For the first time in a long time, more years, in fact, than many would dare to admit, owls winged their way throughout the British Isles carrying an accurate news report about the Man-Who-Conquered. The fact that this report was in the form of a front-page news article of The Daily Prophet, would surprise none of the magical population bar one.
That one, of course, happened to be the man in question. As far as he was aware, he'd done nothing to attract the attention of said population since setting foot in the country. Indeed, he'd gone out of his way to ensure that none had gotten wind of his presence, save the one person who he knew that he could trust beyond all others.
Consequently, as he took the liberty of having a lie in (no need to get up early to open the Marauder's Den while he was in a different country), others were sitting down to breakfast, buttering their toast or spooning up some porridge or digging into their bacon. Owls by the flock flapped through windows as they did so to land on tables and chairs and to deliver their burdens. Some took payment in their special pouches, others simply took a quick bite or drink. All though, left behind something that caused more than one to nearly choke on their food or to spit their coffee all over said paper.
Man-Who-Conquered Returns!
by Serena Eiserman
Sources, who shall remain anonymous, confirmed to staff of The Daily Prophet late last night that Harry Potter, The Man-Who-Conquered, has indeed returned to the shores of Britain yesterday.
While there has been much speculation and rumour concerning the whereabouts of Mister Potter during the last seven years, it is believed that this is the first time that he has come home. Exactly what drew Mister Potter to return to us is currently unknown, however, we at The Daily Prophet hope that this is not just a visit, but a prolonged stay in his home country, a feeling that we are certain that the entire population of magical Britain also hold.
Harry Potter has numerous duties and responsibilities that he is long overdue in taking up, not the least of which is the heredity Wizengamot seat that is controlled by the Ancient House of Potter. This seat is in addition to the one that Mister Potter acquired as a part of his Order of Merlin First Class award for ridding magical Britain of the Dark Lord He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Currently, Andromeda Tonks, a distant relative of Mister Potter, sits in his place within the Wizengamot.
Amongst the many and varied reports of Mister Potter's whereabouts over the years is that he has settled in the colonies, where he has joined a group of costumed muggle 'heroes' intent on 'saving the world' and battling evil.
While we here in magical Britain know that Harry Potter is a hero, the concept of the highly magical wizard joining such an absurd group is all but laughable. Much more believable of the many rumours of Mister Potter's whereabouts are the many reports that have surfaced from all over the world where it is believed that Mister Potter has increased not only his knowledge, but also his power, the better to protect and guide us all.
To Mister Potter, our Man-Who-Conquered, we say, 'welcome back!' We look forward to you re-joining society and the wisdom and leadership that you will bring.
To the few owls that stayed long enough to see the reactions of those reading the front-page article, they had more entertainment doing so than they had seen for quite some time.
In Devon, an older, plump lady with red-hair that was fading quickly to grey, clutched her breast at the sight of the headline before falling into the closest chair around the large kitchen table. Upon finishing the article, she quickly read it through a second time before glancing up at the strange clock on the wall before nodding to herself and rushing towards the fire, only pausing just long enough to snatch up some green powder and flinging it into the flames before she thrust her own head into said flames.
In a castle to the far north, hidden from the world in the hills of Scotland, at one of the four great tables in the enormous hall filled with students, a teen gripped the paper hard as he read the news. He blinked slowly before a great grin spread across his face. And while he never told any of his friends exactly what he was thinking, the fact that his hair turned jet black and messy and his eyes turned a brilliant emerald green told them exactly where his thoughts had gone.
A frown of annoyance grew on a red-haired man as he read the paper. Once, he would have been the first to know such news. But those days were long past. Now, he was relegated to reading about his once best friend in the newspaper like everyone else. Having finished the article, he folded the paper before tossing it into his locker. He'd think more about it later; right now, he had a practice to get to and the Canons were much more important than an old friend who never wrote.
The platinum blond man who read the headline scowled at it, a scowl that only grew the more he read. His disgust quickly grew to the point where, long before he reached the end of the article, he flung the paper into the nearby grate, pointed his wand at it and set the offending rag on fire.
ooo00ooo
The missive that Hermione sent to the Ministry informing them that she was taking the day off work was sent in barely five minutes before her copy of The Daily Prophet arrived. Her sigh of annoyance over the article only grew the more she read. It was just like the pureblood-run paper to ignore the non-magical world once again. Harry was a hero, in this world and the other. She had half a mind to go there and tell them so, to explain exactly who and what the Avengers were and Mage's part in it all. Unfortunately, she knew that doing so would be nothing more than a complete waste of her time and breath.
