Chapter 9
The cool night air was a welcome change from the house he was normally in, day in and day out. Sure, they were his flock, but spending too long around a bunch of heated werewolves and cooled vampires made his wings itch and his instincts yell at him to fly. And scouting was the perfect opportunity to let his wings out without them brushing against someone else.
Shivering slightly, he drew his cloak closer to him. And then snapped his head up, narrowing his eyes. The buzz of the wards receding slightly to close around the only apparition spot on grounds is his first sign of something wrong. The second is the slightly less noticeable hum of one of the inner wards tracking down the stranger's path. And the third is the sight of an old man doddering along, clearly making a bee-line for him. His formally relaxed kneeling position turned to a defencive crouching one in less then a second, as he felt his wings shift and change to match his cautious change of stature. He palms a knife, a special adamantine given to him for his 8th birthday by the Coven.
There's an intruder.
And from the stink of magic around him, he was powerful.
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Harry's eyes remain on him as he stops, clearly surprised. A part of him wants to fly up and tackle him, but the other part rationalizes that he should warn the others first. So he does. Without turning around, he lets out two, sharp and piercing whistles, in ascending order. Then he repeated the same notes, but this time in a series of warbles, to signify who raised the alarm.