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Question: How long does it take an owl to find Dumbledore when it starts at the end of the universe?
Answer: Time is relative.
~^*v*^~
The hawk owl flutters gracefully and noiselessly into Bill's room and perches at the head of the bed, hooting softly. When Bill sleeps on, it takes one of its great wings and brushes it across his face.
"What?"
Bill sits and rubs the sleep out of his eyes and automatically reaches for his wand, but the hooting grabs his attention. "Ah, it's you. Wonderful."
Long ago he learnt to always carry owl treats on his person; one never knew when they might come in handy. He reaches into the pocket of the battered jeans folded on the bedside chair and comes up with a handful of small crunchy pellets; the owl accepts them gratefully and works on turning them into mere dust and crumbs with apparent appetite. Bill unties the parchment from its talon and reads.
4 January 1997
My dear boy, it is a relief to hear from you. I know this owl and as a result I know where you are, and I'm gladdened. Right now, this is the safest place you could possibly be.
Anyone who has been through what you've endured the past months might do well to question his sanity. We last had confirmed word from our Mr Fletcher that you were in Aswan on 15 August of last year, on your way to Cairo. There were reports of a bit of a scene in Luxor but your participation has not been verified by any outside sources; all witnesses appear to have had their memories modified. We lost track of you, Bill, much to my dismay. I will voice my suspicions to you but remember that they are merely that: conjecture based on analysis.
I has long been my belief that you were taken by supporters of Voldemort and held for the better part of three months. To what end and how you come to find yourself in your current location is beyond my scope of knowledge, although I am well aware of the place. Remember that magic works in mysterious and deep ways, not always discernable to even the most capable of wizards.
I am not privy to visiting you there.
Discretion demands that I keep this note brief. If I glean any further information, I will send it posthaste. My heart is lighter knowing of your safety.
--A.D.
Bill looks at the date on the parchment: Pettigrew says he expects Bill to confirm the date and this would appear to be all the confirmation he needs.
"Three months. Not three years. Three months. It makes sense! It makes sense!"
The question of what really happened still remains, but Bill knows that given time he can figure it out. There's not a puzzle yet he's run into that he hasn't been able to solve. He turns over the parchment to write, but realises he's got no supplies.
"You've got a wand, Weasley: use it." Conjured items don't last very long, but this Muggle-style pencil should last long enough so that he might begin making the requisite Arithmancy calculations as he would when breaking any code or unraveling any mystery. It's all a question of time, space, distance, and probablility.
He starts by rubbing the fang earring (for good luck) and drawing a map of Egypt. The place is full of magical gridlines and vortices, and he knows them only too well. Surely He Who Must Not Be Named knows them too. So easy to use that to make somebody disappear!
It would look just like magic.
Answer: Time is relative.
The hawk owl flutters gracefully and noiselessly into Bill's room and perches at the head of the bed, hooting softly. When Bill sleeps on, it takes one of its great wings and brushes it across his face.
"What?"
Bill sits and rubs the sleep out of his eyes and automatically reaches for his wand, but the hooting grabs his attention. "Ah, it's you. Wonderful."
Long ago he learnt to always carry owl treats on his person; one never knew when they might come in handy. He reaches into the pocket of the battered jeans folded on the bedside chair and comes up with a handful of small crunchy pellets; the owl accepts them gratefully and works on turning them into mere dust and crumbs with apparent appetite. Bill unties the parchment from its talon and reads.
4 January 1997
My dear boy, it is a relief to hear from you. I know this owl and as a result I know where you are, and I'm gladdened. Right now, this is the safest place you could possibly be.
Anyone who has been through what you've endured the past months might do well to question his sanity. We last had confirmed word from our Mr Fletcher that you were in Aswan on 15 August of last year, on your way to Cairo. There were reports of a bit of a scene in Luxor but your participation has not been verified by any outside sources; all witnesses appear to have had their memories modified. We lost track of you, Bill, much to my dismay. I will voice my suspicions to you but remember that they are merely that: conjecture based on analysis.
I has long been my belief that you were taken by supporters of Voldemort and held for the better part of three months. To what end and how you come to find yourself in your current location is beyond my scope of knowledge, although I am well aware of the place. Remember that magic works in mysterious and deep ways, not always discernable to even the most capable of wizards.
I am not privy to visiting you there.
Discretion demands that I keep this note brief. If I glean any further information, I will send it posthaste. My heart is lighter knowing of your safety.
--A.D.
Bill looks at the date on the parchment: Pettigrew says he expects Bill to confirm the date and this would appear to be all the confirmation he needs.
"Three months. Not three years. Three months. It makes sense! It makes sense!"
The question of what really happened still remains, but Bill knows that given time he can figure it out. There's not a puzzle yet he's run into that he hasn't been able to solve. He turns over the parchment to write, but realises he's got no supplies.
"You've got a wand, Weasley: use it." Conjured items don't last very long, but this Muggle-style pencil should last long enough so that he might begin making the requisite Arithmancy calculations as he would when breaking any code or unraveling any mystery. It's all a question of time, space, distance, and probablility.
He starts by rubbing the fang earring (for good luck) and drawing a map of Egypt. The place is full of magical gridlines and vortices, and he knows them only too well. Surely He Who Must Not Be Named knows them too. So easy to use that to make somebody disappear!
It would look just like magic.