The other thought that stayed her from such a course was the realisation that, once Harry saw the article, he was most likely to pack up and run once again. The man hated his fame. One would think that some years away from the magical world would have tempered their infatuation with Harry; his absence, however, had simply intensified it. One would also think that Harry might have learnt how to deal with the public, being a hero and all; the fact he wore a hood and used an obscuris spell, however, meant that he never had to deal with it.
She nearly scalded her mouth in her haste to drink her tea so that she could apparate across to stop Harry from doing something that at least she would regret.
ooo00ooo
Hermione was only marginally surprised when the wards to Grimmauld Place allowed her to apparate straight into the entryway.
"Miss Hermione has returned, Kreacher sees," a scratchy voice remarked.
It only took Hermione's eyes a few seconds to adjust to the gloom before she made out the old house elf standing hunched in the shadows.
"Hello, Kreacher," she smiled.
"Master is in the kitchen," Kreacher replied before turning and shuffling away.
Taking Kreacher's words as part invitation, part instruction, Hermione strode forth, knowing exactly where to go even though it had been nearly a decade since she had last been in the house.
"Good morning, Harry," she exclaimed.
Harry turned from the stove, a smile on his face and a spatula in his hand.
"Morning, Hermione, you're here early," he replied.
Her eyes scanned the room as she approached and she breathed out a sigh of relief at seeing no sign of a newspaper.
"Thought I'd take the day off and spend it with you," she stated.
"Brilliant!" Harry said as he turned from the stove with a plate full of pancakes. "Help yourself, there's plenty."
At the look of the stack of golden, fluffy pancakes, Hermione couldn't resist and instantly snagged a couple to put on the plate that appeared in front of her.
"What did you have in mind to do today?" she asked as she drizzled maple syrup on her pancakes.
"I was thinking about heading to the Alley," Harry replied. "I need to see George and find out what new Wheezes he's created."
Something in her expression must have registered for his look morphed into one of concern and his knife and fork lowered.
"What?" he asked.
Hermione couldn't resist biting her lower lip as her mind whirled, trying to find the best way to tell him about that morning's article.
"Come on, Hermione," Harry said. "You know you can tell me anything."
There was nothing for it but to tell it straight and hope that he didn't overreact.
"There was an article in the Prophet this morning," she blurted.
Harry's eyes closed briefly.
"They know I'm in Britain, don't they?" he asked resignedly. "How'd they find out?"
"I don't know," Hermione admitted.
"Doesn't matter," Harry sighed. "Just means that I'm going to have to be a little more circumspect though."
Unexpectedly, he stood and raised his hand towards the open doorway. Magic fairly swirled around him, enough that Hermione could feel it, although that may have simply been because she knew what Harry's magic felt like. And then, in a swirl of blue-grey, Harry's dragonhide cloak whizzed through the door, quickly followed by his many-pouched belt. Both items were donned before Harry flipped up the hood of his cloak and waved his hand across his face.
"Harry Potter! If you think I'm going to sit here with you while you play dress up ..." she began before drawing her wand.
The finite incantatums followed by the banishing spell should have undone Harry's own spells and knocked the hood off of his head. Her frown preceded her second attempt; his chuckles, her third.
"That's not going to work, Hermione," Harry laughed. "Besides, I have it on very good authority that it's never a bad thing to wear your suit at home."
"If you're talking about taking the advice of Tony Stark, then I hardly think that he's the best role model for you to emulate," Hermione retorted. "And exactly why aren't my spells working?"
"Parseltongue," Harry replied simply. "Figured that I needed a variant of the usual spells in case I encountered other witches or wizards. And as for Tony, I can get him on the phone for you if you like, I'm sure that he'd tell you the same thing I am."
Hermione scowled at him. "Make it Pepper and you've got a deal. Now. Undo those spells."
A simple wave of his hand preceded him lowering his hood.
"You've got to admit that it'd be better than going as myself," Harry said.
"No, I do not," Hermione replied. "You may wear the hood up, but no obscuring spells if you expect me to be seen with you in public."
Reluctantly, he nodded and she gave her own nod of satisfaction.
