finally put down that checker, her eyes roving the board between them. She was sucking on a sugar quill - she'd brought one for them each to the session - and made her move. When she had jumped four of Sirius's pieces in a row, she said, "Did you try writing her an owl?" Dorcas asked.

"Dunno where to send it if I did, do I?" he said.

"Owls are dreadful smart, Sirius!" Dorcas replied. "I reckon if you give one a letter they could find Mia Black to deliver your letter."

"Really?"

"I believe so. I've never seen an owl fail at delivering a letter."

Sirius asked, "Well what if she's been married and she's no longer called Black?"

"Owls know."

Sirius grinned. "Thanks Dorcas! You're ruddy brilliant."

Sirius was back to the owlery before lunch. He selected the fastest owl of the bunch. "Deliver this as fast as you can," he told the owl, "And as soon as you get there. No waiting for the breakfast or whatever! I mean it. Not a second's delay that isn't positively necessary!"

And the owl nodded importantly before flying away carrying his letter.

Dear Mia Black,
Sorry if you don't go by "Black" any longer. I wouldn't blame you for a moment if you shed this horrid name in every way possible. I certainly should like to! I applaud you if you have so completely obliterated the Black family from your life.
But I am writing in hopes that you'll consider letting just one back in. Me.
See, I'm in a similar situation as you where my family is krud and I've run away and mother's blasted me off the damned tree. Calls me filth and the like. She used to cruciatus me and treat me like rubbish anyway - honestly being off the tree is rather a relief in comparison to pretending to fit in back home.
But if what Elphinstone Urquart has said of you is true, then you understand that already.
I'm writing hoping to find answers to who we are, you and I, and to learn how it is we are related and perhaps to begin our own little family - a new and improved Black family, if you will - a branch of the family tree that's been replanted, that we could be proud of.
If you could, please write me back. I have such a lot of things to speak with you about.
Sincerely,
Sirius Black

The owl Sirius had selected to carry this letter flew steady and true, over the forest and across the border between Scotland and England. She clutched the envelope in her beak. Her wings beat against the thermal currents, a pulse in the dark of the night. She lowered beneath the clouds, gliding across a lake and a field, through the thick of a wood and over a village, dodging chimneys and smoke stacks. She flew up a road, and down through the branches of a thick, old tree at the edge of the yard upon which stood a humble sized house. Moonlight reflected off windows and off metal cellar doors and the owl landed upon the post of a white picket fence, ruffling her wings, and stared up at the house with shrewd, wise eyes. She blinked up at the house as the sky lightened - from blackest night to pale lavender and gold.

The back door opened and a man came out onto the porch carrying a cup of tea, steam rising up from the cup, a book clutched beneath his arm. The owl watched as the man lowered himself slowly into one of the old rocking chairs on the porch and as the screen door swung to close, she swooped over from the fence, gliding into the kitchen, her wing span brushing the frame of the door, and she landed on the rung of a high-back chair, and released her letter onto the table.

A woman with black hair and grey eyes turned and reached for the letter, lifting it from the table. She was humming, holding her wand, a pan of fried potatoes and ham emptying itself onto a plate that sat before her husband, who sat at the table, pouring over a load of paperwork. Her fingers closed around the envelope and she picked it up, flipping it over to see to whom it was addressed. "What is this? You're here early. Post doesn't arrive until after seven usually!" she mused.

She let out a gasp.

And the pan fell to the floor with a clatter as she let out a strangling scream of fear.

"What's the matter, love? Are you alright?" her husband stood up quickly, grabbing the envelope that she had just thrown down before taking six fast steps backward so that her back hit the wall behind her. He picked the envelope up and he stared at it. Then, with a sigh, he turned to his wife. "Ohhh... I was hoping that you weren't going to find out about all this 'til it was taken care of..."