Flu
“What if it’s got bird flu? Don’t owls get that? “
He shakes his head at the girl sitting across from him at breakfast in the Great Hall.
“Is bird flu a muggle disease?”
“Well, not really, it’s a disease that birds get. All kinds of birds can get it I think. People or muggles are immune.”
“I don’t know if magical animals get normal animal diseases? Is it bad?”
He knows it is because of the sad look she gives him, clearly indicating his beloved owl Tybalt could succumb to this previously unknown sickness. In fact, her expression almost turns to one of mourning and pity. It’s strange how much he doesn’t want her to look at him like that, when a year ago, he would have thought her compassion for him, any emotion that wasn't anger, would have delighted him.
“Isn’t there a doctor of Magical animals you can go to?”
“Evans, you’re talking as if Tybalt is actually sick, he’s just not back yet.”
“But you said so yourself, he’s taking too long. He’s never taken so long to get back.”
He sees another expression that he doesn’t like on her face, guilt. She is worried and she feels guilty. He wants nothing more than to be able to make those lines of worry and guilt, now etched in her forehead, disappear. He also wants his owl to be okay, but he wants her to be okay even more. He knows she feels this way because it’s her letter that his owl is delivering.
Lily had asked him if she could borrow Tybalt to send a letter to her grandmother. She hadn’t wanted to use a school owl, because technically she wasn’t supposed to use owls for delivering letters to her muggle grandmother. He would have lent her Tybalt’s services if she had asked for a letter to be delivered to the moon. But he had been gone for almost a week. It had been upsetting for them both. He refused to be really worried because honestly there had to be a logical explanation for his absence. But as the days passed Lily had uttered one incredible theory after another. Resulting in him now feeling worried about his owl having a disease that he hadn’t heard of ten minutes ago. He would have loved to be able to turn back to the blissfully unaware James of ten minutes ago, but that wasn’t possible, magic or not.
He is about to mess up his hair again. It’s a habit he can’t shake, but ever since she had called him out on it he hates doing it. It’s just hard not to. As his treacherous hand starts its familiar trek up to his head he feels something brush the back of his hand. He would look what it is if his eyes could have looked at anything but her face. Her face that only minutes before had been strained with worry. Her smile is bright and he could watch it for days. Her eyes light up and the colour sparkles, he wonders for a moment if they could light up a moonless night when they shine like this. The muscles in her forehead are loose now, no more frowns, no more creaks. All the lines have moved to the corners of her mouth and of her eyes. He should stop staring, he knows he is staring, but he finds his bad habits are so hard to break. She hasn’t noticed his stare, that’s good. She is smiling at Tybalt, who landed in front of her plate. He puts out his leg where a letter is attached. As she reads it she smiles and she thanks him and reaches out to squeeze his hand. She is looking at him, still beaming.
His heart is light. He knows it’s because his bird is alright.
He also knows it is because she is happy, and he was a part of it.