"Now, start talking. I never knew you were so good at wandless magic?" she stated.
Harry laughed. "Figured I needed an edge. It's not easy and my spell repertoire is limited, but it has its uses."
"You will teach me, won't you, Harry?" she asked, her eyes never leaving his.
"Never thought anything different," he replied.
ooo00ooo
Harry stepped from the floo into the Leaky Cauldron and stopped dead. It was almost as though he'd stepped back in time!
Everything was near identical to the very first time that Hagrid had brought him here when he was eleven – the place was dark and gloomy; patrons sat around at the tables nursing pints or glasses of strange coloured beverages; a group of what looked to be hags occupied one corner table; and there was a light covering of dirt on the walls. Even the slight smoky haze near the ceiling emphasised the old-world feel that permeated the tavern.
The only difference from all those years ago was that old Tom was no longer standing behind the bar wiping a glass. Now it was a blonde woman that looked vaguely familiar.
"Hannah Longbottom," Hermione whispered into his ear and Harry gave a slight nod of thanks for the reminder.
With that first encounter at the Cauldron uppermost in his mind and what had happened then, Harry wasted no time in striding forth, intent on reaching the back courtyard.
"Hi, Hermione!" a bright-sounding voice greeted.
"Hi, Hannah," Hermione replied. Then, as Harry refused to stop, "I'll have to catch up with you later, apparently we're in a rush."
The intake of breath that came from the far side of the bar told Harry that Hannah had recognised him. Thankfully, she didn't make a scene.
"Make sure you stop by Hogwarts soon," Hannah called after them. "I think there's someone there that'd love to see you."
Harry paused in the courtyard before tapping the bricks to make the portal to Diagon Alley open.
"She's right," Harry stated, cutting off Hermione before she could remark on his rudeness. "I need to get up to Hogwarts today instead of waiting until the weekend. Teddy's there and he's bound to have seen that article."
"You're right, Harry," Hermione agreed. "Somehow, though, I think Hannah meant Neville."
Harry nodded. "Well, yes, it'll be great to see Nev again as well."
A quick flick of his wrist brought his wand to bear before he tapped the remembered sequence of bricks.
Once again, Harry felt that odd sense of déjà vu. The Alley was the almost exactly the same as he remembered it. Oh, there might have been a store or two different, but it was all the same, cobblestones and all. As Harry stared at the place, he began to wonder whether it'd changed in the slightest in the past couple of hundred years!
The clothing, the storefronts, the wares on the street, all screamed eighteenth century – a far cry from what he was used to. Even his infrequent jaunts to Salem or one of the other American magical districts or most of the dozens of others around the world, were centuries in advance of what he was seeing. And when you added in what he was used to in the non-magical world, Harry was almost feeling culture shock.
As he walked along, his shoulder bumping Hermione's, he stared at the people around him. Their clothing was so old-fashioned.
His staring, though, caused others to notice him and stare back.
And then it happened. A stray breeze caught under his hood and it flared wide. At exactly the wrong moment.
"It's him! The Man-Who-Conquered! Harry Potter!" one man cried, his finger pointing straight at Harry, his eyes huge as he stared.
That one cry was enough to have everyone within earshot spinning in place, eyes searching before locking on to him. Eyes flicked firstly to his forehead where the thin white scar of his lightning bolt could still vaguely be seen in the right light, before switching to Hermione and then back again. Hermione's presence by his side seemed to be all the confirmation that they needed.
Within seconds, it seemed that half of the population of the Alley had surrounded them, some appearing so fast that they might as well have apparated.
"The Man-Who-Conquered!"
"Mister Potter, welcome back! Welcome back!"
"Where've you been?"
"The-Boy-Who-Lived!"
"Are you back for good?"
"Can you sign this?"
"Are you two together?"
"What have you been doing?"
"Do you have a girlfriend? Wife? Children?"
Harry was sorely tempted to use a banishing charm or at least a silencing charm on the crowd that had gathered around, pressing closer and closer as more and more joined them. Questions peppered him, the quality and quantity of them telling him that reporters had arrived.
Grabbing Hermione's hand so that he didn't' lose her, Harry began pushing through the crowd, excusing himself, it seemed, half a dozen times every metre that they were able to move. The bright garish orange of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes shone as a beacon of hope and sanctuary, a haven that Harry and Hermione worked towards.
