So, he was desperate.

Scorpius knew that. Nonetheless, here he was, silently climbing the winding staircase to the Owlery. The hard concrete of the steps had been worn at - he could almost imagine the thousands of feet that must have tramped up and down this very staircase. The bedraggled boy dragged his fingers through his hair. It did nothing - rather, his blonde locks sprang back into his eyes, more unruly than ever.

Finally, he heard the sound of soft wingbeats and the rustling of hay. The sweet, musty smell was comforting. Scorpius pressed a hand to the door. It swung open under his light touch, revealing the room. Dozens of owls nestled in the roosts, heads tucked under soft, immaculately stroked wings. At his appearance, they glanced up for a moment, startled; some darted across the room on silent wings to nestle impatiently on the other side.

Scorpius walked forward. He didn't mind the soft feeling of straw beneath his feet, nor the numerous droppings - it was their home, as Hogwarts has home to him.

He almosted sighed, but managed to stop himself in time. He sat tenatively, on one of the wide, unguarded window sills overlooking the lake, and threw the unopened letter down beside him.