Furmy's wonky wings flapped in unison as he flew through the corridors of the ministry silently. He'd not stopped for owl treats, no matter how much the passing ministry persons had beckoned him. The tawny owl had a job to do, and nothing would stop him. Not even treats.

He would get treats for his delivery though, right?

It didn't take him long to find the man he was delivering the letter to, hooting softly as he circled the man, scooping out a perch. That table would do. His wings spread out further, and he carefully landed on the tables ledge; his leg went out instinctively, letter and small pouch tied to it as he staaaaaaaaaaared at the Wesley head man.

Treat now?