"If you just say something to them, maybe they'll let us through," Hermione panted.
Deciding that she may be right, Harry stopped and turned to where the majority of the crowd stood behind them and flicked his hood back.
"It's nice to see you all again," he began his impromptu speech. "And it's good to be back in Britain. At the moment, I haven't decided how long I'll be staying for or what I'll be doing while I'm here. Well, other than catching up with friends and family. Hermione's told me about the rumours of my travels that have circulated here over the years and, from what I've heard, there were quite a number that were correct in some of the places that I've visited. I've enjoyed my time away; I've learnt a lot and even made some new friends. Right now, though, I'm off to visit one of my old friends, so, if you'll excuse me?"
He knew that it was pretty pathetic as far as speeches went and if Tony ever heard it, he'd never hear the end of it, but for what it was, it was good enough. O at least, it served its purpose and had some of the crowd backing off enough to allow the two of them to quickly reach the door of WWW without too much trouble at all.
ooo00ooo
"Pathetic!" the same platinum blonde-haired man that had incinerated his copy of The Daily Prophet that very morning stated. "Prince Potter abandons them all for years and as soon as he turns up again, they're all over him again."
"Sheep," his companion replied. "Crying out for real leadership."
"Hmph," the blonde snorted. "They had it and either killed them or left them to rot in Azkaban."
"One of these days ..." the third of them said, a statement that the other two nodded to before all three turned away in disgust from the sight before them.
ooo00ooo
Where one would expect the sound of a bell announcing someone entering a shop, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes would never have something so plebeian. Instead, when Harry and Hermione rushed through the door, a great belch reverberated above them.
Harry looked up in surprise but, seeing the look of revulsion on Hermione's face, he found himself beginning to chuckle.
"It's random," Hermione stated, "and that's not one that I've heard before."
"You've obviously not been in here enough then, Miss Granger. I don't think you've heard the full range of fart sounds either."
"George!" Harry smiled, leaping forward to give the man in the horrid fluorescent orange and purple jacket a brief, manly hug.
"Thank goodness," Hermione muttered behind him, causing Harry to laugh even more.
"Good to see you, Harrikins. Heard you were in town," George said.
"You and everyone else in magical Britain," Harry said bitterly.
Even here, Harry's presence was garnering a fair bit of attention as the few customers that were getting an early dose of their pranking mayhem needs took note of who had arrived and had begun drifting closer.
"Come on out the back," George waved, "and we can have a bit of a chat in private."
Harry nodded eagerly before following his host and partner.
In a lot of ways, Harry noted as they weaved through the shelves, WWW hadn't changed all that much. Every shelf was still filled with brightly coloured boxes and tins and bags. Over in the corner was a hideously pink section, obviously aimed at the young witch. A soft trilling to his left indicated where the pigmy puffs lived. And every now and then, a firework whizzed by, multicoloured sparks flying behind it.
The back room was still a jumble of bizarre ingredients on shelves and the giant table mixed in with parchment, ink, quills and both finished and half-finished pranks of all shapes and sizes.
"Now, before we get down to the mundane, I'm guessing that you're wanting to see is what new, cool, brilliant, bizarre, and down-right fun things we've come up with since the last time you ordered?" George guessed, a massive grin on his face.
"Bring it on," Harry agreed, rubbing his hands together.
"To start with," George said, gesturing grandly to a basket filled with small purple silk bags, "we have the 'ExpectaVision Goggles'."
Harry plucked up one of the bags, pulled apart the drawstring and tipped a pair of glasses into his hand. The frames were actually fairly stylish, if one ignored their florescent yellow colour; and the dark grey lenses would be certain to hide one's eyes.
"I'm assuming that what you see using them is not what one would expect?" Hermione guessed.
"Right in one, Miss Granger," George replied. "I haven't actually decided what I'm going to do with these yet; they didn't come out as intended."
"What were they supposed to do?" Harry asked, eyeing the pair in his hand warily.
"See through clothes," George grinned.
"George Weasley!" Hermione screeched. "What in Merlin's name were you thinking!"
"Cor, you don't half sound like Angelina! That's almost a dead ringer for what she said when she first heard about them," George said, putting a finger in his one good ear and wiggling it around.
"So, what do they do?" Harry asked, intentionally moving the conversation on.
"Well, they do let you see through clothes, but skin and muscles as well," George replied. "Right down to the bones. Also lets you see through walls, well, ones made of wood or curtains at least; concrete and bricks are a no-no."
"Sell them to Healers," Harry suggested as he put a pair on and began looking around the room. "Could make their job easier when diagnosing broken bones and whatnot."
"Cheers, Harry," a happy George exclaimed. "For that, the pair you're wearing is yours."
Harry nodded as he took the glasses off. Seeing Hermione's bones moving as she did was quite disconcerting. Looking back into the shop through the wall, though, was kind of interesting.
"Just make sure to check that they are healers; burglars and thieves would have a field day with these," Harry remarked.
George nodded before moving on to a bin full of small round, glass balls about the size of a marble. Different coloured gasses swirled about inside the balls – red, blue, green, orange, yellow and purple.
"These are the next generation of our Daydream products," George stated. "A person only needs to inhale one of them and they're instantly lulled into a pleasant dream which lasts from anywhere from ten minutes to half an hour. Great for distracting someone or even distracting yourself. And easy to hide as well, just don't get them mixed up with your gobstone set."
"Do they have a proper name?" Hermione asked.
"Not yet," George confessed. "Still working on that bit. Only just finished the testing phase and moving into the marketing side of ideas."
Grabbing up a scoop, George dipped it into the barrel before filling a bag with the glass balls before handing it over to Harry.
"Here you go, partner," he smiled.
"Thanks, George," Harry replied before slipping the bag into one of the pouches on his belt.
By the time that George had finished showing Harry and Hermione all of his latest and greatest inventions, Harry's pouches – even the ones designed to be practically bottomless – were bulging.
"I don't think I want to know what you're going to do with all of that," Hermione remarked with a shake of her head as he pushed the last item, a pair of gloves that, when being worn, allowed the wearer to stick to anything, into his pocket.
"Have fun," Harry stated.
"Play pranks," George agreed.
"Beat up bad guys," Harry added.
"Boys," Hermione sighed, but the small upturn of the corners of her mouth told Harry and George what she really thought of it all.
ooo00ooo
Hogwarts castle, home of Hogwarts School of Witchraft and Wizardry, hadn't changed in the years that Harry had been gone. Everything, from the towers to the great stone walls to the expansive grounds surrounded by the Forbidden Forest and the Black Lake and even Hagrid's overgrown hut were exactly as he remembered it. Consequently, he couldn't help pausing just inside the gates to the ground to stare in wonder.
There were so many memories attached to this place – both wonderful as well as the type that had kept him up countless long nights as they haunted his dreams. This was the first place he'd known as home; it was the first place that he'd made friends; the first place he could remember risking his life for others. And it was the place that so many that he loved and cared for had died.
How long he stood staring, he wasn't sure; only the touch of Hermione's hand on his broke the spell. A shared smile and they started their trek down the path once more.
The rumbling of hundreds of voices that greeted their ears as they entered the castle told them that they'd arrived during dinner. Hermione, Harry could see, was reluctant to interrupt them; her glance told him that she was willing to wait at the stone gargoyle for the Headmistress to finish.
Harry, though, had other plans. Not to mention a special someone to surprise.
Automatically, his eyes snapped to the Gryffindor table as they entered the Great Hall before he deliberately focussed on the blue and bronze of Ravenclaw. He hadn't even completed his sweep of the table before a boy further down was up and racing down the aisle towards him.
"Teddy!" Harry laughed, catching the lad up in a bone-crushing hug.
"Uncle Harry! You're here! Finally!" Teddy replied
Letting his godson regain his footing, Harry eagerly drank in every part of him. It'd been years since he'd seen more than photos. Yes, there was Remus' chin and inquisitive eyes, shining through Tonks' metamorph ability. His hair may be cycling from brown to messy black to blue and back to black over and over, and his eyes were changing colour to match Harry's own, but his parents were always there for all to see.
"It's so good to see you," Harry exclaimed, dragging him in once more for another hug.
"You keep doing that and you're going to crush him to death," Hermione smiled.
"Not Teddy, there's too much of his father in him for me to be able to do that," Harry replied, feeling the added strength of Teddy's hug threatening to squeeze the air from his lungs.
"Mister Potter," a familiar voice interrupted. "While it is very good to see you once more, you are interrupting dinner."
Harry grinned at his one-time Head of House, now Headmistress, over the top of Teddy's head.
"Sorry, Professor," he said happily.
"Scamp!" she hmphed. "Do you actually have a purpose for making a spectacle of yourself, here of all places?"
"I need to see you, and, after hearing about that article this morning, well, I couldn't let Teddy here think that I'd forgotten to visit as soon as I could," he shrugged.
"Well, take a seat," Headmistress McGonagall instructed. "We can talk after dinner."
"And have a butterbeer together after that," a deep voice finished.
"Hey, Neville," Harry said, releasing Teddy to clasp hands with his friend. "You got it; looking forward to it."
"Come on, Uncle Harry," Teddy said, grabbing his hand and beginning to drag him away. "You and Aunt Hermione can sit with me and you can meet my friends."
"Sounds a brilliant idea," Harry grinned. "Lead on, Macduff!"
ooo00ooo
"And how long do you say you've been stuck at this point?" Minerva asked as she considered the half-man, half-bird before her.
Harry's head looked up at her, a frown on his face.
"Couple of months," he replied. "That's why I came to you; there's no one else I'd trust to get me past this."
"Not even Miss Granger?" Minerva asked, her scepticism mixed with amusement.
"Hermione's not an Animagus," Harry pointed out.
"Touché," Minerva replied, with the smallest hint of a smile. "However, if she were, she would know that the problem is easy to identify."
"And easy to solve?" Hermione asked hopefully.
"That is up to Mister Potter," Minerva stated.
"Well?" an impatient Harry asked.
"The problem is completely mental," the transfiguration mistress stated. "You've developed a mental block, refusing to allow your body to change."
"What would cause such a thing?" Hermione asked.
"If I was to hazard a guess, I'd say that it's Harry's unwillingness to be anything but himself, himself as a human that is," she replied. "You know as well as I do that Mister Potter was always one of the smallest in his cohort and how much he detested it. Now his body has identified that he needs to shrink to complete this new form and he's unwilling to allow himself to become small once again."
"That's it?" Hermione asked amusedly. "You're afraid to be small?"
"Laugh it up, fuzzball," Harry retorted.'
"Oi! Leave my hair out of this. And for your opinion, it's much more manageable than it used to be. Unless you think I look like a nine-foot Wookie who can rip your arms off?" Hermione asked, her hands on her hips and one eyebrow raised.
"I won't even pretend that I have any idea what you two are talking about," Minerva sighed. "Now, Harry, what you need to do is to let go. The bird is a part of you, a very natural one I would think, having seen what you're capable of in the air on a broom."
"Minerva's right, Harry," Hermione added. "Just imagine what it'll be like to be flying with just your wings to hold you up; something that can't happen with you this size."
"No matter your size or shape, you will always be Harry Potter, the youngest seeker in a century," Minerva continued. "This new part of you needs to be let loose so that you can be complete, to be the person you have always had inside you."
As the two continued talking and encouraging, Harry closed his eyes and let his mind internalise what they were saying. They were right, he knew, he was always a natural in the air. Even as Mage he used a broom to fly simply because he loved being in the air. And back when he was still in school, it was the flying that he loved the most; quidditch was simply a way to ensure that he had time outdoors in the clouds, flying, rolling, looping, being ... free.
"That's it, Harry! You're doing it!" Hermione unexpectedly exclaimed.
Harry felt his head changing shape and, when he opened his eyes, he noted both that everything seemed much bigger, as though it loomed over him, and also that it was in perfect focus. He could count the number of freckles on Hermione's face from here. Or the lines on Minerva's face.
"What type of bird is he?" Hermione asked.
"That's the easiest question to answer of them all," Minerva replied. "I've seen hundreds of them here in Britain over the years. Here, see for yourself."
Harry watched as Minerva summoned one particular book from her shelves before opening it and leafing through it to one particular page.
Hermione's eyes rocketed backwards and forwards as she read the information before focussing on one point – the picture, he assumed.
And then she looked to Harry and back to the book over and over, the edge of her lips curling upwards more and more with each look before she promptly threw her head back and roared with laughter.
His wings may still be brand new, but as had been pointed out, he was a natural flyer and it was nothing for him to flap up to the table to see the book for himself.
No! he thought, shaking his feathered head backwards and forwards. It couldn't be! Not that. Please, anything but that!
He just knew it; he was never going to live this down.